C L Richardson

Nowhere to Hide

It was Fall in Seattle. I gazed out my window, chugging down the last ounces of my coffee, breathing in and out, as I mentally prepared for my morning run. I walked out my door, shoes in hand, as is my morning routine. As I sat on my door sill, I beamed with pride. I had worked all summer on creating an oasis on this porch. My rocking chairs stained a dark Kona colored swayed ever so slightly in the wind. My hanging planters, pouring over with plants, were hard to get started but were now in full bloom. I took all this in, as I laced one shoe and then the other, popped my Air Pods in my ears, slowly stood and stretched. This warmup was important because I hated running but found that if I eased my mind and body in it became somewhat enjoyable. I trotted down the 3 short steps to my walkway before bouncing up and down warming my legs up and flailing my arms about. I wonder what the neighbors thought of my morning routine. Because I know they are watching. When you live in a neighborhood full of seniors and inquisitive children, you knew everyone was watching the single lady in the little yellow house. Especially Mr. Charles, who I wave at as I begin my journey to the right down my walkway. He edges his lawn every morning around the same time. And every morning I greet him with a quick wave and go about my run. I run half of mile down my street and turn right, where I run a full two miles before having to turn again. This two-mile stretch is my favorite. The streets are lined with trees that remind me of an ocean sunset. The colors of the leaves are perfect shades of crimson, buttery yellows and pumpkin. I run, taking deep breaths, inhaling the colors of Fall, getting lost in the beauty and the two miles is behind me in no time. I turn the corner run a little further and make a right for the hardest part of the run. Two miles, entirely uphill. I have to gather everything in me to make it. During this time, I make a mental check list of my day, mentally adding and scratching things off my to do list. Today is laundry day. I will go home, strip off my running clothes, throw them in the laundry. Ah! I need laundry detergent. As I recall my run on yesterday, throwing my clothes into the washing machine and reaching for an empty detergent container. I immediately add “go grocery shopping to the to do list”. These thoughts have distracted me as I climb the two miles and turn onto my street for the last quarter mile of my run. As I round the corner, I see Ms. Andrews out walking Mr. Andrews, her feisty and very cute yorkie. Yes, she named her dog Mr. Andrews. She vigorously waves me down, which is unusual. As I get closer to her, I pop one air pod out still jogging in place.