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By Newsweek Editors
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First, it's about health, this obsession to mall-walk at 6 a.m. come rain or shine. For the middle-aged and for us seniors in the sere and yellow leaf, the goal is 10,000 steps a day to control our weight and pump up our heart rates.
"Walkers, start your pedometers" might be the command as security unlocks the door and we scrabble into the mall like rats tracking the reek of Asiago cheese to Panera bread.
But we're not here to eat. We begin by stretching; we push those pillars, bending one knee at a time, reaching for the atrium and touching our toes (or ankles, knees, whatever is reachable).
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As we stretch, we kvetch--moaning about backaches, arthritic shoulders or knees. Sometimes this therapy cures the pain, sometimes not. Whatever, we stride out.
Coffee urns aren't perking when we arrive, but we know they will be by the time we swing back around. Apron-clad workers scurry throughout the dimly lit food court preparing for the onslaught of the caffeine-deprived. This is not, after all, the Pepsi generation. For Depression and World War II babies, coffee, hot and strong, is the carrot at the end of the stick. Whether a walker's goal is measured in steps or laps, his reward is measured out in coffee spoons.
Even before the coffee fills our bladders, bathrooms are a must. Not yet ready for Depends (at least, no one will admit it) but too out of shape for the 100-yard dash, we want restrooms close and clean. The mall's motion-sensitive toilets betray our primitive roots: "What's this newfangled gadget?" "Well, I'll be darned, I remember when..."
Coffee and restrooms scarcely rival the strongest magnet for mall walkers--fellowship. A stroll around the block, even with Fido, is a solitary march. Mall walkers form a community. Working folk chalk off laps before slouching in front of computers all day. Toddlers giddy with the pace of their strollers munch cookies smuggled into little hands by dozens of "grandparents" while moms glower and fret about cavities.
The mall family includes people of all races and in all stages of health. The ablest prance up the steps of a motionless escalator. The weak lean on canes or walkers. The young, confident that they'll escape infirmity, smirk at the old. The aged, who know better, rage against the dying of the light. The common goal is to keep moving.
As we walk, we talk, in clusters of two or three. Some of us wear gang colors: yellow on Monday, blue on Tuesday, sage green on Wednesday, black on Thursday. No, it's not ESP, we tell newcomers. We just "feel the love."
If a regular walker is absent, we go on alert. If he's not back soon, we activate the grapevine: "Is Frank on vacation? At his condo in Florida? Sick? What's his last name? What's his phone number?" Get-well cards circulate, and everyone adds a "We miss you."
Every orderly community has rules. Although mall security is at hand, walkers self-police rudeness like elbow jabbing, fist pumping and failure to yield the right of way at turns. The pace ranges from snail to hare; the direction is counterclockwise. One "Wrong Way" Corrigan gripes he'd rather walk clockwise to see faces instead of backsides. Point well taken, but protocol must be observed.
One unwritten rule: window shopping is OK, but keep moving. Titter at thongs in Victoria's Secret or cluck over Abercrombie & Fitch's miniskirts, but keep those pedometers clicking.
Dress ranges from workout suits to preppy shorts and polos to skirts for the prim. Some women strap themselves into shoulder bags or saddle up with fanny packs. Most jam keys and a comb into jean pockets, and clip cell phones and radios onto belts. Cell phones ring: "Bring home juice and bread"; "Don't forget your dentist appointment, Mom." Messages go out: "Let the dog out before you go to school."
Finally it's coffee time--time to compare mileage, scan the day's headlines, excoriate local and world scoundrels. It's OK to tell a blue story. This crowd's been around the block as well as the mall. We watch "Sex and the City." We're hip.
As we sip coffee at food-court tables, other walkers drop by, sit a spell, shoot the breeze. Privacy is not an option. If someone has a birthday, Krispy Kremes materialize.
After coffee, it's more walking for the dedicated, jobs for some, Cheerios and bananas for the retired. Cancer survivors like me take special pride in the morning's workout. We've planted one foot in front of the other in spite of headaches, fatigue, chemo brain and just plain laziness. We've done it.
High on endorphins and caffeine, at 8 a.m. or so we re-enter the "real" world determined to show up tomorrow, "the good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise." We'll be here. We're tougher than we look.
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