My summers off allow me to run in the morning when everything seems nicer and fresher. I usually jog the same route through the same streets, and I encounter some of the same people along the way. I wave and smile at the older gentleman who hollers “nice pace, maam!” as I pass by. I sometimes stop and pet two of my favorite neighborhood cats, the portly, demanding tuxedo named Lady H and the blue-eyed, equally demanding cat that I call Alice. Dog walkers nod or say hi as our paths cross, but I’m sad to say that a lot of people don’t acknowledge my presence. That’s okay, because I like to think that I’m invisible when I run. Except to cars-that’s why I wear a neon-orange shirt! This morning I greeted one of my favorite fellow morning exercisers, the petite lady who wears long pants, a turtleneck, a wool jacket, a hat, and hot-pink gloves. Everyday. Today is August 2, and the temperature was probably 61-62 degrees when we were out. Granted, I’m wearing long sleeves for protection against the sun but not the cold. However, I understand her attire. I was chilled for the first five years that I lived here. Moving from Houston, I thought any temperature under 75º was cold. While other people were wearing shorts and sandals, I wore sweatshirts and Uggs. Gradually, I warmed up. Maybe she will too, but I would miss her hot-pink gloves.