There’s a man and his son jogging through our neighborhood this evening. Right now they are on their second pass by our house. There’s quite a contrast between the two.
The father is slugging along, his feet thumping, pounding, beating the pavement. His arms are pulled up and he is wearing some sort of pedometer. The sweat is soaked through his shirt and trickling down around his visor. His red face makes me hot.
The son is light of foot and free as a bird. His loose fitting jersey is blowing in the breeze he’s creating as he trots along. He wears no special equipment – I think he isn’t even wearing socks with his tennis shoes. There’s no wet hair plastered to his dry head.
Honestly, they make me think of a duck plugging along with a little bug flying around its head. But they both have smiles on their faces, and they’re in this together, cheering each other on.
Go friends, go!