The Running Woman

Most mornings I see her, jogging past my window.  She’s going from somewhere, to somewhere else but I doubt I’ll ever know where those two places are, the origin and the destination.  All I know is, she jogs.  She isn’t dressed as most joggers are, in shorts, sweats and lycra tops with heart monitoring armband or ipod ear buds.  She wears jeans, shirt and overcoat with a backpack on her back.  She looks like she’s going to work, or shopping or the  bus stop and is permanently a little late.

She intrigues me.  I wonder about her; where she’s come from and where she’s headed and more importantly, why she’s dressed like that for jogging.  She’s not fat so it can’t be that she’s embarrassed to be seen in jogging clothes and wants everyone who might see her to think she’s running for a bus.  She has a normal figure, a figure I’d be happy to have and if I did, I’d wear lycra and not care who saw me jogging.

Maybe she’s just crazy, a nutjob and this is the way her particular madness expresses itself.  If so, it’s a good and healthy madness.

For the first time, yesterday I saw her walking.  The same jeans, the same overcoat and backpack but walking this time.  Maybe she’s got a new alarm clock.  Maybe she’s got new meds. Now she intrigues me even more; why is she just walking?

She inspires me to write a character around her for one of my short stories.

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