Snippet 5
Grace was amazing. Most mornings she was on the high school track walking her four miles. She engaged all the early walkers, knew some by name and others perhaps only by face. She was a petite woman nearly five feet in height, slim, always friendly. Her short cropped hair was blond, covering grey. She was not a fashion plate like some of the younger jogging women in their labeled workout clothes. Shorts, sleeveless tops and worn sneakers were her favorite summer gear. Her face always glistened with perspiration. When she showed up, the quarter-mile track seemed less expansive, almost intimate because she greeted the dozen or so morning walkers as she passed them by. One hot summer day she suggested I pick up my pace. “You need to do more to be healthy,” she commented as she whizzed by. Grace could easily keep up with a slow jogger.
The seasons play with the walkers as the sun moves along its curved eastern route making the north end of the track hotter in summer and colder in winter. As we come to that location a warm summer breeze never cools but make us feel as if we’re standing in front of the exhaust from an idling car. The sun penetrates our clothing like a hot iron pressing on us. As we come to the turn in winter, a biting wind finds its way inside any slight opening of a jacket or hat. Fall and spring are the best times to be there. The crispness of fall energizes our steps and spring fills our lungs with the fresh smell of new earth.
Most days I found Grace to be an inspiration. I guessed her age to be in her sixties. She reminded me of possibility, long life and enduring energy. If a spirit could energize a location, she was it, the energizer battery. I knew nothing of her personal life; we were not friends. She was like a fellow commuter who took the same bus most mornings. We had never introduced ourselves. I had heard others calling her by name. I never told her mine.
Other days when I was exceptionally tired and dragged myself round and round to complete my laps, I fantasized about sticking my foot out as she passed. It was mostly on the days she pumped her arms and wore a broad grin, gliding by with a touch of swagger. Even though we were the same height and our steps were similar in length, her speed left me behind every time. Sometimes she carried weights. Sometimes she walked one lap backwards. Often I felt like I was the tortoise and she the hare. On an up note, Grace admitted to another walker one day that she never denied herself a jelly donut. Walking gave her the shameless pleasure to enjoy each bite. How refreshing was her admission.
My routine was generally three times a week. It was a month before I realized that our paths were no longer crossing. She was probably walking at another time. Not unusual. I always changed my days or times depending on my new semester teaching schedule. One day I overheard two women mention her name. They were shaking their heads. Boldly, I entered their conversation to discover that Grace had had a stroke. Her speech was impaired and the left side of her body was paralyzed. Her absence no longer a mystery, Grace had become a medical contradiction.
She had walked full throttle ahead into a life of limitations. Her choice of exercise seemed reasonable, reminding me those strategies and methods to maintain a healthy life can never veil a universal truth: we are imperfect beings, resilient yet fragile.