I’ll tell you everything I know about the man.
He was probably in his mid-50s. Maybe 5’3 or 5’4. Wore a black track suit. Had a mound of curly black hair on top of his head.
He was across the street from me. And he was moving forward in this slow, small jog. Step after step after step. Runners and strollers and just about everyone zipped past him. Their velocity leaving him far behind in their wake.
But the man was unstoppable. He kept moving forward with those slow, small steps of his.
And the thing was, he was doing it with a walker.
He could’ve been recovering from a car accident. Or had bad knees from his time in the army. Or inherited his mother’s arthritic hips. But whatever the reason, there he was on the street with his track suit and his jogging and his walker.
So here’s something else I know about the man: he’s got fortitude.
I’d always thought fortitude was such a big word, an epic word, for battles and playoffs. But sometimes, fortitude’s just moving forward slow, small step after slow, small step.
Which is a way of generating your own unstoppable velocity.