It is six in the morning and I am running in circles around my
neighborhood. The front few streets are full of single family suburban homes with sidewalks
and satellite dishes. In the back it’s still mostly undeveloped vacant
lots with trees and grass and empty bottles.
I have run this circle enough that it has become as familiar
as the sun that will soon raise the temperature by ten degrees in as many
minutes. On this morning I have begun earlier than usual to avoid the impending
heat. It is just dark enough to make the unoccupied streets in the back of my neighborhood
vaguely foreboding.
Under the last few moments of street lights and summer moon I
notice a scattered parade of doodle bugs slowly making their way from one side of the
street to the other. Along a stretch of about a hundred yards I take care to
step over them in respect for their relatively epic journey.
I’ve seen them before—the doodle bugs. And I’ve often
contemplated their curious behavior as I jog morning after morning through the
quiet houses and the whisper of sprinkler heads.
What could be so great about
the other side of the street that would make them bother with such tedious
effort? Why not stay where they are? Is it so much better over there? Is it so
much worse where they came from? How could they even know? They’re just bugs.
Maybe some instinct tells them to strive for something better, or if not better,
something… different.
These thoughts enter and exit my brain as I wipe the
sweat and humidity from my forehead. I am thirsty and my left shin has started
to cramp but I’ve only got another mile and then I can quit for the day. I
listen to my breath and watch an SUV up the block backing out of the driveway.
I have been in training since April for a race set sometime
in the future. In reality I am only doing this because I have literally run
out of excuses. I’ve spent the better part of the last decade taking care of my
family, taking care of my parents, taking care of my career. And now, by some
twist of fate, I have avoided calamity long enough to find some spare time and
motivation to take care of myself.
It’s about a half a mile around the loop, and by the time I
return to the uncivilized part of the neighborhood the sun has risen. Around
the bend where I first spotted the doodle bugs I now see birds hopping back and forth
enjoying an easy feast. At this point I realize that my careful efforts to protect
the bugs has made me an unwitting, albeit compassionate, accomplice to their demise.
As I pass the scene my presence only bothers the birds
enough to fly a few feet away and then reconvene their morning meal behind me.
My pace slows slightly but not entirely as I absorb the moment of futility I
have just witnessed.
Next week I will add another mile to my run and I will
likely get up even earlier than I did today. I know I will see more bugs then. I look at my watch and calculate how much further I must
run until I can return to the comfort of home.
