As is true for many outdoor sports enthusiasts, the snow, ice and chill of Ohio's winter has forced me indoors for my morning runs and walks. Running round and round on the local rec track isn't my preferred way to get in my miles, but I do love running in shorts and a tee shirt. To vary the scenery, I sometimes do my walk days at the elementary school where the halls are long and turns are less frequent than the track.
In the early morning hours before teachers and students have begun their day, the silence of the building is broken only by the squeak of my shoes on the polished floor or a greeting from another walker. But I never feel alone on those walks -- the ghosts of my past filter in and out of walls and doorways as I make my way from one end of the building to the other.
The first section of the building was opened in 1956, the year I was born. Five years later, kindergarten and my introduction to formal education beckoned. It wasn't a good year -- I hated being away from my mother, hated having to take naps on a stupid rug on a hard floor, listening to the teacher read some stupid book.
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