At home, I mostly see the same people when I run - the die hard runners who forgo sleep in the early mornings to do what we love to do.
But one of the many incredible benefits of living by the beach in the summertime for me is that I can run at any time of day. I can run at six am if I like. Or noon. Or six pm. I'm not limited to the pre-dawn hours, racing to get out and get the miles done before the heat of the day sets in.
This lets me see so many new and different people as I run, from the Navy boys without their shirts, to the triathletes with their tri-kits and fuel belts, to the weekend warriors and the mommas like myself.
But every year, there has been one staple. One little tanned raisin of a runner that I have always been able to set my watch by. A man I have christened the running man, and every year for ten years or more, I look for him.
There he is! The running man!
A few years back, the littles began looking for him, too.
momo, he lives our block! There he goes - the running man!
This year, however, no matter how much we have looked, we have yet to see him. Did he move? Is he injured in some way? Did he stop running? And although I don't want to go there, could he be... sick?
After so many years, he is like an old friend and I cannot help but wonder about him, worry about him. My eyes scan the runners, hoping for a glimpse, hoping he is safe, sending prayers to man I have never met but whose impact on me will last my lifetime.
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