Walking for dinner

It's a new thing right now. I don't think that I'll be keeping it up because I don't trust prepared food. Let's say I learned to be very careful.

But right now, I'm not.

Because right now walking is more important. And I am so very poor at it.

Did I mention this before? It's distressing. I'm the slowest person out on the sidewalk. I'm not exaggerating either. Big fat women with their legs bandaged up walk right past me.

Old men on crutches with both legs in casts pass me right up.

Babies in little kick strollers learning to walk go zooming past me much faster than I can go.

People stricken with cerebral palsy clunking along leave me in their dust.

Drunks spinning around aimlessly move past me faster than I can walk straight.

Stephen Hawking speeds right past me.

What a rude asshole. But do I give up? No!

The doctor listed the possible causes of high blood pressure but he did not mention leading a sedentary life.

And I have been sitting around an awful lot especially compared to before. That's because walking is actually painful. And even a worm avoids pain.

I read that somewhere.

I also read online having a sedentary lifestyle leads to high blood pressure. 

When I told the doctor I think that's what it is, he said, "Yup. That sure could be it." 

So that settles it. (no pun) I must force myself to get up and go out no matter how painful.

But the new high blood pressure pills caused my lower legs and feet to swell to ridiculous proportions. Regular socks with elastic tops pinch into the skin and create amazingly cartoonish dents. Like pinching a water balloon. And the dents stay for days. And when that is happening it feels like a permanent deformity.

Apparently high blood pressure medicine has various side effects. This swelling was predicted. When the prediction manifested I was put on a different medication. But I must check back soon to keep track of liver function. That's most likely the reason why it wasn't prescribed to begin with.

If it's not one thing then it's another.

So now my new thing is go walk for my dinner. Instead of making it myself here at home from trusted ingredients. 

My legs and feet were still swollen. 

Here's the thing. Since being laid up my high arches collapsed. And my manner of walking adapted.

They used to be like this:

Rather normal. Except unusually high arches both top and bottom.

But then after years of not walking on them enough, not wearing shoes everyday, not getting enough exercise, they collapsed. Now they're more like duck feet. My stride doesn't go: heel, roll, toes, push, heel, roll, toes, push,  heel, roll, toes, push,  heel, roll, toes, push.

Instead they go: quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack. 

See, this whole thing is intolerable. 

Goddamnit.

My shoes will re-form my feet.

If they can flatten out like that, then they had just reshape. My mind is made up. I will wear proper shoes with builtin insoles. And if my feet don't like that then fuck 'em. 

But I had no idea it would be this painful.

OMG, it hurts. Each step: zap, zap, zap, zap, zap, zap.

This is the point where people give up. It's just too much pain to bear. 

But it doesn't happen immediately. I can go the distance of one block without feeling any pain at all.

I built up to that.

And tonight I built up to three blocks. 

I was determined to score dinner three blocks away.

And I made it there with very slight pain at the end.

Along the way I am forced to notice my neighborhood change in significant ways. 

Block 1, across the street a food truck set up, but his advertisements are painted on the other side of the truck. I have no idea what they were selling. I could adapt my new project and go only one block tonight. No. My mind is made up.

I pass a gaggle of young men collected at the corner, each has one of those scooters. They look like punks. Maybe they look like all American aff a leets. Maybe they look like boys next door. No. They look like punks. They are talking amongst themselves. Theirs is a closed-punk system.

"Hey. Those things look like fun." They stop talking to each other and regard me each separately. 

One of them said, "They are fun. But they can get a bit expensive." 

"What? I thought they are free."

      "No. You put your card in here and it charges you a dollar to unlock it. Then it's .15 a minute thereafter." 

"What? What a bummer. They should be free." 

I told them I would have so much fun with those things. But I can't even try it. My balance is shot. They laughed.

"It's not funny."

     "Sorry." 

A few steps away I see two street alcoholic type bums talking to each other. One breaks away and positions himself to intercept my trajectory. I hear the first guy still sitting on the concrete barrier say, "Leave him alone." As I step forward now directly in front of him and between them I say, "Hi." 

     "Hey. Can you gimme one of your canes?"

Now they're behind me. 

"No."

      "Come on. can't you give me just one?"

"No. I need them both or else I'll fall."  Now several steps behind me.

     "Is that yes or a no?"

"That's a HARD NO!" 

Now people are pouring out of a club. Half the sidewalk is fenced off to extend the patio of the club. Oddly, they're all men. All about thirty years old. Beards, uninteresting clothes, plain uninteresting shoes, smoking, drinking, talking to each other, music inside. It looks like a lively place. 

I say to a man with his elbows on the fence railing, "This looks like the place to be."

     "It is."

"Can a guy like me come in there, or would I be rejected?"

     "Sure. Come on in." 

It was too crowded. I couldn't get around in there even if I wanted to. But I don't. I know where I'm going. I'm going to the Market and get some fried chicken. My mission is planned.

A heavyset woman shorter than myself and dressed in plain brown/tan clothing comes up from behind me and matches my pace beside me. She asks me if I am okay. I say yes. She asks me, "Do you have M.S.? " 

"You're the second woman in a row to ask me that and guess correctly."

     "My brother has M.S., that's how I know." 

