"What's all the noise, Henry?" Grandma Gert asked. She still wore the torn black shorts and old t-shirt she had slept in. Her gray hair hung wildly around her face.

I had spent the night at Gert's house. She called me Henry and wanted me to call her Gert. My friends called me Hank, but she never did. 

"I dont know, Gert. Could it be thunder or maybe an elephant herd?"

Early the next morning, Gert and Tucker—her skinny dog—stomped into my room. Gert lived only a few blocks away from me.

"Wake up," she said in that loud voice of hers.

I pulled the quilt over my head. "Gert, don't you know it's a sleep-in day? Leave me alone."

She bent down close to my ear. "Henry, I need to learn about marathons right now."

"I dont know much, but we both know they are very long." I turned my back towards her.

"Get up. Tucker and I want you to jog around the lake with us."

I loved Granny Gert, but sometimes, I wasn't sure how much I liked her. Running was not fun for me. I only did cross country because my parents made me.

Plus, Gert could be embarrassing. Like, when we went out to eat together, she asked for extra stuff. Sometimes, she sent her food back if it wasn't just right.

But I loved the trips we took together. Once, we went salmon fishing in Alaska. Another time, she took me to Disney World.

That morning, I knew Gert would not let me stay in bed. I dug in the pile of clothes on the floor and found some shorts and a t-shirt.

I splashed cold water on my face and grabbed a baseball cap, hoping it would hide my face. I did not want my friends to see me running with Gert.

My house sat across the street from City Park Lake. The path around the lake was busy with dogs, kids, and people fishing. We started slowly. Wrinkles dug little ditches across Gert's face. The fatty roll around her middle jiggled as she moved.

I was glad it was early morning because most of my friends were still asleep. There was a good chance no one I knew would see us. Some of my friends had grannies who walked their dogs or played golf. I didn't know of any grannies who ran. I wondered if it was okay for Gert to run.

After jogging for a few minutes, I ran faster. I wanted to see what Gert could do. She stayed with me for maybe four minutes before slowing down.

Once we were walking, she began asking questions. "How far is it around this lake? How long do you think it will take us? Are you tired yet?" Before I could answer, she kept going. "What does it take to run more than 26 miles? How can I find out?"

"It's a little over a mile around the lake, Gert," I said. "Far enough for your first run. We're taking it easy, so you don't get too tired." I didn't know about running long distances like marathons, so I couldn't tell Gert much. We didn't train for marathons in cross-country. We never ran farther than three miles in practice.

"Henry, I'm still wondering about the runners we saw yesterday. Why do you think they looked so happy?"

Gert and I made it around the lake in less than 20 minutes. By then, I was hungry. "Let's go home, Gert."

When we arrived at my house, I poured her a cup of coffee. Meanwhile, I filled up on frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts and cold hot dogs.

Weird projects excited Gert, like learning to backpack in the woods, climb mountains, or play the guitar. She'd worked lots of jobs in her life. She had even played in a rock and roll band. It was hard to tell what she might do next.

Maybe our run marked the beginning of another Gert project. Most likely, I would get sucked into joining her.