Case in point:
I was walking along a scenic trail not far from where I live, enjoying the bright blue sky, the greenery, the
fresh air, birdsongs, and generally just feeling grateful to be alive, healthy,
and strong, when a man jogged past me. Well, it was more of a shuffle than a jog. Before he passed me,
while he was still behind me, I could hear his feet scraping along the ground
with each step, almost as though the effort to fully lift his feet was too much.
I got the sense that he was struggling. It sounded
like he was struggling. And when he did
pass me, I got a look, and I continued looking for a while when he was in front
of me, until he turned the bend and was out of sight. Indeed, it looked like he was struggling.
The man was very thin, and
was sporting two knee supports. (The ones that look like thick, rubbery ACE
bandages.) He had the physique of the semi-emaciated marathoner: not a lot of
muscle mass, skin hanging loosely, pale pallor to his skin. His face struck me
almost as gray, in fact. He looked
like he had—in the words of that great phrase—“been rode hard and put away wet.”
As he passed me, several
ugly, judgmental, closed-minded thoughts crossed my mind:







