Dearest,

Running was what she was doing, though it didn't quite appear so to everyone else.  Her hair was not co-operating with the movement of her body, the wind swishing the locks into her face, forcing her trajectory to slightly alter itself.  Her knees knocked together, they always did, unless her feet were out-turned at thirty degree angles.  Gangly limbs swang and thudded against each other, no form evidential in her travels. The audience scoffed, laughing at this little thing attempting an average feat.  They enjoyed the show then turned away when she began to run for real.