There are three types of people that “leg it”: walkers,
joggers, and runners. Walkers come in all varieties. My mother is of the
serious variety. Joggers are recognized by the spring in their step. In not so
subtle contrasts, runners are measured by how they take flight. My dad has been
a runner all of his life.
Ever curious about my dad’s routine of running at the beach
after work, I was in the sixth grade when I asked if I could run with him. The
way that my dad tells the story is that we drove down to the beach and planned
on running four miles on the sand; my dad was expecting to cut the route short, thinking that I would wear out early. My dad describes this event, with a slight smile on
his face, that to his surprise, I dashed to the lead with him in-tow. Voluntarily
running a few steps behind, he remembers thinking that I would fall off the pace quickly in
the soft sand. After about half way through the run, seeing that I continued to
lead, he hurried to run evenly with me. Now to his amazement, I surged to keep
him behind. Nearing the end of the run, together we locked into a tug-of-war as we
traded pushing the pace. With a wide grin on his face, my dad gives his
conclusion to the story: “That is when I knew the girl could run.”
