Wednesday, June 29, 2011

My Stranger Friend



I drive by this man everyday on my way to work. Running. He's always running. And he's always in the same black socks. Black shoes. Short, short running shorts. I do not know him, Old Man Runner. We've never met and never will. He doesn't even know I exist. But I know him. I have come to think of him as my friend. I smile when I drive by, say "good morning" from inside my car. I look forward to seeing him everyday. When he's not there, I worry. Is he sick? Is he injured? What's wrong? And then I see him again the next day and all is right in the world again.

I'm not exactly sure why I've become so attached to him. He looks to be in his late seventies. And has to have been a runner all his life. Strong legs like his don't happen later in life. Or easily for that matter. They are built from many, many years of hard work and dedication. Maybe that's it? Maybe it's because he's dedicated so much of his life to something and stuck with it. It's not a fad for him. It's not just a reason to stay healthy. When you run as much as Old Man Runner runs, it has to be because you genuinely love it. There's no other explanation.


And yes, of course I realize there actually could be a million explanations. I have no real idea of what I am talking about. I could have everything completely wrong. And I will never really know. He obviously lives by my office - a full hour from my home - so "running" into him is never going to happen. But I'm OK with that. I like the back story I've made up for my Old Man Runner. It's probably way better than the truth anyway.


(And I also realize that as soon as I took a picture while driving slowly behind him moved me right over from fascination to stalker)

1 comment:

  1. HA!!! THat last paragraph made me laugh right out loud!

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