On my drive into work, I pass Wilson Morgan Park, which has a
1.5-mile cinder path around its periphery. This time of year, when the
weather is most cooperative, quite a few people tend to be out walking
the path in the mornings before the day warms up.
Over
the past several days, I've been noticing that, almost without
exception, they all look very intently miserable. They are walking with
a purpose, arms churning mechanically, eyes fixed either on some
distant horizon or at their own feet (rarely anywhere in between),
scowls firmly affixed on their faces. Truth be told, I can't help but
be jealous; I would infinitely rather be out running in the cool
sixty-something degree temps than on my way to the
office.
However,
after thinking on this recurring observation, I can't help but wonder
if, when we're out running, do we look like this? Do I look like this?
If someone saw us out running, would they assume that we hated what we
were doing?
...joke's on them, I suppose...
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