Bikers use loud voices

Biking buddies don't chat, really; they yell. I've been there and I get it, the wind whips by your mouth and your ears, the distance between you and buddy changes as you maneuver around roller bladers, strollers, runners, morning power walkers, very small confused looking dogs straining their little necks up and back to self-orient, the parent and child sharing a scooter, and tourists who wait awkwardly in groups at the crosswalk unable to figure out why all of the aforementioned fail to observe the signal awarding them right of way. Because you're slow. And we're busy and important in our doing something, and you need to figure out how to bolt across during the breaks in traffic.

But to the (only relatively) stationary runner, with less of that pesky whipping wind, being passed, the conversation snippets come in very loud and very- I imagine- unintentionally clear.

"I said 'man, throw out a number and we'll consider it' and then we slammed him!"

"Because you can't ever ever say 'spider' to me in bed."

"Bird watching is so weird..."

I mentally connect the dots, filling in just about everything. I've got time to kill and little new scenery, as my short runs are, like today, fifty-ish minutes.

Legs feel good still- and stronger.  18 sounds like the biggest number ever. Way bigger than the cigarettes I never bought or the single lottery ticket I did.