The Souls You Meet

You meet people who forget you. You forget people you meet. But sometimes you meet those people you can’t forget.


I used to see an older man running with his dog. Actually the man shuffled more than he ran, but I saw him almost every morning while on my way to work, or on my way home from work after a long night shift. I recognized him from television years ago...he was a news reporter on one of the local TV channels who has long since retired. His dog seemed old and grey and struggled a little to keep up to his owner’s shuffle, but they ran together regardless of the season or the weather. I often wondered about this man and his old canine companion. Did the man have a wife at home or did he live alone? How long had he been running with his dog? How far did he run? How old was his dog? Where did he live? What possessed him to run every single day?


One day I saw the man running without his dog and I presumed that the old dog was ill, or had died. The man ran alone for quite some time after that and I noticed that as he ran he just stared at his feet and his shuffle seemed even slower than it was when he ran with the old dog in tow. Then one morning I saw the man running with a new dog; the dog wasn’t a puppy but seemed young and fit. The old man’s familiar shuffle almost had a bounce to it and he held his head high as the new dog pranced happily alongside him. Whenever I saw this man and his dog I had the urge to wave, or honk my horn, or to shout out a “good morning” to him. He had become so familiar to me that I felt I knew him.


I no longer work those early mornings, or night shifts, and very rarely see the man and his dog any more except on the odd occasion that I might have an early errand to make in town.


Now, some years later, I am the runner and during the last few months I have assembled quite a collection of colorful characters I encounter regularly during my runs. Many are now so familiar to me as to become an extension of my neighborhood.


First there is the man I see always standing in the lighted window in the handsome house down the street. Is he washing dishes or making a pot of coffee? From my running point of view on the road, I can only see his silhouette, but if it’s light enough out and he can see me, he will wave earnestly as I run by and suddenly in the dim light of the early morning, I no longer feel alone.


Then there is the young woman who walks a rather overweight Golden Retriever, very slowly. She tilts her head to one side as we pass and says good morning with an almost sympathetic smile. I just know that silently she is lamenting to herself, “poor thing, exerting herself in that exhausting manner, why doesn't she just get a big dog and walk nice and slow like me?”.


I always look forward to seeing the friendly landscaping crew working on the lot at the bottom of a very steep hill. They have transformed a weedy, grassy area over the last few months into a stunning garden of Eden. Usually I’m stooped over, almost on all fours at this point in my run, as the hill is incredibly steep there, but everyone waves and sends a mellow nod my way. Soon the project will be completed and except for the sound of the birds rejoicing in the beauty of their new garden, this part of my run will be silent once again.


At the top of this steep hill I often see a lady through the stained-glass windows of her lovely home-office working on her computer. She has a very beautiful grafted twisted tree in her lush front garden which intrigues me. The tree has such a unique shape and almost looks like a giant bird’s nest in the winter. I cannot help but stare at this tree each and every time I run by. The woman eyed me suspiciously at first, but now she barely glances up from her computer at my familiar neon-yellow jacket flitting by. I guess I am no longer a suspicious figure in the rain. Then a funny thing happened; I was reading a gardening book which was full of hand-drawn illustrations and as I flicked through the pages I saw the object of my curiosity: the twisted tree. The illustration was uncanny in its similarity to my twisted tree and its surrounding garden. After a little investigation, I discovered I have a published author and famous landscape architect in my running neighborhood. Oh, and the mystery tree? It’s a Camperdown Elm.


Often I see a dedicated couple walking their elderly Golden Retriever with obvious mobility problems. The dog walks tentatively on it’s two front feet while the owners support its rear end in a special harness. This undertaking appears particularly arduous to me, but obviously is a labor of love for the couple. As we pass and mutter “good morning” to each other, I smile in silent admiration at the couple’s dedication to their family pet. That’s puppy love for you.


Then there is the black Labrador dog who actually runs himself while his owner escorts him from the driver’s seat of his black executive BMW. At first I thought this was due to inclement weather in the winter months, but it’s now late spring and the dog still runs alone with the owner driving slowly beside him, even on a warm sunny day like today. The dog is amazingly well-behaved and never strays from his task at hand. He runs all the way down to the beach and back up again and always with a large doggy grin on his face.  He’s probably a very fit dog which is more than I can say about the owner.


Occasionally I see a man walking a dog who often shouts as I go by “will you run for me too”? The people and dogs in my neighborhood always elicit a smile from me and make me feel welcome. I like the people I meet when I run and my neighborhood is getting bigger and bigger all the time.


Not all my encounters have been great, but the not-so-great ones have thankfully been few and far between.


The old man and his dog still linger in my thoughts. I haven’t seen him for quite a while. I hope he’s still running with his faithful companion by his side. And the thought strikes me that maybe he is the reason I find running in the morning so precious.