A silver runner

When I started to run in Komazawa park yesterday, I found more people than last week were running and that most of them were apparently older than me. They were running wearing a number on their back and chest. Then I saw a sign board everywhere that read "Tokyo health festival. Silver age marathon meet". The problem for me was that most of them came from behind, passed me and soon got out of my sight leaving me miserably behind. I also discovered there were some runners running slower than me. I recovered a bit of my confidence.
I asked one of the men standing at an interval who wore the same navy-blue jacket who I thought a member of the staff.
"How long are they running?"
"The ones wearing a number in pink color runs one round of the jogging course. The ones with a number in white are making 4 rounds."
Oh, I realized that most of the people with pink number were running faster than me and some of the people with white were slower than me. Yet it was amazing people over 70 were running that fast.
In the meantime I found myself running after a man who looked older than other already old people. He was running extremely slow almost at a speed of less than walking. But he was "running" by every definition but speed. His right leg was always slightly bent outward when it should fully stretch, which made his body lean to the right every time he stepped his right foot on the ground. When I ran side by side with him I spoke to him.
"It's tough, isn't it?"
He seemed unable to catch. So I repeated it louder.
"IT IS TOUGH, ISN'T IT?"
"Yes, it is." He smiled
"May I ask how old you are?"
"I'm 82...ここ...やられちゃってね。" He pointed to his head. He was almost breathless.
"What happend?"
"Stroke... Since then I can't walk straight... This is for my rehabilitation."
"あんまり頑張りすぎないように頑張ってください" I ran leaving him behind. He was carrying white number so he was going to make 4 rounds. Incredible 8.5 km, with the aftereffect of the stroke.
When I was running the last round I caught him up again just in front of the stadium alongside the jogging course where I thought there was the goal. He entered through the gate into the stadium and I followed him. I was stopped by one of the staff because I didn't wear a number. So I watched him running from the gate. My eyes followed him. He entered the track almost staggering. It was hot. But he didn't stop running until he looked like a speck on the red track. He passed the goal at last.... It was perfectly uneventful... No family came to see him. No friends. No cheers. He just walked out of my sight.
I was moved. He just ran for himself without anyone's recognition of what he had done. I wanted to tell him that "I certainly witnessed. I know you achieved this." But it is not necessary for him. He ran. It was just that. As simple as that.
I ran my last round.