Walked and Loaded

The least-talked about races at any international track and field meet is easily the speedwalking events. It’s even at the Olympics, where women will compete at the 20km level and the men at both the 20km and the 50km. For the longer race, that’s 31 miles of walking – as fast as you possibly can.

We here at YAB find racewalking to be incredibly silly. It’s a sport that hinders the true ability of the athlete. Can these athletically fit men and women go faster? Of course they can – it’s called running.

However, based on the rules of the sport – one foot must always be in contact with the ground and you must straighten your front leg at all times – prohibit the competitor from fully realizing their ability. And in this type of event, that ability is speed. It’s restrictor-plate racing for the human sect. Just imagine if we had our other sports come down to such an artificially employed standard. What if we had a version of baseball where you could use the bat for bunting? Or a football game where the QB’s throwing elbow must be touching his torso at all times? What if we made field hockey players only use one side of the stick?

Ok, bad example.

But racewalking in general gives a bad name to those of us in society who pride themselves on their ability to walk with a great deal of velocity – without looking like possessed ducks. I, for one, have quite the speedy gait. While my height may play a factor in this – long legs make for faster walkers – the reason I walk quickly is because I often view walking as wasted time. After all, it’s literally what you do to get from A to B. And if A was so interesting you probably stayed too long, and B is where you need to be next, that place in the middle should be cut down in any way possible to ensure more time can be spent with A and/or B.

There’s something to be said for a peaceful stroll in the great outdoors on a sunny day – I’m not swinging YAB’s Hammer at Mother Nature – it’s just in an office environment, those amblings are few and far between. (And because they are so far between, we’ve got to move quickly to get to the next one without being late.) Most of my walking is done as part of a daily routine, and I feel like I have a competitive edge over those other fools that take their time with their sauntering. As I silently breeze by colleagues to and from the parking garage, I take a little pride in being more efficient with my commute.

But what happens if you meet your match?

It’s not that I’m ignorant that other fastwalkers exist – it’s just that as a subculture of society, we see each other so infrequently. We know there are others who enjoy the same above-the-limit lifestyle, and are proud of our peers for adopting such quickness. However, when you realize that you’re in the company of your peers, things can get, well, competitive.

In my office building, there is a long (40yds. or so) hallway between the parking garage and the lobby. It’s wide enough that four or five people could walk side-by-side. As I entered this corridor this morning, I assumed my usual brisk pace and, like always, ended up passing a Blackberry-using exec who was too consumed in his e-mail to realize how glacially slow he was. I thought nothing of it; this sort of thing happens all the time. But after passing him, another man overtook me with a slightly quicker step. And before I knew it, I had been passed.

What the?

This presents an awkward situation. Do I make a footrace of it in an attempt to regain my honor, but in the process no doubt tipping him off to my intent? After all, if I pick UP speed, there will be too unusually speedy people racing to work. And since it’s impolite to run in an office – we’d look like – GASP – possessed racewalking ducks.

So I drafted behind him.

Falling into line, I can now enjoy walking quickly a few paces behind while avoiding his peripheral vision and keeping pace. This is what they do in NASCAR, folks. Not only has it made me more covert, there’s less drag to deal with and we both go faster by working together. Of course, one would think that dropping back would be admitting defeat. Perhaps.

Except out of respect for a fellow fastwalker, this guy opened the door at the end of the corridor, and then held it open for me to pass through. While nice of him, this highlighted a more important issue:

VICTORY IS MINE.