She ran on a dime. But not very far. For a dollar she ran a mile. For five dollars, five miles. But for any longer distances, she would only settle for a quarter of a million dollars.

“Why the sudden jump in amount?” Reporters asked. For they’d been following this story since she started jogging in the park. Something about the way she looked, and jogged, captured the imagination of the media.

“Because,” she answered as they followed along her normal jogging path. “For any longer periods, what I would do with the money takes longer to ponder and therefore my jogging distance will be longer. For a dime, I’ll remember where I left those old love letters. For a dollar, I’ll think about those cheap snacks I served a dear old lover. For five dollars, I’ll imagine which restaurant I’ll end a long love affair. But for two hundred thousand, I have a future, with more possibilities. That takes longer to think about. It’s no longer about what I can buy or what I can find, but what I can create. And when that happens, it takes longer to think about.

“So why running? Why not just sit and think?” These two questions came from the only reporter who continued to follow her story. He was also the only report who could keep up with her quickening pace.

She did not answer him. She ran faster. The reporter could not keep up and fell behind.

Ahead, a portly man stood there, waving at her. She remembered him: she’d once waited on him at a deli she worked at, a couple of years ago.  She slowed as she ran past him. She noticed what appeared to be a cashier’s check flapping from one of his hands. “Good day,” she said and ran on.

“Wait!” he called out to her.

“I’m on mile four,” she said. “If you’re still here on my next go ’round, we’ll talk.”

“But I might not be,” he said, his voice barely carrying as he watched her round the bend.

“I might not be either,” she replied. A reply he could no longer here as she disappeared from his view.