The first woman told me her mother had M.S. and that's how she spotted me. Both women related to me the stories of their relatives. How it affected them and the whole family. How they dealt with it and what happened to them. You can actually measure the extent of their empathy by the distance they're willing to walk at your agonizingly slow pace. Both women just wanted to walk with me. Escort me, and talk to me. Encourage me. 

I absolutely love the women around here. I must say they are quite incredible. 

I should mention the first woman the previous night saw me struggling in the gas station shop. The regular little shop was closed so I went further to buy a gallon of milk. That was the point where the sharp ankle pain became unbearable. She assigned herself the task of getting the milk from the farthest point in the store. So that I wouldn't have to walk the length of the store. Then she caught up with me outside and walked with me back home. 

This second woman walked the length of the block until I crossed the street to get to the Market. I enjoyed very much both of these women, although I could do a lot better with any other subject than M.S. But that's what they saw. And that's how we connected.

Now I'm at the Market. The place is more lively than I've seen it before. I didn't realize each window is a garage window. They're all lifted up so the inside/outside are blended. It is extremely noisy with voices. Tonight, this is where people bring dates. Every pair is man and woman. Clearly everyone is on a date. With few exceptions of various parties. 

I walked straight back to the Royal Rooster. Inside by myself was not very fun. People were into their own tight dating worlds. However the help were all unusually pleasant and charming and helpful.

"I'd like a chicken dinner."

     "We don't have chicken dinners. We serve chicken sandwiches." 

"Why does that plate have a sandwich and a thigh?"

     "They ordered that separately. It's a side."

"Oh. Okay. Fine. I'll have four of those."

Plus coleslaw plus two orange sodas.  I came prepared with containers to bring some food home.

Let's do some maths. 

The menu said each side thigh is $4.00.

That seems like a lot.

Four of those is $16.00 obviously.

The bill was $28.00

$28.00 for 4 chicken thighs, a small dish of coleslaw and two orange sodas.

Does that seem a bit high to you?

I ate one piece and brought home three, and half the coleslaw and one of the orange sodas.

So, two or three meals, it's not so bad. But I can get this same thing for about $6.00 elsewhere. 

I'll hasten to add, the chicken is very good. Much better than I've ever done myself at home. I have no idea how they do this. 

Yes I do. 

I just don't know the specifics of their precise techniques. 

It cannot be that difficult because the dudes making this crap look like total dopes. 

And I mean it.

I managed to get to the Market with very little pain but I could feel it beginning to mount. I knew I was in for trouble making my way home. I kept debating internally calling Uber or Lyft. But that would be a ride of only 3 blocks. Should I suffer the pain, or cop out? That was my internal debate the whole rest of the way home.

On the way out of the Market I encountered an incredibly gorgeous couple. Both tall, thin and gorgeous. Well dressed, well mannered, very pleasant. They looked like viking models.

"Do you guys know what you're going to have once inside?"

The woman said,  "Last time we stopped at Mother's Tongue."

"What's that?"

It took them both a moment to decide how to describe it.

     "It's Mediterranean style food. What did you have?"

"I went straight to the Something-Rooster for 4 chicken thighs for a million dollars." 

They thought my exaggerated honesty was funny and they both giggled. They know everything is expensive but not that expensive. 

Now how often do you encounter a man who makes you laugh in three seconds?

They liked me immediately.

I never laughed. And I never corrected my overestimation. I left it at one million dollars.

We had a fairly long chat for people passing by coming and going right there at the door. And there is little that's more fun than chatting it up with two outstandingly beautiful people. Truly beautiful. These two were models of perfection. I couldn't get over them, male and female perfection and both very pleasant. 

     "I think we'll try the million dollar chicken." 

The way home each step was measured, gauged for pain. There never was the shot of extreme pain, but each step held the potential and that caused me to go very slowly, much more slow than the usual slowness, so slow that I'm veritably stopped. It took a very very long time to get home. It might as well have been fifteen miles. That's what it felt like. An extreme hike.

My weight is over my canes. My neck is craned. My hands are welded into the handles and cramped shut around them. My entire body hurts from trying to avoid the sharp insane ankle pain.  

Past the little gay bar again, past the pleasant dyke door-person set up outside enjoying the weather, past the crowd gathered on the sidewalk that cause the place to appear like San Francisco except a little less dense. Past the club of all men, or mostly men, and mostly plain dressed and mostly bearded with mostly plain clothes and plainly shod all with standard unkempt haircuts. 

What kind of place is that anyway? I've never seen anything like it. I've never seen anything so crowded and so plain. 

Then right in front of the Torchy's, a well-known Texas taco chain, get the balls on these guys, a fat dude is setting up his food truck. What is the food served from the food truck? 

Tacos. 

He brings his taco truck directly in front of a busy taco place. 

My steady measured steps bring me half a block from home. The longest half a block on earth. This half a block is twenty miles long. So it seems by my internal pedometer. I cannot take a full stride. I take painful old man steps. Tim Conway old man steps. 

They normally go: 

step     step     step     step    step   step   

Now the go.

painsteppainsteppainsteppainsteppainstep.

But still a success. This was only 25% as bad as the first time. And trips less than three blocks are painless. 

We're getting somewhere. I do believe that my insteps are reforming. And my whole neighborhood has become a lot more interesting.