The Furies and Worries of a Fast Walker


You can't see me, but I hate you. You'll hear me infuriatingly exhaling behind you. You've done nothing wrong, yet you're annoying the shit out of me.

Once there's a clear path, you'll feel a breeze of disdain blow past you. I'll shoot you an undeserved glare, and be on my way to my very non-urgent watering hole gathering.

My name is Alex and I'm a fast walker. Your slow-walking, four-person family stretched across the sidewalk are in my way, and it's making me become an asshole because I can't force myself to stroll at a normal human being pace.

I'm not alone in suffering from, what science calls, Pleasegetthefuckoutofmyway-anemia, and I'm here to explain our plight to the world.

As an aggressive ambler, it's very easy for people to misconstrue you for an asshole. When we are sitting down at the bar, chatting over a pint, you will see that we are perfectly lovely people. However, it's the journey to that bar where we might lose you as a fan. Apparently, angrily tailgating people on the sidewalk isn't exactly perfect social etiquette, and it is not our intention to make you feel as though you are in the way. Even though you kinda are.

Most truculent trotters come from the metropolitan Northeast. We're a species who are on the move nonstop. Sometimes we're trekking across the city to get to a very important business meeting, other times we are just trying to get out of Satan's Asshole Penn Station as fast as possible. This pace becomes embedded in our DNA. We cannot turn it off. It is a problem.

"How was your trip to the Grand Canyon?"
"Oh, I don't know, walked right by it."

Sure, fast-walkers tend to be better looking than most and are generally smarter (don't fact-check this), but it's tough to truly enjoy life when you're too busy stomping past all the sites the world has to offer. This is something that we have to live with, so the least you could do is GET THE HELL OFF THE SIDEWA- ... sorry -- just politely step off the 7th Avenue sidewalk to take your pictures of the Naked Cowboy, so we can get home fast enough to microwave a hot dog and watch a guy who trained two years for American Ninja Warrior wash-out on the first obstacle.

Yeah, we might seem a little mean as we breathe down your neck, but just know that we don't mean it. We are people coping with the burden of feverishly sweating in our sports jacket while sitting in a fancy restaurant because we power-walked there for no reason.

We've unfairly been tagged as rude, arrogant individuals. That is not who we are. We're just folks dealing with a disease that society (and, despite my numerous letters, the CDC) doesn't recognize.

So the next time you feel yourself stalked by a hurried hiker, find it in your heart to show them compassion.

And get the fuck out of the way.