Whenever I run south along the Rock Creek Park Trail, I encounter an old man jogging. He wears gray sweats and shuffles silently forward. His back is hunched almost to the point that he looks like an "L". He is friendly and always smiles and waves. Naturally he is very slow...but he keeps at it; day after day. On my way back home, I will usually spot him again. Again we wave and exchange pleasantries. I wonder where he has been and what he has done. Was he once fast or did he just pick running up? I make up stories in my head about him. How he ran in Helsinki in '52 and stormed Anzio during WW2. Was he once a poet?
Like my friend on the trail, I am trying to keep the pace slow. This morning I ran down to a Walter Reed Annex known as Forest Glenn. I use to run the trails here all the time. Now I think they suck. The trails are better served for dog walking than for running, but beggars can't be choosers. I only clocked one mile (6:35) and it was evident that I wasn't running as easy as I'd like. Still, overall I felt just fine and covered just short of 10 miles.
I have not seen the otters again but I hope they come back.
The Hen known as Mitten has laid another egg and I expect a third egg by the time I get home (they squirt one out every 48 hours or so until there are 4 to 7 in the clutch). These eggs are a pain and it won't be another 2 weeks until they hatch. I also read last night that once they hatch I will need to feed them! Huh? Why me? Do the parents go on vacation? There is no way I want to wake up 3x a night to feed apple juice/water/milk formula to screaming cockatiels, but my "How to Be a Good Cockatiel Owner" handbook insists that it is my job. I will need to have a talk with Puddy et al and determine a proper course of action. Sigh.