We first met at the north end of the G.T. Bray baseball field’s parking lot. It was still dark, around 6:30 this morning. We greeted each other as I ran by, probably both assuming that was “one and done.”

After I finished my loop of the south end of the softball fields, I passed you again less than 10 minutes later as we headed to the east entrance of the park. We didn’t speak.

Another 20 minutes had passed when I came upon you again, this time not too far south from our first passing. You had made the entire loop, and I was circling back to leave the park by the west entrance.

As I got closer to you, you moved to your right, sensing someone coming. I thought to myself, “Good for him for keeping a steady pace. It can’t be easy to convince yourself to do another loop when you’re walking a slow pace using a cane.”

As I ran by this third time, we both spoke. I started first.

“Have a good day!”

In almost the same moment you said, “You’re making me feel bad.”

In the moment, I knew what you meant. My quick reply was a feeble effort to encourage you. “You’re doing great!”

Unfortunately, I never got a good look at you. The first passing was in the dark; the other two, I came from behind. Other than you had on a yellow shirt and sporting a head bandana, all I could tell was you were out for an early morning walk through the park, moving at a respectable pace for someone depending on a cane for support.

Had I not been on a tight schedule, I would have stopped to learn more. Have you been injured recently? Did you have surgery and now in rehab? Is this a lifelong challenge for you or just a temporary season of healing? I don’t know. But let me tell you four things I do know.

During my hour-long run, I passed a total of seven other people. Everyone else was walking, with the exception of the lady we both passed sitting on the park bench by the soccer fields. You were one of seven folks up and at it this morning. Whatever it took for you to get up and to the park and on the trail, you outdid thousands of others. That’s something to feel good about.

As for those other walkers, no one else was reliant on a cane. You didn’t let your dependence stigmatize you. You didn’t allow it to be an excuse. You had the determination to do the best you could in your current situation. That’s something to feel good about.

Another reply to your comment that I said to myself on my final half mile was, “Dude. You’re aren’t six feed under. You are not in bed. You are up and moving.” I don’t know what it took for you to be moving that early, but that’s something to feel good about.

The final thing I know is something I’ve told myself many times during runs and especially during races. Whatever someone else is doing that I’m tempted to compare myself to-pace, distance, etc.-it isn’t about what they are doing. It’s about what I’m doing. I know what it took to get to the start line. I’ve got an idea what it’s going to take to cross the finish line. I’m going to stick to what I’m doing. Good on them for what they’re doing.

My guess is you did at least two loops around the park this morning. You started before the sun rose. You did it alone. And you got it done. You, walking with a cane, did more than the average well-bodied person will do today. That’s something to feel good about.

Based on how your started it, odds are the rest of your day was good. Here’s to seeing you in the park again on another good day!

Photo by david Griffiths on Unsplash