I had my big toenail removed today, and I’ve been hobbling around as a result. For someone closing in on five years of consecutive 10,000-step days, it’s very frustrating. But I’m stubborn, and I will get those steps in even if it… well, I won’t go that far…

I’ve seen the old man walking the neighborhood cul-de-sac many times since moving to this house – it was usually during the day when I had to come home at lunch to pick up something I forgot, or I had a doctor’s appointment.

And I realize when I call someone an “old man” that could mean a lot of things – particularly since I’ve reached the age where I’m what I used to consider an “old man.” But this guy is in his 90’s if he’s a day – so, old by just about anyone’s metric.

He’ll pause in front of one house or another to catch his breath or just to rest before continuing on his way around the cul-de-sac. I have no idea where he lives – that’s the paradox of suburban living, isn’t it? We’re crammed shoulder to shoulder but we rarely know the person three doors down unless we share a connection like kids or dogs or you’re some kind of type-A social butterfly – weirdo.

While I’ve seen him innumerable times, I never really watched him until recently.

I had foot surgery – I’ll spare you the details because I’m positive you don’t want the gory details there. But suffice it to say, I was on doctor-ordered work-from-home for a couple weeks with limited mobility. I’ll say this: I love working from home until I have no choice but to work from home. Then the walls start to close in on me after a while.

At some point after about ten in the morning I disconnect my laptop from the big monitor, put it in the bag attached to my crutches and hobble out to the front porch where I put my leg up on a sun-bleached low plastic table while I take in the fresh-ish air and try to be productive.

That was when I had my first chance to really watch the old guy doing his circuit. I was on a conference call when the movement caught my eye. He paused in front of the house with the pugs for a few moments (while the dogs went crazy inside, of course) before continuing past the Joneses next door and then past my house. He gave a little wave as he noticed me on the porch and I waved back while I sounded engaged in the meeting. I noticed he wore one of those old-fashioned pedometers on the pocket of his black pants as he continued by.

An indeterminate time later after I absolutely didn’t watch a YouTube video summary of last night’s Warriors game between emails, motion on the street caught my eye again. It was the old man again. “Damn,” I thought, “he’s really getting after it!” He passed the pug house (pugs went crazy again) and paused this time at the fire hydrant between the Joneses and my house. He looked down at his boxy pedometer, grimaced, then started moving again. Again, the little wave as he noticed me on the porch. I waved back before starting the ordeal that is hobbling back inside to my desk.

The next morning it was porch time and here comes the old man on his circuit again. Passed the crazed pugs again, the Joneses, little wave to me on his way by before pausing in front of the Lewises on the other side of my house. I clocked him as he worked his way back down the other side of the street while I fought with a stupid PowerPoint deck.

Right when I was about to hunt down who specifically at Microsoft was responsible for creating PowerPoint and planning an elaborate torture session for that individual in recompense for the pain and suffering I was facing that morning, I saw the old man coming back around again. Paused in front of the pugs (that’s got to be annoying inside…), little wave as he passed me, and he kept going. With a huff, I closed the laptop and went back inside and made lunch.

After-lunch sleepies threatened to consume me at my desk, so I hobbled outside to the front for the rare afternoon porch session. Imagine my surprise when I clocked the old guy making another circuit! He was pausing at the hydrant between the Joneses and my place, grimaced at his pedometer and started forward again.

This man was now officially my kindred spirit.

I closed my laptop, managed to get to my feet and crutched down the two steps to the driveway just as the old man started past my house.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

“Good afternoon,” I replied. “Hey, I’ve been stuck at home for the last few days with… this,” I gestured to my wrapped foot. “I’ve been seeing you doing your walks and… I’ve got to tell you, you’re really inspirational.”

“Bah,” he said with a wave. “I’m no inspiration…”

“No, seriously. What is this? I’ve seen you make at least three circuits of the cul-de-sac today. That’s phenomenal!”

He stopped and looked at me surprised. “Oh? Have I?”

My heart fell immediately and now fear gripped my heart – was I misunderstanding this guy? Is he, like, sundowning… in the middle of the day? Noon-downing? You know what I mean – is someone wondering where he is while he’s endlessly wandering the neighborhood.

“Umm… yeah…” I tried to assess the situation. “How many circuits do you think you’ve done?”

“Oh… I didn’t know I made a complete circuit yet…” he said, befuddlement clear on his face.

My eyes roamed his wrists for some sort of identification – maybe I could contact his caretaker? “I’m terrible at knowing who lives where,” I said. “Where is your place?”

“Oh,” he brightened. “I’m the yellow house at the other end of the cul-de-sac.” He gestured towards the other end of our street… which dead ended into a small park. There were no yellow houses down there.

“By the park?” I asked.

“Park? No…” he looked at me quizzically. “Anyway, my grandson challenged me to get ten thousand steps.” He gestured towards the boxy pedometer clipped to his pocket.

“Where are you at, step-wise?”

“Oh, that’s the thing…” He furrowed his brow as he unclipped the pedometer and stared at the numbers. “I’m at 9,990 right now – should be just ten more steps! But it doesn’t seem to be going up…” He clipped it back to his pocket. “I’ll get it, though,” he said enthusiastically. “You have a good day, now, okay?” And he started back down the cul-de-sac.

I stared after him as he kept moving past the Lewis place.

“Jim…” the male voice behind me made me jump and then stub my bad foot and hobble around in a circle on one crutch.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow! Don’t scare me like that, Alan!” I hadn’t noticed Alan Jones come out of his house and come up behind me.

“You… uh… you talked to him?”

“The old guy? Yeah. I’m really impressed with him. He’s really getting his steps.”

“He’s dead, Jim,” Alan said with absolute seriousness.

I laughed nervously, “What… what are you talking about?” I turned and saw the old man making his way past the house at the very end of the cul-de-sac with, like, three dilapidated pickups parked in front.

“He used to live at the end of the other side of the street.”

“Yeah, he was saying…”

Alan nodded. “They demolished his place about a decade ago and put in that park.”

I gaped at Alan. I turned to make sure the old man hadn’t vanished. Sure enough, he was making his way back down the opposite side of the street after pausing in front of the house with the overgrown yard and the permanent 12-foot skeleton. “But… no, he’s getting his steps…”

Alan nodded. “His grandson?”

“Yeah, so you know?”

Alan nodded again. “He had no business trying to get ten thousand steps. He collapsed when he was out walking – apparently, he was just…”

“…Ten…steps…away…”

From across the street, the old man gave us both a little wave.