Received a few double-takes from passers by this morning on my run. Can’t figure out why. Whatcha lookin at, grouchy man gripping the steering wheel of a beat up red “Christian Bros” something or rather company van with the ladder hanging off the side?
Yeah, I might look a tad off-kilter, with my flashlight, neon pink parka, skiwear hat and gloves trodding along the debris-strewn road shoulder (sidewalks? in my dreams, sigh) in 23 degree temps. But no more off kilter than your ladder that came perilously close to scraping my pink parka sleeve.
Later, all thawed out, I got to thinking. And writing. (I think and write a lot – thank you, fellow loving bloggees for continuing to read 🙂
It’s just cool to stand out. Take the photo above, for example. NY Magazine thinks it’s pretty damn cool, and features a page each month dedicated solely to a slightly off-kilter denizen sporting some impossible to ignore duds. Not at all the ‘look this season’, or “must-have pastel peg-legged jeans’ a la spring season of yore. Just their own creative expression devoid of any and all convention.
Back to my run.
Got me to thinking about a guy I used to see running all the time growing up in my hometown of Seattle. Perhaps the name “Christian Bros” on the side of the obnoxious van I encountered this morning made me think of him. You see, this runner looked just like Jesus. Only a little off-kilter.
Jesus with long, flowing locks, holey sweats (never lycra), tall tube socks with stripes, minimalist shoes (long before they were in vogue) and a frame that could seriously use a few Denny’s grand slam breakfasts.
But I loved this guy. He had a funky gait that resembled Charlie Chapman, an infectious smile and wave of hand to anyone (and that was pretty much EVERYONE) who glanced his way from behind the wheel, and the craziest choice of running routes. In a city (Seattle) blessed with trails, parks and groomed neighborhood sidewalks he chose the crappiest commercial streets with nary a pedestrian in sight. More like taverns, donut dives and auto shops. But he ran. And ran. And at least 30 % of every time I had to drive on a crappy commercial street somewhere in Seattle to get from A to B, Jesus was there. Running alongside.
So thank you, Jesus running guy, for reminding me that no van, even with “Christian” painted on the side, can make me feel one bit out of place. Or out of step.
Keep on runnin’.