who cares what they think?

... not just my neighborhood either. I'd run through places one usually doesn't see runners, sometimes places I got to by climbing over walls and fences.

The police knew who I was, and we called one another by name.

Sometimes they'd take me home, other times they'd just suggest I head on home.

One time I wasn't wearing any shoes and my feet were bleeding. These days they'd probably take me to the hospital or shoot me. I never got any serious trouble because I think I had some kind of entertainment value compared to the other crap they were dealing with on graveyard shift. I was more fun than a domestic violence call or a drunk and disorderly.

Another time I was swimming in the ocean naked, it was maybe two in the morning. I never knew what time it was. When I came in I couldn't find my clothes amidst the piles of kelp. Someone must have called the police and the police had flashlights and we found my clothes. (This was back when naked wasn't such a big deal, you'd see naked people in the park in the middle of the day, and streakers too. A I never was a weird naked guy in the park.)

Exercise helps with depression, and before modern meds, exercise was my preferred form of self-medication. But I had to exercise a lot!

Sometimes I'd like to run again, or move furniture, or load trucks, but my knees are trashed and it would hurt too much.

Be safe, and I wish you well, and hope you find something that helps.