They happen all the time. The poet Mary Oliver shares, “Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

This morning while on the trails with Watson, a young male speedster dressed in black tights and neon orange shorts whizzed passed me and commented, “Nice jacket.” In a flash, he was gone. 

Curious, I looked down to see “Boston Marathon 2002” stamped on my left chest. Fourteen years. Really? Boston. Really? I never think about the logo on that cold-weather gear. My hamstrings crick-creaked up a grassy mound, my drudging lead legs muttering that these flat feet will never venture up Heartbreak Hill again. I stooped to pick up Watson’s latest load and was relieved for the breather.  

Hopefully, the next time I see that whipper snapper young man, he’ll be wearing a Boston jacket. It’ll last him a long, long time.