Cradle robber

"Ummm .... I know this is creepy, but I am not stalking you. You and I are just running at the same pace. "

It was true. This man in a ski cap, a blue sweat shirt, and wind pants kept passing me. For those of you who have run with me, I really only run at one pace. I concluded that it was his fault that he kept speeding up and slowing down. In my weird lack of music but desparately needing to talk running style I said something.

He replied, "Oh. I guess we are going the same way. We can run together if you like. I promise I am not a stalker either."

"Heehhehee," lame girlish giggle was my reply.

The two of us ran along Beacon Street. This time keeping in pace. We chatted a bit. He was training for the Boston Marathon. He was strict about his schedule, and asked me tons of questions. I replied that I was probably the worst source of information, as either I train too much or not at all. As I was about to peel off back to Saint Paul Street, he asked, "May I have your number? Maybe we can run again together."

I gave him my email address and waved by. Two days later I got an email asking if I would like to get a drink on Friday instead. And even though I am going through and anti-boy period of my life I said yes.

Email might have been a mistake because I recognized his email address as a Harvard Alumni address. I did a "Google" search on him. As I read the title under his name I almost did a spit take. "Random Boy Class of '06....."

Age should not matter ... greatly. I dated a man that was 12 years older. But then my sister reminded me that I teased him relentlessly on his age. Oops. I feel a little guilty about that now. Well, actually I don't.

The prospects of going on a "pre-date," as defined by Evil Twin #2 (a real date is more than drinks), with my younger running man was kind of intriguing. Would I lie about my age? Should I dress like those slutty BU students?

Sadly, plans did not work out. We might still go running together when he gets back from the Thanksgiving break, but who knows. Plans normally fizzle pretty quickly. But it is nice to know that craddle robbing is an equal opportunity art form.