My dad always says that “a day that you exercise in the morning is a day that you exercise.”
So when the baby, who slept badly last night because she had a fever, woke up at six a.m. I decided to take her running.
I look like I’m walking in slow motion when I’m running. I’m so slow that overweight men on benches laugh at me and say, “Can you turn up the speed volume?” when I “run” by.
But, true to my motto that anything worth doing is worth doing half-assed, Leone and I were out pounding the pavement at 6:30 this morning.
After limping along for half an hour, we turned right on Pennsylvania and headed back towards the house. My neighbor was shaking a shoe at a doe and her fawn in his yard. (We have a lot of deer around here. Think nuisance. Think oversized rodents. Think last year the renters left the gate open and the deer decimated our entire vegetable garden.)
“You need to throw the shoe to make them go away,” I suggested.
“I do that sometimes,” he said, tying his laces.
“Slow running. We used to run. Now we walk. We’ve been doing this together for 22 years.” Keith gestured towards his friend, who lives down the street, who was walking up the hill towards us.
“I met you when you were working on your yard a little while ago, but I don’t remember your name.”
“Jim,” the neighbor laughed. “That wasn’t a little while ago. Let’s see … I did that project in 2005.”
How old am I that five years ago counts as recently and seems like yesterday? Though sometimes a day (or a night with a feverish baby) can seem agonizingly long, the time is flying by.
Leone turned eight months old on July 4th. As Hesperus and I walked to the parade, Hesperus stopped and kissed the baby.
“Happy eight months birthday Baby,” she murmured.
Happy Birthday Baby Leone. Now quit growing up so fast.