Running Along

This morning at approximately 7:30 we will begin seeing, cyclists first, then runners scurrying through Woodbridge, my neighborhood in Detroit. They will be frantically attempting to escape some keenly felt yet unseen and rather undefined danger, this being Detroit and the bulk of them being suburbanites.

All right, that's not fair, this morning anyway. It's the annual Detroit Free Press Marathon. It's running down Avery, right in front of my house, for the third straight year.

It is quite the compliment that Woodbridge is thought of so highly that it's become an integral part of the run. Mom thoroughly enjoyed it the first year it passed in 2021, although I don't think she understood what was happening. But that's okay, Mom. I'm not sure I get the point of it either. Running simply for the fun of it? That's borderline psychotic.

It is odd to see Avery barren of cars; they clear the streets to give the participants more room. I'll spend several hours watching from the front porch swing, hot pumpkin spice coffee in hand, and try to hang out until the final stragglers pass sometime around Noon. But with the cold I'm fighting I may surrender early and burrow under the eight blankets on my bed, and simply listen to the folks as they trod past. It's supposed to be cold and wet this morning and I can't seem to warm up enough this weekend, drat the timing. But there's always next year, and I'll be happy enough with what I do see. Sometimes it is just the sense of event which is entertaining.