The Woman with the bright pink shoes

He spied her from a distance, she in her racerback vest and floral shorts, whose colour kept changing with the season, but always in her bright pink shoes. She was a woman, not a girl, not a lady, but a woman, the best word to describe her. Tall, slender and athletic, with hair that was always tied in ponytail, a dusky beauty. Her racerback vest showed off her toned back, arms and shoulders, her slender waist and those washboard abs. But her most distinct feature was her legs that seemed to go on for miles and miles, only to end in those bright pink shoes. 

Unperturbed by the stares that she usually got from passerby, some envious, others lecherous, she went about with her warm up. Surely there’s a God up there, he thought, cause only a God could create  someone so beautiful. He continued to stare in her direction, not lustily, just admiring God’s creation.

His greyish hair was already matted with sweat and there were beads his forehead. He was already warmed up and ready to go, from the distance he had already covered. He could either make haste and join her, or take his time and take in the moment. 

He remembered those initial days when they just passed each other, while on their respective morning runs, She a young beautiful woman, running at her pace, he an old man, with more silver hair than he could count, running at a pace than most men of his age (that’s if they ever ran), in his bright neon tees. Soon they began to acknowledge each other with a smile and a wave and the occasional thumbs up. Now as and when possible they ran together, two running souls. He never asked her name or what she did, nor did she seem interested in finding out more about him. For him she would always  be the Woman with the bright Pink Shoes.

“Your pace or mine?” She said, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Surprise me!” He said but secretly hoping she ran at his pace as that would be comfortable for him, something that he would never acknowledge, call it the male bravado.

So off they went, running in the light drizzle. He knew he would be the envy of those who saw them, some even passing judgement without truly knowing. But he didn’t care, people may never understand that they were running souls, enjoying each other’s company, nothing more, nothing else.

Not wanting to slow her down, he tried his best to keep pace with her. Occasionally she realised this and slowed down to a comfortable pace but then again gradually increase her  pace again. Not a single word was spoken between them, they only spoke with each other in gesture.

He was grateful for her company, for running with a person of his age when she could have been easily be running at a much faster pace, more suitable to someone of her capability. He was grateful for the drizzle cause it hid the tears that welled in his eyes. He didn’t want her to see it but secretly knew that she understood how grateful he was to her.

And just like that their run came to an end after they had covered their set distance. After cooling down and some stretches, they said their goodbyes and greetings for the day they went off to their mundane life. He stood there, looking in her direction, as those long slender legs of the woman in the bright pink shoes disappeared into the the day.