{"id":997,"date":"2019-02-08T12:49:44","date_gmt":"2019-02-08T17:49:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=997"},"modified":"2020-06-01T09:06:53","modified_gmt":"2020-06-01T13:06:53","slug":"armandos-treasure","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/armandos-treasure\/","title":{"rendered":"Armando\u2019s Treasure"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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\n

Armando\u2019s Treasure<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Melody Carlson<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dora Chase is an eighty-year-old widow whose family finds her frustratingly independent. Her son no longer trusts her judgment and constantly pressures her to sell her rural home and rundown farm to a huge computer firm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When a young stranger shows up, Dora is suspicious, but before long Armando Garcia wins her trust. And Armando supports Dora\u2019s independence, causing the conflict within her bickering family<\/a> to escalate. Dora\u2019s son abhors Armando\u2019s interference and is determined to send him away. He suspects the charming young man is running from something or someone. And he\u2019s not far from wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The unlikely friendship that grows between the elderly widow and the young man with a past leads them both on a journey toward hope, healing, and forgiveness<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

Armando knew how to hotwire an engine even before he knew how\nto drive. Not that he\u2019d ever done it before. But Tio Pedro had taught him these\nsorts of things\u2014\u201cimportant stuff\u201d that should help him through life\u2019s\nunexpected challenges. But his uncle was in jail right now and as a result\nArmando was on the run. But he was tired of running, and for that matter,\nwalking too. That\u2019s probably what made him notice the pickup from the road\u2014a\nflash of blue within a sea of green. And he\u2019d never seen so much green before.\nThese thick layers of vegetation seemed to grow everywhere up here in\nOregon\u2014like a jungle of sorts. It would take some getting used to. At first\nhe\u2019d assumed the old truck had been abandoned in the middle of nowhere, but as\nhe left the road and drew closer, he noticed signs of what appeared to be a\nfarm, or rather used to be, a house and several out buildings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He pulled\noff his Dodger\u2019s cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead as he surveyed the\novergrown acreage. Forgotten and neglected, it had the look of abandonment to\nit\u2014like Tio Pedro\u2019s wife every time he\u2019d taken off and left her with three\nhungry mouths to feed. Armando studied the ancient pickup parked out in the\ntall grass. Old and probably rusted out, it looked as dilapidated and forgotten\nas the rest of this place, but even so it drew him like a magnet. Not that he\nwas actually planning on stealing it\u2014no, he told himself, he just wanted a\ncloser look. He shifted his backpack to his other shoulder and picked his way\nthrough the tall grass only to find it choked with blackberry vines. He growled\nas the greedy thorns clawed at his jeans, his best pair too. Seemed these\nstinking blackberries grew everywhere in these parts, but what good were they\ndidn\u2019t even produce edible fruit? Or was it just too early for berries up here?\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His\nstomach rumbled as he glanced over his shoulder back toward the house. He\nhadn\u2019t eaten since yesterday and that\u2019d only been a couple of old cheese\nburgers he\u2019d dug out of a McDonald\u2019s dumpster along the interstate, the best he\ncould do before the \u201cregulars\u201d shoed him away with lots of cussing and threats\nof bodily harm. He swatted a buzzing fly from his face and put his cap back on\nthen squinted toward the house. It seemed used up and discarded and he doubted\nthat anyone gave a hoot about this old heap of a pickup either. Likely no one\nwould even care if it went missing, that is if it could even start, and he felt\npretty uncertain about that. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGo\nahead,\u201d he\ncould hear Tio Pedro\u2019s voice whisper into his ear, \u201cPiece a\ncake.\u201d Armando had never actually stolen a vehicle before. Okay,\nborrowed maybe, then forgot to return for a day or two. But that was from\nsomeone he knew, and a long time ago. But today was a day of desperation, a day\nfor giving up on trying to do things the right way. Where had that gotten him\nin the long run anyway? He looked over his shoulder, back toward the road. Why\nnot?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ran\nhis tongue across his upper lip, savoring the taste of salt for a long moment\nas he studied the old aqua blue Chevy. Looked to be a \u201955, maybe \u201956. Pretty\nrundown, but nothing a little bodywork and a fresh coat of paint couldn\u2019t fix\nup. Not one of those flashy colors like his friend Mickey Carrero went in for,\nhot pinks and lime greens. No way. If Armando got the chance he\u2019d paint this\nbaby a nice respectable blue, just a little darker than the sky right before\ndusk on a summer\u2019s night. Now, if the engine would just cooperate. