Why Do You Run?
It is a simple question from a seven year old that starts me on a life review. �Why do you run?� she asks when I stop for lemonade at her make-shift stand, the one sporting a sign that warms my heart: � lemonaid 10 cents.�
But I can’t answer her. For several seconds, I sip at the cup and smile at her sun-freckled nose.
“Why?� she asks again.
“It makes me feel good,� I reply, tossing the paper cup into the garbage pail, glad that I can slip away without saying more. Her question unsettles me though. The answer I have so glibly thrown at her does not seem to ring true.
Why DO I run?
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