Running backwards

I was sitting in a coffee shop, enjoying a grilled cheese sandwich. It was an early Sunday morning, so the traffic outside was light, and the only people walking about were old couples and joggers. I sat at the counter by the window and watched them all go by.

Off in the distance, two blocks down, there was a walkway over the street. I watched as a women in a black tracksuit and white baseball cap jogging backwards towards the stairs. She ascended them backwards, and continued across backwards. Of course on the bridge I could only make out the hat, with her ponytail sticking out the back, bobbing up and down. It bothered me quite a bit. So much so that I inhaled the rest of my breakfast and went down the street after her.

A woman jogging backwards isn't much faster than a man walking briskly forwards. I caught up with her quickly, but was just as quickly intimidated: she never once looked over her shoulder to see where she was going. She stared directly at me. She simply knew the streets perfectly, dodging hydrants, trees, and bus stops. Pedestrians quickly got out of her way. A dog that had been happily sitting and wagging it's tail stilled itself and watched her run by, head cocked and ear raised in utter confusion.

Still she stared me straight in the eye. After two more blocks, she reached for a water bottle strapped to her waist, turned around, and took off down the street away from me, water streaming from either side of her face. I stopped, out of breath. I looked up and down the street. Cars passed by. Old couples held hands as they always had. Joggers continued on their merry way.

I took one deep breath and calmed my pulse. I looked to the way the woman had gone off. I turned around, and started walking backwards in the same direction.