Dedication

Dedication

It's winter. Late February. 

I'm in my warm home, next door to the local high school. I'm overlooking the back of the school where there's an oval track surrounding the football field. The field and bleachers are covered with the recent fallen snow.

All is empty and quiet.

With one exception.

Through the trees separating me and the school, I see a man jogging the track. Alone. Shortly it will be sundown. He is dressed in smooth running pants, a brightly colored windbreaker, and a woolen cap. He is too old to be a student - probably in his forties.

He is close enough as he passes by that I can see his breath as he exhales. His gaze is fixed ahead and his complexion is red. It is cold. Maybe in the mid 20s.

It is also windy. But he doesn't slow down or seem to be affected by it in any way.

He is just running. And nothing is stopping him.

Not the cold.

Not the wind.

Not the loneliness of his solitude on a winter's day.

That is dedication.

And I wonder.

What is stopping me?

And how far I might go if nothing could?

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