Sunday morning runs
Every Sunday morning I run with my 81 (almost 82) year old friend. He is waiting for me and Jack the dog every Sunday - rain, wind, or snow. About a block away from his house, Jack runs to his door and waits for the inevitable treat. I am greeted with a big hug. My friend and I have become necessary to each other on these Sunday mornings. I know I would stay in bed if I knew he was not waiting for me. My friend is an inspiration to me and it is sad that his grandchildren do not see how cool he is and what depth he has. I wish they would take advantage of his good health and his good stories and spend more time with him. His new year's resolution is to not feel sorry for himself so much - although I never see evidence of self pity during our runs. I feel lucky to hear his stories every Sunday about his childhood in Montana, and his life before he gave up drinking and became a runner in his 50's. His wife said to him one day "When are you going to grow up and be a man...