I'm heading home near the end of this morning's 2-hour runwalk that included an all-out 1-mile spurt when a squeaky little voice catches my ear.
"Hey Runner Man, I have a cape just like yours."
"Oh hey there. Whaddaya mean ... (and that's when I remember that I have my fleece pullover tied around my neck like, well, a cape.)
"Merry Christmas," I say.
"Thanks, but that was yesterday," she reminds.
"Hey, what's your name, anyway?"
"Sara, and I'm 6 years old."
"So is that Sara with an H, or no H?"
"It's just Sara. My mom and dad say that you're crazy. They see you running all the time and say that you dress funny and never wear the right pants."
"Well, your mom and dad are probably right."
"When I grow up, I wanna be a firefighter. Or a ballerina. Or maybe something else, and for sure I wanna be something where you get to wear a cape."
"All of those are awesome, Sara. Be all those things."
"Bye, Runner Man. Keep wearing your cape."
I'll do that, Just Sara. I'll do that for sure.