He laced up his shoes first the left then the right. When he stands his knees cry. He takes one agonizing step after the other. Right foot left foot. First is the kitchen, the greasy bacon, the coffee they call him. Right foot left foot. The staircase looks 3 times steeper than the previous mourning. Right foot left foot. Each step feels heavier and heavier. Finally he reaches his destination, front door, timidly. Outside the warmup stretches are tremendously discomforting, but he can’t turn back now. He reaches the edge of the drive way, starts his watch, and lunges forward beginning his mourning jog.