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nglanced once more at the old farmhouse, glaring back at him in the sunlight.\nWarped clapboard siding flaked off what once might\u2019ve been yellow paint,\nshutters hung slightly cockeyed as if they\u2019d given up, and greedy blackberry\nvines crawled up the foundation on one side like they\u2019d devour the place before\nlong. No doubt, they\u2019d swallow up this poor old truck too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo\nway,\u201d he could\nhear his uncle telling him, \u201cThis ain\u2019t stealing, boy. This\nis a rescue mission\u2014an act of mercy!\u201d Armando stepped over to the\ndriver\u2019s side of the truck. What did he really have to lose anyway? It seemed\nthe entire universe had turned against him lately. Who really gave a rip? He\nreached for the door handle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019re\nyou doing there, boy?\u201d yelled a shrill voice from the direction of the\nfarmhouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nswallowed hard as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and then slowly\nturned and stepped into full view. Not that he was afraid exactly, after all,\nhe\u2019d done nothing wrong\u2014not yet anyway. He peered toward the house, squinting\nagainst the brightness of the afternoon sun, then finally spotted her, sitting\nright there on the porch, where she\u2019d probably been sitting all along, slightly\nobscured by those blasted blackberry bushes, just watching him and waiting for\nthe right moment. From where he stood, she appeared to be a tiny scrap of a\nwoman, her age he couldn\u2019t guess since a droopy straw hat cast a shadow that\nmostly obscured her face. But his stomach knotted as he was reminded of his own\ndeceased grandmother, Abuela Maria. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nstepped forward now, chin up, ready to disarm this old woman with his famous\nColgate smile. It usually worked on females no matter the age. He\u2019d used it\nbefore to get out of a potential scrape, something else he\u2019d learned from his\nuncle, just turn on the charm and watch your problems melt away. But as he\nstepped forward and raised his hand to wave, he noticed the large black shotgun\npropped up against what appeared to be a plaster cast on her left arm\u2014the cast\nwent from forearm to wrist and looked like a large white L beaming angrily at\nhim in the bright afternoon sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey\nthere,\u201d he called out in his smoothest, calmest voice. \u201cNo need for that gun\nnow, ma\u2019am. I was just walking by and stopped for a minute to admire your fine\nlooking truck here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\nd\u2019you want?\u201d she squawked, not flinching an inch as she peered down the barrel\nat him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He kept\nwalking toward her, slowly and carefully, still smiling big as he went. He\u2019d\nsurvived fights in his neighborhood and crossfire in the city, no way he\u2019d let\nsome little old granny take him out with a stupid shotgun. Probably wasn\u2019t even\nloaded anyway. \u201cName\u2019s Armando,\u201d he called out. \u201cI\u2019m just passing through here.\nLooking for work. You know anybody who needs a good worker round here?\u201d He\npaused for a moment, holding up his right arm as he flexed his muscles in a\nshowy way, smiling even bigger now. \u201cI\u2019m strong and healthy and I know how to\nwork hard.\u201d He took another cautious step.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou stay\nright where you\u2019re at, boy.\u201d She lowered the shotgun down to her lap, but the\nbarrel still pointed his way. He could see her face now and she looked to be\nfairly old. But her expression was tight and pinched, like she was in some\npretty bad pain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\nokay, lady?\u201d He nodded to her cast. \u201cHow\u2019d you break that arm anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNone of\nyour business, boy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLooks\nlike you\u2019re hurting.\u201d He took another careful step but the gun popped right\nback up and he stopped and held his hands up in a show of surrender. Something\nabout the steely look in those narrowed eyes told him she meant business. \u201cI\u2019m\nreal sorry to bother you, ma\u2019am,\u201d he said quickly, taking a step backwards now.\n\u201cBut you look like you could use some help. You all alone here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNone of\nyour business!\u201d she snapped again. \u201cJust go away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded\nslowly, still studying her. Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of her\nwrinkled face and her lips puckered together in a tight pale circle. \u201cSure,\u201d he\nsaid, keeping his hands in the air, stepping back again. \u201cI just thought, you\nknow, well, like maybe you could use a hand round here. Just for a few days,\nyou know, \u2019til you get yourself back on your feet. Looks like that arm is\nreally hurting you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shook\nher head, just barely, and in the same movement the heavy shotgun slipped from\nher hand and she collapsed, limp as a rag-doll. Then, slumped over the arm of\nthe old rocker, she moaned in pain. In one quick movement, Armando sprang to\nthe porch and grabbed up the gun. He looked down at the tiny figure now hunched\nover like an old sack of beans. