Stubborn walker reigns!

Sprint burst upon us last Sunday so I took up outside running again.  I ran from the condo to Ballston Station and back (about 4 miles).  However, in all my gracefulness I took a header on the sidewalk about a  half mile into the run.  As I always am like to do, "I picked myself up, dusted myself off and started out all over again."  I finished the run, but came home with a bloodly knee, concrete scrapped hands and sore shoulders from catching myself in the the fall. John admonished me for my foolishness, poured hydrogenperoxide over the wounds all and insisted on a bandaid here and there. 

This Sunday, promising to be careful, I took off again and completed the run without a single stumble, much less a fall.  However, somehow the neon green toy key chain holding our door keys had  slipped out of my sweat shirt pocket somewhere along the way.

"Drats," I mumbled to myself as I phoned up John from the building entrance to let me in after my run. 
"Lost keys?" he groaned as he opened the front door. 
"Yes,"  I moaned with some sheepishness, "It somehow came out of my pocket and I didn't hear it."
"We're going to go find it!" he declared with mannly authority.  He bolted to the bedroom to retrieve his walking shoes.  I reminded him that it could be anywhere between home and Ballston. "Won't that be too long walk for you?  There was no identification on it.  Why worry?  We'll just pay for another fob."

The man was unconsolable.  He was determined.  He was bullheaded.  He grabbed his cane, told me to tie his shoes, and off we loped.  In the end, although we examined ever foot of my 4 mile run, we did not find the keys.  We did have a fine pizza place about half way through the walk though and John did make it home--barely.  His thigh muscles were all worn out.  My sruborn hero is now snoring pleasantly on the couch -- taking  the afternoon nap he wanted in the first place.