Thread: Walking
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Old 03-09-01, 02:53 PM
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Cambronne
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Last year, I took my latest ladyfriend home to see my part of the world.

She is from Atlanta, GA, land of motorised gridlock, where NOBODY walks. (And if you're running, it's likely that you have a stolen TV or VCR on your shoulder.)
I asked her once, why, if all of the roads in Fulton County are paved, does everyone drive 'round in high-stepping, ready-for-central-Africa 4X4 SUVs? She explained that mall parking was every bit as challenging as running the gauntlet in a herd of rhinos.

So, after a hellish plane flight, a depressing RER ride through the "banlieux difficiles," and a bit of eating & sleeping at my brother's digs, we hit the streets to see the sights... and right away, my girl noticed that A) all of the women in Paris have great legs, and B) slim is definitely "in." She wondered why... I said, "you'll soon see."

Ten hours later, after the obligatory three block powerwalk, run the Metro stairs, stand in the train, run some more stairs, and another three block powerwalk... repeat as necessary... my ladyfriend's musculature had the consistency of week old spaghetti.

"Does nobody drive, here?" she innocently asked. "No," I replied. "See, Paris has some three million residents, and perhaps ten available parking spaces. So, one buys a car, drives 'round until he finds a space, and parks it.
If he has any sense, he leaves it there until he either sells it or a pre-teen gang comes by and torches it."

(Several days later, she stood at the base of Montmartre, looked up the looooong staircase to Sacre Coeur... and said "F**k no. I'll buy a postcard instead.")

"Paris," I told her, "is the best fitness club in the world."

During our stay, she became quite proficient at spotting American tourists. They were the fat ones.
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