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\nokay, lady?\u201d he asked, glancing quickly over her shoulder through the sagging\nscreen door of the house. \u201cAnybody else here with you?\u201d But she said nothing,\njust kind of whimpered in a pitiful way that reminded him of when his old dog,\nStrand, had just been hit by the UPS truck. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Armando\nswallowed hard. The cool metal of the gun had already grown warm in his hand.\nObviously, this old lady no longer posed any threat to him. So what was he\nstanding around waiting for? This was his chance to get out of here, and, heck,\nhe might even be able to start up that pickup and get clean away before she\never came to her senses. Shoot, if the truck had any gas, he could probably be\nout of the state before anybody even figured out he\u2019d been here at all. He\npeered down at her with curiosity. She was so old, she looked to be about a\nhundred and two, and for all he knew she could be half blind. She probably\ncouldn\u2019t even describe him to the authorities, likely just say some darned\nMexican kid had taken her truck. That\u2019s how most gringos usually described his\nkind\u2014to a gringo they all looked alike. The old lady moaned again. And for the\nsecond time today, he was reminded of Abuela Maria\u2014it\u2019s as if he could see her\nbrown wrinkled face looking down at him, and he could hear her soft voice\ntelling him to be a good boy and help this poor woman. How could he disobey\nher?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With\nreluctance, he set down the gun, and reached his arm around the old lady\u2019s\nback, then carefully drew her up to her feet. She was light as a child and\nseemed barely conscious. \u201cLet\u2019s get you inside, old woman. You need to get out\nof this hot sun.\u201d With one arm he supported her entire weight, with the other\nhe opened the screen door, then half walked, half carried her into the darkened\ninterior of the musty farmhouse. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light and\nhe eased her down onto a sagging, old couch, taking care to slip a cushion\nbeneath her head. He removed her straw hat and set it on the coffee table then\nlooked around, unsure as to what to do next. He went into the nearby kitchen\nand quickly found a glass and filled it with tap water. It felt as if Abuela\nMaria was guiding his hand, and he even remembered her saying something about\ngiving someone a drink of water was like giving it to the Lord Jesus. But what\ndid that really mean? He shook his head as he returned to the living room.\nLifting the old woman\u2019s head with one hand, he offered her a drink with the\nother. To his surprise, she opened her eyes and took a long, slow swig.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks,\u201d\nshe whispered as he eased her head back down to the pillow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood\nthere with the half-filled glass still in his hands. What now? So he\u2019d done his\ngood deed for the day. Should he just sneak away now? Maybe take another look\nat that old Chevy? Or not. For some reason\u2014maybe it was his grandmother\u2014he felt\nfairly certain that pickup was going nowhere right now. For a long moment, he\njust stood there, watching the old woman with an unexplainable curiosity. Who\nwas she anyway? And what was she doing all by herself on this dilapidated old\nfarm? Then again, what was it to him? Why should he care?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had\non faded blue jeans. Not the fashionable type he and his friends wore, but\nthese looked like the kind that had once been dark and new and had slowly grown\nsoft and worn by years of hard wearing and washing. It seemed unusual clothing\nfor a woman her age. His grandmother had never been seen in pants of any sort.\nAnd this old woman also wore what appeared to be a man\u2019s work shirt, tucked\nneatly into her jeans and cinched in with a beaded leather belt, not so much\nunlike the one that his great uncle used to wear. And on her feet she wore\ndusty, old looking tennis shoes, probably once white but now a nondescript\ngray, the back of the heels smashed flat like slip-ons. But the one stark\ncontrast in this picture was the bright white cast on the old woman\u2019s arm. It\nlooked perfectly clean, like it was brand new. Was it possible she\u2019d broken it\ntoday? And, if so, how had she gotten herself to the hospital for medical\nattention? That old truck sure didn\u2019t look as if it\u2019d gone anywhere recently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He walked\nback into the kitchen and set the glass into the deep enamel sink, then looked\naround. Neat and orderly. Cast iron pots hung on the wall above the stove;\ncolorful pottery dishes showed through the cloudy glass-doors of the painted\ncupboards. Looked like some kind of cooking had gone on in here at one time.