Yelling at Strangers
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I consider myself a fit guy. I run three to four times a week, play soccer twice a week, and sprinkle a little yoga in when I can. Recently, the weather started to change in Denver. Spring flowers were breaking through the stale-winter ground. I decided to drop my running pants in favor of my running short-shorts, the ones that reveal my pasty-winterized thighs. I was ready to run in Denver’s fine spring weather. I was feeling good. So good, in fact, that I decided to take my three-year old daughter with me in my running stroller. Excited, she hopped in and strapped herself down. The run started out well enough. That is, until I remembered that my daughter was no longer a cute little infant. Around the eight minute mark, I started breathing a little harder than normal. Around the ten minute mark, I was ready to turn around. She was too heavy. As I was turning, my daughter looked at me and smiled, “Faster, Daddy!” I would not be shamed. I would not let spring be wasted. I pushed on. She cried out again, “Faster, Daddy!” “I’m trying my best, Honey,” I said between gulping breaths. “Daddy,” she pointed, “look at the girl. Catch her!” My daughter was pointing towards a woman pushing her child fifty yards ahead. “Okay,” I thought, “I can do this.” I churned my legs. “Faster!” I controlled my breathing. “Faster!” I focused. “Daddy, she’s getting away.” “I’m trying,” I whispered. “That is it,” my daughter said, “hey Lady, get out of our way! Get out!” I implored my Daughter to quit yelling, but she wouldn’t. “My Daddy’s trying to catch you! Get out!” she screamed. The woman turned her head before quickly pulling away. “Oh,” my daughter moaned, “she got away, Daddy.” “I know, Sweetie. Daddy’s sorry. Let’s go home.” We walked the rest of the way.