Mall walking doesn’t have to mean quiet laps by retirees. In Portland, an all-ages crew decks out in retro spandex and sweatbands, blasts 1980s pop, and turns a Sunday morning stroll into a loud, colorful parade. The group, called Food Court 5000, meets weekly at the Lloyd Center and blends exercise, performance, and community into one fluorescent routine.
The project began when Krista Catwood started a new office job and realized she needed to build movement into her day. A former burlesque performer and occasional event producer, she wanted something social and silly enough to make her show up. The answer was mall walking — specifically at the Lloyd Center, a decades-old shopping complex that now has long empty corridors ideal for uninterrupted laps.
Portland’s Lloyd Center has become a patchwork of unconventional uses as traditional retail faded. Vacant spaces have hosted everything from a wilderness-skills camp to an electronic-music synth library and a light-saber storefront. Those open stretches gave Catwood the room to experiment: she grabbed portable speakers, a headset mic, and a handful of friends, then showed up in full 1980s workout gear. Leotards, neon windbreakers, headbands and big beats quickly became the unofficial uniform.
What started as a small gathering exploded. Within weeks more walkers joined, and on Food Court 5000’s first anniversary in March roughly 200 people showed up. On a typical morning, Catwood briefs the group on a few simple rules: exaggerate your arm pump (an almost theatrical racewalking motion that signals you’re part of the group), smile and wave at passersby, listen to your body and don’t leave anyone to walk alone. Then the playlist kicks in — think Erasure and Robert Palmer — and the march begins.
The route is both playful and disciplined. Walkers high-five shop doors, lower their voices when passing a chess club, and strike runway poses while descending the escalators, pulsing in time with the music. The circuit is a real workout: two loops of each of the mall’s three levels add up to about 3.5 miles.
Part of the group’s energy comes from its mix of ages and abilities. Food Court 5000 attracts people from roughly eight to eighty, including folks who use mobility devices and members with intellectual disabilities. Regulars praise the social lift and accessibility. One longtime participant described the meetups as a joyous space where they’ve met people they wouldn’t otherwise cross paths with. Another walker, now in his hometown mall memories, appreciates a dry place to exercise through Portland’s rainy winters.
Eighty-one-year-old Leslie Kelinson comes almost every week and often leads the pack. “It’s therapeutic,” she says — more energizing than a spa, she jokes. After their laps, the group reconvenes at the food court to chat and share snacks in a convivial wind-down that Catwood says often draws comparisons to a church coffee hour. If the group has a creed, it’s a simple one: center joy.
That joy faces an uncertain future at the Lloyd Center. After more than 65 years, the mall is set to close in August. Catwood and others are appealing the decision, and in the meantime are scouting new, accessible locations to keep the walk alive. Whatever happens to the building, the people and the neon will keep marching — Food Court 5000 is less tied to a single mall than to a bright idea: moving together, loudly and hilariously, whatever the weather.