\nMaybe not lately, though. He ran his hand over the laminate top of the\nold-fashioned kitchen table. Clean, but just slightly greasy. He helped himself\nto an apple sitting atop a bowl of fruit. Taking a bite, he walked back out\ninto the front room and looked around. This home probably wasn\u2019t much by gringo\nstandards, but compared to what he\u2019d grown up in, it was pretty nice and fairly\nroomy to boot. It might be a nice place to crash for a while, to lay low until\nhe figured out what to do next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He paused\nin front of a small brick fireplace, flanked by floor to ceiling bookshelves\nthat were crammed full of old books and magazines. A bunch of ordinary looking\nphotos were displayed on the mantel. The usual stuff, a black and white\nmarriage picture of a couple from a time gone by\u2014probably the lady and her old\nman. The guy had on an army uniform, and the woman, nearly a foot shorter, was\npetite and blond and not half bad looking, for back then anyway. He glanced at\nthe other photos, nothing very spectacular, probably just the old woman\u2019s\nfamily. And yet it was interesting, gave a sense of history, belonging. He\nremembered his aunt\u2019s picture collection. All were recent color photos, and\nmost of them of her girls\u2014as if his family had no history\u2014only the here and\nnow. Although he knew that wasn\u2019t exactly true. In fact he still had a box of\nAbuela Maria\u2019s things, including some old photos, tucked under the cot he used\nto sleep on in Tia Marta\u2019s laundry room. He just hoped she wouldn\u2019t mistakenly\nthrow them out while he was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then his\ngaze quit moving and fixed itself on one particular picture. He picked up the\nsilver-framed photo and stared into the face of one of the most beautiful girls\nhe\u2019d ever seen. She looked to be about eighteen or so, but who could tell with\nthe way girls dressed nowadays. He knew some girls who looked like they were\ntwenty-five but weren\u2019t even in high school yet. This girl had long, blond\ncurls, falling loosely over her shoulders. But that face\u2014it reminded him of\nsomething that he couldn\u2019t quite put into words. Maybe an angel. He stared for\na few more seconds then quickly put the photo back, as if it might hurt him. A\nguy could go blind, he thought, staring at a face like that for too long. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another\ngroan from the couch made him turn around. Suddenly he remembered where he was\nand wondered why he had lingered so long when he could\u2019ve easily been gone by\nnow. She held up her hand, the one that wasn\u2019t broken, then moaned and closed\nher eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnything\nmore I can do for you?\u201d he asked blankly, quietly, not really expecting a\nresponse. He put the hand with the apple in it behind his back. \u201cOtherwise I\nguess I\u2019d better get on my way. Don\u2019t want to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nopened her eyes. \u201cMy pills,\u201d she said in hoarse whisper. \u201cGet me my pills.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPills?\u201d\nHe looked around. \u201cWhat\u2014where are they?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBy the\nsink.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He went\nback to the kitchen and looked around, and there next to the sink sat a small\nwhite bag and in it a brown prescription bottle. He read the label as he walked\nback to the living room. \u201cSays these are for pain. Looks like you\u2019re supposed\nto take one every four hours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nslowly pulled herself to a sitting position. \u201cGive me one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen did\nyou last have one?\u201d His brow raised in suspicion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou a\nnurse?\u201d She held out her small, wrinkled hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSays you\nneed to take these with food. When\u2019d you last eat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nshrugged. \u201cJust give me one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHang on\na wait a minute.\u201d He went back to the kitchen and retrieved a spotty banana\nfrom the fruit bowl. \u201cFirst you eat this, then I\u2019ll give you your pill.\u201d He\nopened the peeling on the banana and handed it to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 She slowly took a bite, then chewed, eyeing\nhim carefully the whole while, as if she didn\u2019t much trust him. \u201cThere,\u201d she\nset down the empty banana peeling and held out her hand. \u201cNow give me my pill.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood\ngirl.\u201d He handed her a pill followed by the glass of water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After\nswallowing the pill, she leaned back into the sofa. A strand of pure white hair\nhad escaped from where she\u2019d pinned it back in some sort of bun and now rested\nacross her wrinkled cheek. \u201cNow, what\u2019s your name again, boy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cArmando.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou a\nwetback?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He patted\nhimself on the back as if to check. \u201cWell, I did get a little sweaty out there\non the road today, but I think my back\u2019s pretty dry now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know\nwhat I mean. You an illegal?