One of the benefits of where I used to live was the proximity to the forest preserves and the miles of paths that winded throughout. On days I wasn't working I could get out of the house just before daybreak, get a 20 mile bike ride in, and be home right around the time the rest of the house started to get up.There's a certain calmness that exists at that time of day. There's just not a whole bunch of activity other than the squirrels, birds, some deer, and the occasional skunk family, along with the handful of other cyclists and runners like me who waned to get their miles in before things got crowded. More often than not, we'd all acknowledge each other with a quiet wave, nod, or a quick "Good Morning", before each retreating back into our ride or walk or run. Usually the same familiar faces each time, weekend after weekend, paths crossing almost like clockwork over months and years.
Of all those interactions there is one person who will always stick in my mind. An older woman, who I'd always slow down to greet as I passed by. What struck me about her was not that she was out there most every day that I was, but that she proceeded down the paths with a distinct limp, which prevented her from moving with any speed at all. Whether due to accident or illness or some other factor I will never know - but I was always impressed with how she was out there, time after time, in all sorts of weather. I don't even know why she did it day after day. Was she doing it just to keep active? Doctors orders to keep moving with regularity? Was she fueled by an earlier life passion for running before something happened, and is now out there giving life's curve balls the finger?
In the times that I looked at the weather forecast and debated my motivation to get out, I'd sometimes think of her, knowing that even if I wasn't out on the trails, she was likely out there, without fail.
Of all those interactions there is one person who will always stick in my mind. An older woman, who I'd always slow down to greet as I passed by. What struck me about her was not that she was out there most every day that I was, but that she proceeded down the paths with a distinct limp, which prevented her from moving with any speed at all. Whether due to accident or illness or some other factor I will never know - but I was always impressed with how she was out there, time after time, in all sorts of weather. I don't even know why she did it day after day. Was she doing it just to keep active? Doctors orders to keep moving with regularity? Was she fueled by an earlier life passion for running before something happened, and is now out there giving life's curve balls the finger?
In the times that I looked at the weather forecast and debated my motivation to get out, I'd sometimes think of her, knowing that even if I wasn't out on the trails, she was likely out there, without fail.
These days I ride different roads, but even if I'm not on my bike I'm still reminded of her when I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Time to keep moving.