No walk in the park

Alright, here we go. Time to go, time to go. I was pumping myself up to go exercising early one morning at the Mona Bowl in St Andrew, beaming with an intense amount of pride for this groundbreaking move.

Fit and healthy is the way to go, I say, so it was time to get cracking on my New Year's resolution. Better late than never.

I got there early. The sun was out but the heat still manageable. Eager to get started, I walked up to the track full of life, ready to go. I was immediately struck by the size of the crowd. I imagined there would be people there, but hardly envisaged the throngs of quick-moving fitness buffs I came across.

Anyway, no worries. I was there for business so I waited for a clearing to appear on the track and hopped on. There were perhaps 20 or 30 persons going around the track at that time. The other people there were at different spots on the field, doing stretches and what-not. I moved quickly at first, my mind and body in perfect collusion.

After a couple of minutes, I was into a rhythm. I was able to take a look around as I walked. Some distance ahead of me was an elderly man. He was wearing a grey T-shirt and black short pants. His white socks were pulled all the way up to his knees and his red cap was low over his eyes. I wondered how old he was because from that distance it seemed he was well into his 70s, perhaps even 80s. But the sheer speed of the man's gait left me doubtful.

Bountiful women

Further down the track were two bountiful women whose black skin-tight pants were taken to their limits. They seemed pleasant with bright smiles and were animatedly discussing something or the other as they walked.

Behind them, was a man, perhaps, in his early 20s and a woman roughly his age. The man had a toothpick in his mouth and kept moving it from side to side. The woman was fiddling with her cellphone, even as she walked. When she finally looked up from her phone, she glanced at the man. His eyes, it appeared, were focused squarely on the bouncing curves of the two women ahead of them and, for that, he received a sharp jab to the stomach. The woman seemed cross and, even as the man protested the hit, she went back to fiddling with her phone, completely ignoring him.

Hoo-hoo-hee, hoo-hoo-hee. I tried to keep up the pace I had started with. I heard a cough behind me. Soon, the person was walking next to me. He was a man about 40 years old with cheeks that looked like pumpkins. He was wearing a T-shirt with sweat pants and a nifty headband with the letter R neatly stitched in the centre.

"Wait, young man! I never see you here before," he said, his voice booming. I admitted it was my first time and, as I walked, asked him if he was a regular there.

"Yes, man. All the while," he said.

"I have to keep it up, you know. Never should allow ourselves to slack off." I nodded in agreement, not wanting to waste my quickly diminishing energy on words. "Anyway, you take care," said the man and, with that, he was off. He walked with alarming speed. I consoled myself with the belief that I was doing the right thing, pacing myself for the long haul.

Impressive fellow

I was at it for close to 30 minutes when I heard a voice behind me. "Beep-beep!" I kept walking. "Beep-beep!" There it was again. I glanced over my shoulder. It was the elderly man I had seen when I just got there. He was smiling broadly. I shifted a bit to the left. Now, he was beside me. "Mawning," the man said. I returned the greeting. A closer look at his face seemed to confirm that this fellow was at least 80 years old but was moving with impressive agility.

I mentioned to him that he appeared well accustomed to the rigours of the early-morning walk. "Mi do dis every mawning, man. Young people look pan me all di while and seh dem nuh know how mi do it, but is foolishness dem talking," he said.

"You have to take care of yuhself. All dis plastic food what di young people eating mashing up dem tripe," the man continued. Seeing that we were now engaged in conversation, it was imperative that I keep pace with the man. This, I will admit, was proving more difficult than you might think.

He spoke up again. "Yuh body is a machine, yuh know, yuh haffi rev him sometime, or him will shut dung pan yuh."

I asked the man his name. "I am Charlie, man. Charlie everybody call me," he replied. I asked Charlie how old he was. "Hee hee," chuckled. "I am 88 years old." I could hardly believe it. I could feel the burn in my legs as I tried to stay by his side.

He apparently saw the surprise in my eyes. "Yes, man. Good food and exercise and yuh can do anything at any age. Just nuh mek life badda yuh. Too much worries old yuh up before time. Yuh haffi tek a hard life easy sometime."

Where should Robert go next? Let him know at robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com.

The following is feedback to last week's Roving with Lalah.

Great as usual, Robert. Loved it.

- J.S.

Loved the fishing story. Can't wait for more.

- J.L.

Brilliant. Makes me homesick.

- JoshuaT