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nlaughed. \u201cI guess it depends on who you\u2019re talking to. But if you mean, am I a\ncitizen of the good old U.S. of A.? Well, then the answer would have to be yes.\nBorn almost twenty-one years ago in St. Joseph\u2019s hospital in Los Angeles,\nCalifornia.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nnodded. \u201cWell, that\u2019s something anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\nfeeling a little better now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think\nso.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked\ndown at his feet. \u201cWell, then I guess I better get out of your hair.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere\nyou heading?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTreasure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her brows\nlifted. \u201cWell, then you\u2019re here, boy. Only two miles to get into town.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s\nabout what I figured.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou on\nfoot?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nnodded. \u201cWas hitching, but my last ride ran out about twenty miles back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat why\nyou were looking so fondly at my truck?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He felt\nhis face grow warm. \u201cLike I said, it\u2019s one fine looking truck.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a\nmess.\u201d She cleared her throat. \u201cBut it was a fine\nlooking truck, once upon a time a long time ago. My husband, bless his soul,\nbought it brand spanking new back in 1956.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo it\u2019s\na \u201956 then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah.\nAnd it still runs\u2014well, mostly it runs. Needs some work though.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shoved\nhis hand into an empty pocket. \u201cYou interested in selling it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nfirmly shook her head. \u201cNope. It\u2019s my only means of transportation. Not that\nI\u2019ll be driving it for a while. It\u2019s got a stick, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\nnoticed.\u201d He sighed. \u201cWell, I better get going then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\nbrings you to Treasure anyway? Not much going on there that I can see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust\nlooking around.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nfrowned. \u201cThat\u2019s not the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked\naway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are\nyou looking for, boy? What your true story?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\nreally want the truth?\u201d He looked her in the eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nstudied him for a moment then nodded. \u201cThe truth\u2019s always simpler in the long\nrun, boy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nthought about that. \u201cWell, the truth is I just wanted to head someplace new\u2014wanted\na fresh start, you know. So I got me a map of the Northwest and I looked and\nlooked and I saw this one town called Lucky up in Washington and I thought\nabout going there, but then my luck\u2019s never been too good. Then I saw this\nother town by the name of Treasure up here in Oregon, and I thought it sounded\nmore promising, plus it was closer. I thought maybe I\u2019d find me a treasure in\nTreasure.\u201d He laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shook\nher head. \u201cBoy, you don\u2019t sound too smart to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nshrugged. \u201cHey, I figure one place is pretty much the same as the next when it\ncomes to getting away\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019re\nyou running from? The law?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nstudied her. For an old lady, she seemed pretty sharp, and pretty suspicious\ntoo. \u201cIt\u2019s a long story. I guess I\u2019m mostly just trying to start my life\nover\u2014if I can that is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, I\nsuppose that\u2019d depend on you now, wouldn\u2019t it?\u201d She squinted slightly as she\nlooked him up and down, as if she were adding him up and then subtracting it\nall over again. And with his luck it was amounting to less than nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He wanted\nto think of some smart aleck answer, something slightly sarcastic that\u2019d put an\nend to this senseless conversation and let him get back on his way, away from\nthis old woman and her pale prying eyes. But just then a knock on the door\nstartled them both. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell,\nI\u2019d better get going now.\u201d He glanced nervously toward the backdoor that he\u2019d\nnoticed in the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo you\nare running then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\npressed his lips together then returned her fixed gaze. \u201cYou know there\u2019s more\nthan one kind of running, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n