‘I am a slow walker, but I never walk back.’
– Abraham Lincoln, 1809-1865, the 16th president of the United States of America.
I’m a slow walker, and if I don’t start picking up the pace, I’m going to die, die and die.
I don’t mean to be macabre. That’s just my takeaway from another study claiming that human beings who walk fast — sorry, I know the preferred term is briskly — can shave as much as 16 years off their biological age.
So, if you’re a perpetually fast-walking 80-year-old — and congrats on that — you’re really only 64.
If you’re a fast-walking 61-year-old, you’re practically 45.
And if you’re a fast-walking 7-year-old…well, your parents haven’t even met yet.
Basically, it means fast walkers, who already have a bit of a superiority complex, are going to live forever—like vampires or Silicon Valley billionaires.
And me? I am a slow walker, which means I am half dead already—or at least that’s what my wife would say whenever she braves a walk with me.
“Why are you so slow?” she asked, clearly annoyed.
“Are you lugging around a duffel bag full of cinder blocks or something?”
I can’t help it. My wife, bless her, love her and walks like she’s on cross-country skis.
Meanwhile, I move like a snail stuck in airport security. It’s embarrassing. My sneakers are so slow they probably took a second job walking for someone else. Even my Fitbit gave up out of boredom.
There’s nothing physically slowing me down—at least not yet—but trust me, you don’t want to get stuck behind me on a sidewalk.
If your feet had a horn, you’d honk non-stop.
You’d think city life, famous for producing professional fast walkers, would’ve rubbed off on me. I’m supposed to glide across intersections like a gazelle.
But nope, that’s not me.
“I’m just going to walk ahead and meet you there,” she said.
“See you in an hour.”
I appreciate the frustration. Slow walkers drive fast walkers crazy.
We take twice as long to go half as far.
Museums are a drag, hospitals are a nightmare, and any hopes of a spirited walk-and-talk? Forget it. I’d never survive in a Jason Bourne movie.
But aren’t we supposed to be slowing down and appreciating our surroundings? Isn’t that one of the big lessons of the 21st century—that our rushed, overscheduled lives are leading us to unhappiness?
I asked my fellow slow walkers: Shouldn’t we be celebrated for taking our time to smell the roses?
Even if we’re not smelling any roses?
The fast walkers are probably saying, “We can’t hear you. We’re six blocks ahead.”
Shaving off 16 years of age by walking fast is no joke. That’s a lot of time to claw back.
I doubt there’s any lifestyle change that can give you those years—not even quitting social media.
I’m not sure what I’d do with an extra 16 years of life.
But one thing’s for sure—I’d steer clear of risky deals with sovereign wealth funds and rogue financiers. If only I’d been that wise earlier, maybe I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in now.
With those years, I’d learn another language.
I’d teach myself classical piano.
I’d finally read “The Power Broker.”
I’d fly to Beijing and walk the length of the Great Wall of China.
Although, let’s be honest, I might need more than 16 years for that last one.
Can I go faster? My wife certainly thinks so, but I’m not so sure.
I’ve tried moving my hips and feet, and I’ve done my best to keep up with my family.
I’ve experimented with upbeat music and even made myself late on purpose, just to force myself to hurry.
I know it’s good for me, and I know it gets me where I’m going faster.
But it never sticks.
Astro had a TV show called “The Biggest Loser” where people competed to lose weight—maybe I need one called “The Slowest Walker,” where slow walkers compete to improve their speed.
But the benefits are too good to ignore. Sixteen years is 16 years.
I’m really going to walk faster this time. Let’s do this. I’m putting my sneakers on. Go on ahead! I’ll meet you there.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of New Sarawak Tribune.
