Published by Ed Rehkopf at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Ed Rehkopf
In the spring of 1985, I began to run the bike path between Prospect and Lemay. It was a pleasant run especially with the unfolding season. Each day there was something new to see and smell as the grasses, plants, and trees along the riverbed blossomed and leafed. My lunch time runs were as renewing to the spirit as they were exercising to the body.
As the days passed, I settled comfortably into a routine and usually hit the trail about twelve-fifteen. Within a couple of weeks I had a passing acquaintance with the other running regulars. We didn't know each other's names but day after day, creatures of habit that we were, we met along the same stretch of the trail.
Knowing absolutely nothing about the lives of these people, my imagination had full license to invent their stories. The tall, fit man his late thirties with closely-cropped hair and Colorado running shorts was obviously a Marine recruiter. The older, stoop shouldered fellow with the glasses who ran so slowly and painfully was a college professor fighting his way back from open heart surgery and the short woman with cropped blond hair riding so hard on her twelve-speed was training for the Olympics. Each day we passed and each day we nodded or waved and each day I elaborated their lives with further assumptions.