The Passing of Time

I ran for about an hour this morning. Maybe I should have run for 47 minutes, after all, that would be a way to mark the milestone that I pass today. Another year has been completed in the story of my life. Alas, I didn't do that.

I did take a moment to check the time as I passed the sundial outside the observatory at the local junior college. It showed 8:20, but was an hour off, the function of our use of daylight time.

I read a trio of stories about the 70th anniversary of John Woodruff's Olympic victory in the 800 meters. Woodruff is 91 years old, lives in Arizona, has had both his legs amputated. He's the only living American Olympic medalist from the Berlin Games. His victory, along with those of Jesse Owens, was a slap in the face of the theories of Aryan superiority espoused by Hitler and the Nazis. Woodruff's race was remarkable, finding himself boxed in, Woodruff stopped, allowed the field to pass, then took off, passing the entire field with the 10-foot stride that earned him the nickname "Long John" Woodruff. Some of the stories pointed out Woodruff's level of comfort with his now legless life. I think he sets an example of grace we'd all do well to follow.