Cross Bones Style

Yesterday, I walked all over town in an effort to stimulate what's left of my metabolism. When I got to the park, I looked everywhere but there were few other visitors. I got a screwy idea: maybe I could sort of kind of possibly try running a few feet. Since I retired from gymnastics twenty-six years ago, I've been able to run maybe three steps before I hear popping sounds in my ankles that sound like small caliber weapons fire, and I stop running. What the hell, I decided, it's an occasion.

So, I leaned forward and started running. I love the sensations: the freedom, the temporary and almost imperceptable escapes from gravity. After the first four or five steps I didn't hear the usual pop! pop! so I ran on the paved path past a dumpster, then past another, then past a garbage can, then toward the weeds. Then I stopped because I still felt good and I'd run about a hundred yards farther than I thought I ever would again. I was thrilled! I giggled like an idiot for the next half-hour. Then I saw a duck swimming around in a puddle on the road and turned back toward town because I had never seen a duck swimming in a puddle on the road.

I've got another screwy idea: maybe I could sort of kind of possibly try running again. Just a few feet. Not very far. Still - yesterday I didn't know I could run at all. As life lessons go, this one arrives right between the eyes.