Yesterday afternoon, at about mile 4 of a 5 mile run, as the seawall rippled in the heat, a young lady, possibly a vision, ran toward me.  Lovely as she was, all pink shorts & blond hair, what I noticed most was the bounce in her step.  It’s August, I don’t have a bounce in my step.  I haven’t had a bounce in my step for months.  The most generous observer would not compare me to a giselle.  They might compare me to a mortally wounded rhinoceros.  It is a generous observer that calls what I’m doing running.  A less charitable one might call it lumbering.  I lurch forward, a sweaty dripping mess, hoping I don’t die & that if I do die that I won't poop myself.  I read that once, that when people die they poop themselves.  It’s bothered me ever since.  I have a beautiful son & a lovely wife, I would hate to leave them, would hate to cause them pain, I love my life, but what I worry about as I stumble down the seawall is leaving a corpse w/ a load in its pants.  Now I can also worry that I am a shallow person.  Thankfully, I don’t die & I don’t poop myself.  My wounds were not mortal after all.  The giselle bounded off into the sunset, the rino made it to his truck.  August will end, Fall will come, & maybe, if I keep running, I will get to enjoy this life a little longer.