Finding Sam (Featured)

Chapter 2 - The Strand

I started running six months after Rosie died. It was one of the ways I wanted to honor her memory - taking charge of one thing that I had some control over - my health. With Michael safely tucked into his jogging stroller, it was something I could do without having to go to the gym. I lived in the South Bay after all, and my house was less than a mile from the Strand, where I could run, walk, or ride my bike.

The Strand was a 22-mile bike path that stretched from Will Rogers State Beach to Torrance Beach. It was the perfect place to get away from it all - without having to get away. It was four blocks away from my little house in Hermosa Beach, and I loved to listen to the ocean while Michael pointed to the houses we'd run past.

In the beginning, I was so out of shape that all I could do was walk. It would take me a few months before I'd finally get to ease myself into a steady run after a 10-minute brisk walk to warm up. Michael would yell for me to run faster while I prayed I wouldn't pass out in front of the beautiful houses that lined the east side of the Strand. There were days when all I could do was walk, but it was better than nothing. I felt good, and that was what mattered.

My running form could use some help, though. I knew I was leaning forward too much as I ran, my shoulders up to my ears, and every night, shoulders hurt. Even my legs and feet hurt. I was doing something wrong, but I couldn't place it. But as long as I was running farther and farther up along the Strand without stopping, I ignored the discomfort.

Sometimes I wondered if running, or, at least, walking, would have made a difference for Rosie. Would she still be alive if we'd spent more time walking together instead of sitting at home with the kids, or watching some reality TV show all night?

"Your handle bar's too high," said a voice next to me as I pulled on the brake handle on Michael's stroller and stopped.

"What?" I took off my headphones as a man stopped next to me, though now, he was running in place. He was tall, with reddish-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. I was struck by how blue they were against the backdrop of the sky behind him.

He grinned. "Your handle bar's too high," he said again, pointing to the handle bar of Michael's stroller. "That's why your shoulders are up to your ears, and you're forced to lean forward when you run, which puts a lot of pressure on your hips and your knees."

"Thanks," I said, embarrassed. He had just mentioned all my aches and pains in one go, complete with a very faint accent. Not Scottish. Irish then, I thought, although I had no idea. All I knew was, he didn't speak like a lot of people I knew.

"Do you feel any tightness in your shoulders after every run?" He asked.

I nodded, unable to think of saying anything coherent. Michael was fast asleep, and I was grateful that the sudden stop hadn't awoken him. I started to run again, hoping that the man would move on. I figured I'd fix the handlebar after he was gone.

But the man wasn't done. He jogged alongside me, towering right next to me though he had to slow down his pace to keep up with me and my short legs.

"I don't mean to bother you, but if you lowered your handlebar, then you wouldn't be straining your shoulders as you are right now."

I wanted to tell him to go away, my embarrassment growing with every second. Finally, I stopped running and looked underneath the handle bar to see if there was a lever to lower it. I'd purchased it off Craigslist because I couldn't afford a brand new one. I could have gone online to search for its instruction manual, but it had never been high on my priority list.

"May I?" He asked. "My sister has one just like this, and she has the same problem since I forget to set it back to her height every time I use it."