STROLLING STORIES #4 – The Fast Lane Walkers

Not everyone in a hurry is late.

Every morning, there is a particular category of walker I encounter.

You probably know them too.

They are not merely walking.

They are advancing.

Purposefully.

Urgently.

As though the future has sent them a message demanding immediate attendance.

Their arms swing with determination.

Their shoes strike the pavement with authority.

And their expressions suggest that somewhere, just beyond the next corner, something extremely important is about to happen.

I admire them.

Mostly because I have absolutely no idea where they think they are going.

When I started morning walks, I assumed everyone was there for the same reason.

To walk.

A surprisingly naïve assumption, as it turns out.

Some people walk for fitness.

Some walk for conversation.

Some walk because their doctor insisted.

Some walk because their spouse insisted even more strongly.

And some appear to walk because standing still would somehow violate their personal philosophy.

The fast walkers belong to this final category.

I occasionally try keeping pace with them.

This usually lasts somewhere between thirty seconds and a minute.

After that, I begin questioning several of my life choices.

Including breakfast.

And gravity.

Meanwhile, they continue moving ahead with the smooth efficiency of people who have entered into a private agreement with momentum.

The curious thing is that many of them are retired.

No office to reach.

No school bus to catch.

No urgent appointment waiting at the end of the road.

And yet they move as if punctuality itself is pursuing them.

My father would have understood these people perfectly.

In fact, he was one of them.

To say he walked fast would be an understatement.

He walked as though every minute had somewhere important to be.

Unlike many walkers, he rarely wanted company.

Walking, for him, was not a social activity.

It was a mission.

A personal agreement between him and the road.

After overcoming a serious heart condition through naturopathy, disciplined eating habits, and a complete change in lifestyle, he seemed to develop an entirely new relationship with walking.

He didn’t merely walk.

He attacked distances.

Before long, he won the 10-kilometre veterans walking championship in Kerala and later returned from the national event with a bronze medal.

For a man who had once faced serious health challenges, it was an extraordinary transformation.

Looking back, I sometimes think he wasn’t walking away from illness.

He was walking toward life.

Looking around now, I sometimes catch glimpses of him in these fast walkers.

Not the same faces, of course.

Just the same sense of purpose.

The same determination to keep moving.

The same quiet refusal to waste a perfectly good morning.

And every now and then, one of them reminds me just how formidable a brisk walker can be.

One morning, I watched a gentleman overtake three walkers, a cyclist, and very nearly a dog.

The dog looked mildly offended.

I understood how it felt.

What fascinates me most is that the pace often continues even after the walk ends.

You see it at tea stalls.

At bakeries.

At vegetable shops.

Some people carry urgency like an accessory.

Others carry calm.

The destination changes.

The habit remains.

That made me wonder whether walking reveals more about us than we realise.

Some of us approach life like a sprint.

Some like a conversation.

Some like a carefully planned expedition.

And some, thankfully, treat it as a stroll.

The older I get, the less interested I am in winning imaginary races.

I still admire the fast walkers.

I still step aside respectfully when they approach.

But I no longer feel compelled to keep up.

Because I am beginning to suspect that life is not always asking us to move faster.

Sometimes it is simply asking us to notice where we are.

And that is difficult to do when rushing past everything.

Not everyone moving slowly is falling behind.

And not everyone moving quickly is getting there sooner.