When I was a kid, my mom moved me from a sad home in Chicago to another sad home in Broad Ripple.
Broad Ripple is a neighborhood on the north
side of Indianapolis, where my Gramma lived. The scenery changed, but the
sadness followed my mom.
I started jogging as a way to escape
whatever was hanging over my mom and filling the house. At first, I probably
ran because I was looking for trouble. Before long though, those miles became
time alone. Time to breathe, think and try to sort things out.
I ran the streets between Kessler Boulevard
and Broad Ripple Avenue. Some days, I circled the old cinder track at Bishop Chatard
High School or Broad Ripple High School, kicking up dust beneath my shoes.
I was in pretty good shape for a Husky
Kid.
But every run eventually ended, and I
always had to return to the sadness.
Over
the past couple of months, I’ve noticed a tattooed man jogging up and down my
street here in Riverside. I would guess he is somewhere between thirty-eight
and forty-five. His arms, shoulders and legs are covered with ink.
When I first noticed him in early spring, he
was rounder and moving slowly. He didn’t look comfortable. Every step seemed
like work.
During the past few weeks, though, he has
started looking more angular, more pointed. His pace has picked up. He is no
Olympic runner, but he is no longer simply pounding the pavement. He is
beginning to glide as he jogs through the Divorced Dad District.
I call him Tattoo Runner.
Usually, when I see Tattoo Runner, I am
sitting on my ass with something in my mouth.
“Man,” I’ll say to myself, “there
goes Tattoo Runner again.”
Why do I keep seeing this guy and why the
fuck does he keep jogging past my home?
On Sunday morning, I spotted him coming down
my street while I was climbing into Betty the Green Blazer to go get the
newspaper.
Betty and I hurried up the block and caught
Tattoo Runner at the corner. I pulled over, rolled down the window and yelled,
“Hey, buddy! Hold up for a second.”
I got out of Betty, and Tattoo Runner
removed his earbuds.
I told him that I had been watching him run
past my house for months. I told him how inspiring it had been to witness his
progress. I said it was obvious that he had lost weight, got stronger and was
moving better.
He smiled.
He seemed genuinely touched that somebody
had noticed. He thanked me, put his earbuds back in and rumbled off down the
street.
Betty and I continued to the newsstand and
then stopped at the European bakery on Cermak. I bought a Tribune and a Danish,
because apparently witnessing inspiration burns calories.
By the time we returned home, Tattoo Runner
had completed another lap and was passing in front of my balcony again.
I
carried my newspaper and Danish upstairs. By the time I reached my third-floor
flat, I was out of breath. I set the Tribune on the counter, looked at the Danish
and threw it in the trash.
Then I got on Amazon and ordered a pair of
running shoes and some compression socks.
I’m tired of carrying groceries up three
flights of stairs and feeling like an old man by the time I put them on the
kitchen counter.
I would also like to see more than the tip
when I take my morning piss.
So I’m following Tattoo Runner.
I’m going to get out there and crack some
sidewalks in Riverside.
I’m
still going to be a Husky Kid. That is probably part of my permanent structure,
but maybe I can become a smaller, stronger and slightly less winded Husky Kid. Maybe I can put away the groceries without
needing a grabber and an oxygen tank.
I have
things left to do.
Someday, I want to sing “Moon River” to an
embarrassed adult Hazel at her wedding reception. I want to watch her roll her
eyes and tell me to stop while secretly hoping I never do.
And when that day comes, perhaps I’ll
have Tattoo Runner to thank for giving me the push I needed.
God gives us Tattoo Runners for a
reason.
Sometimes inspiration doesn’t arrive with
trumpets, thunder or a voice from above. Sometimes it jogs slowly past your
house wearing earbuds, covered in tattoos and carrying a few extra pounds.
Today is the first day of August and the
beginning of the rest of this life.
Maybe,
because of Tattoo Runner, I’ll even be able to run a few sharp pass patterns at
the Turkey Bowl this year.
Have a great month, Chalkheads.
…And tonight, let’s all get together
and look at the moon.
