My schedule is such that I’m out of the house rather inconsistently and also, some weeks, rather infrequently as well. I say this to give a little context to how strange it is that almost invariably, no matter which part of town I’m in, no matter which time it is that I’m in it, I see one of two people on the sidewalk that runs alongside part of the route I’ve chosen that day. One of them is a woman, likely in her 70s, who runs, gracefully and at a much faster pace than the labourious one I tend to move at while running, dressed in a white long-sleeved t-shirt and bright orange running shorts. The other is a man, probably in his 70s as well, bearded and blue-sweatpantsed, who walks, quickly and not at all gracefully, swinging his arms with such force that his entire torso twists with every step he takes. Collectively they must have covered a great deal of ground over the years and I wonder if maybe they’re at home right now, blogging about a red car that always seems to drive by while they’re out walking or running, and wondering why the brown-haired girl who drives it is always peering at them as she passes.
I’m not sure why I bring this up, except to say that I find it strange, and also wonderfully comforting, the remarkable regularity with which they are out and about and also the remarkable regularity with which I get to watch their routine from a distance, and if ever a few weeks pass where I haven’t seen either the man or the woman, I may start to worry.