It was Wednesday, and I was walking to the Rec Center. As part of my short list of New Year’s Resolutions, I’ve resolved to go to the City Recreation Center to shed Christmas weight and return to my customary svelte appearance.

The Rec center is about a mile away, Lisa and I measured it many years ago. For a period of several years, I had the distinct pleasure of Lisa’s company as we walked to the Rec Center. Our delightful conversations are a high point in my life.

Leaving the reveries of an old man, I return to Wednesday’s story, walking down to encourage my body to lighten up.

A constant walker, I find myself lost in thought much of the time. So it was on Wednesday, thinking of something when I heard an aircraft flying low. Turning around, I saw a lone F-16 flying at minimum altitude. They are beautiful machines, sleek and powerful, slicing through the thin air as a hot knife through butter. I watched it disappear in the distance, heading south. Pressing on, I returned to my thoughts, narrowly avoiding a patch of glacial ice left from a recent storm.

Almost immediately, I was interrupted again by noise from above. Looking back, walking backwards, avoiding ice again, I was treated to the sight of a beautiful, low-flying F-18. Why an F-18? Who knows? The F-16 no doubt belongs to an Air Guard unit from Buckley AFB. But the F-18 is a Navy plane.

Mulling the mystery, now walking through the parking lot of the Rec Center, I noticed the nine green containers for the City’s recycle program. They always seem to be full, yet there is always an enormous city truck emptying the containers.

Seeing the driver, I approached him and asked how often they empty the containers. “On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Except during the holidays, we empty them every day. Lots of boxes and wrapping paper at that time. What’s more,” he continued, “we have six other sites in the city that we have to empty three times a week or we get complaints”. I told him how wonderful I thought that was, not that he gets complaints, but that the people took recycling so seriously. You see, the seven times nine public recycling containers are in addition to the containers issued to each homeowner to fill with recyclables. Hooray for us!

Arriving at the Rec Center, I changed, went through my routine on the various machines and returned to the locker room. As I was changing into my street clothes, I could hear a couple of old men, talking loud as old men do. I paused to listen:

“I used to do some boxing, both in high school and in the Navy,” the first man declared.
“Why’dya quit?” his friend inquired, on cue, playing the straight man.
“I got tired of having my hands stepped on!” the first replied, the cackling blending into a now cascading shower.

On my way back home, I always walk fast to work up a sweat. It’s uphill, nothing like Trail Ridge Road, but fairly steep climbing nevertheless. So I take the opportunity to remind my heart it’s there for a purpose, so get beating!

I’m thumping along, working up a sweat, when I notice the my heart is thumping in concert with a rhythm from the sky. Looking up, (I have to remember to look up more), three large Apache-style army helicopters are drumming by. In loose formation, they are passing when one accelerates between the other two, leaving them slightly behind. Off they go, flying north.

I love to see them and am envious of the pilot's opportunity to fly such machines. All the time remembering a helicopter ride I took to shoot some video for an assignment.

And so my little life bumbles on, walking, seeing things, enjoying it all.