It was early morning in my country neighborhood; the day had dawned, but it was raining heavily, and in the gloom it seemed as if the morning had returned to night.
We were travelling a familiar route, with hills and valleys; curving roads and heavy overhang of trees...
Suddenly... were we seeing motion on the road? What was it? We slowed almost to a stop.
It was a middle-aged man, dressed in dark clothing, with no reflective properties upon his person. He was jogging out on the roadway itself, for the rough roadside edges and the deepness of the country ditches in this stretch of road allow little other space to walk or run.
This runner never lifted his head toward us; he did not seem the least aware that we were there... Or that, had we not somehow spotted him in the blinding rain and darkness, we would have hit him.
Close as our vehicle was to him, he was concentrating only on his breathing and his running. And, for whatever reason, he had chosen the highway instead of the well-paved trails nearby that had been built and dedicated by the Metroparks for the safety of runners, walkers, bicyclists...
Without a doubt, this man was running to retain his youth and health.
In the darkness of that rainy morning, he came close to losing both.