When I run in the morning, however, I often encounter what must be a uniquely American phenomenon: the jogging stroller.
Usually, these are pushed by very physically fit young mothers, and loaded with what must be about 75 pounds of children. They always encounter me winded, sweating, lumbering oafishly up some tiny hill, whereupon the occupants, who have all of 11 years between them, laugh wildly and point at me.
I have headphones in, but I can be certain they're saying "Mom, why is that fat man going so slow?"
Mom of course doesn't know, because she's lapped me twice already, and is thinking about what she's going to cook for breakfast.
This is just one more of the startling paradoxes about America that convince me that a place, any place, is not nearly so easily understood as it might seem. America is, statistically speaking, a country possessed of quite a few large folks. It is starting to become a defining feature of this country, if British television is to be believed. And yet here, right in front of me at 7:15 any given morning, is a svelte woman not only out for a run, but out for a run while pushing her family up a mountain. It's simply amazing. So I'm reminded, yet again, not to believe everything I read, and to give people the benefit of the doubt wherever possible.
