Tuesday Slice: Leaps and bounds and plods

We've had a touch of warm weather lately, and they're back.  I see them from my kitchen window, while I'm driving through my neighborhood and that of the school in which I work.  Most are alone, though I've noticed pairs and packs of them.  They all have one thing in common--their graceful, light-as-air bounding.  Whether they move quickly as Olympian contenders, or more slowly enjoying the scenery, their feet seem to barely touch the gravelly dirt of the hike-and-bike or the solid gray squares of sidewalk. Their breathing, if labored at all, is measured and strong.  Studious or smiling, their running looks effortless, as if unseen hands are holding their bodies aloft, allowing their feet to gently touch the ground with each stride.

I have never felt that lightness of being while engaged in exercise.  Instead of hands holding me up, I feel the earth pulling me to its core.  Sometimes the crunch of gravel from my heavy footsteps is sensory overload, and I leave the trails to plod along sidewalks.  Increasing the speed to a slow jog, my bones are jarred with each pounding step, and my breath is ragged.  Indoors, attempting to replicate the springing steps of aerobics instructors on workout videos has flattened the pile on my living room carpet; when I try to run in place, kicking my feet back as they do, I feel like I'm about to land on my face.  Better to march along low impact style and remain upright.

In water, however, gravity loses its hold on these dinosaur bones of mine.  I am an excellent floater!  Swimming season cannot come soon enough.