A guy jogs passed me in baggy blue shorts, under which he has active wear tights. He has on a blue long sleeved active wear top. Funny, he seems to be way over dressed, like Joey on Friends when he puts on all of Chandler's clothes.
His shorts are big because he has a huge arse. "Baby you've got a big arse," I say out loud, or I would have said out loud if it hadn't been muffled by the mask I was wearing. I laugh, and got thinking.
Baby Got Big Arse
God, you’ve got a big arse, baby.
What would that feel like spread across my face?
In the saddle like a cowboy, giddyup! Ride ‘em home.
While I get in touch with your inner zone.
I feel you quiver, I feel you squirm
At the thought does your stomach churn?
I laugh, (how brazen am I?) I feel it in my face,
I pick up the pace.
To the end, it is a race.
You and me.
Funny the things that go through your head when you are walking in the sun, in the park, listening to Bowie, watching the joggers’ jog by. The sun shone, the sky was blue. One foot in front of the other, marching forth. I love the energy begetting energy. The rhythm, the swagger, the fresh air, sense of space and grace.
Walking is my thing at the moment. Riding was always my exercise of choice, but walking seems to suit me well, now. It is probably not the best for losing weight, but then people say that is more about diet than it is about moving your arse.
So, it is walking that I am into now, not the least because I am free, to fantasies about you and me. Not the least because I am free to write poems about what who I see. Ha ha. You can’t write much when you are barrelling along on a bike, it is not easy to do that. No sir.
There is a freedom about walking, just me and the elements, no machine bought into service to help me along the way. Just me and my two feet, that is freedom.
I wish I could jog like I used to, but my left knee doesn’t like it, which is the reason I took to bike riding in the first place. Even recently, I gave it a try, thinking that my knee had been really good all through this time of increased exercise, but no, it didn’t like it straight away and was sore for days afterwards. If I walk, it seems to cope just fine, but high impact, no, no, no.
Walking is great, though, don’t knock walking. You can continue to day dream about that guy with the big, beefy butt easily. Or that guy with the tiny little arse and those thighs (holding hands 30 centimetres apart) and those tiny black shorts that only barely kept him nice.
You can go on thinking about the two cute Asian boys who jog with their dog, the granny jogger, who I can walk faster than, but who is still my inspiration for getting out there and doing it, the old man, in the neat matching tracksuit top and bottom, who I reckon has been given walking to do by his doctor, or, the woman who walks the two wolves.
No thinking required, just relax into it, get up your rhythm and get going.
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