My Adaptation of "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden

In class we were supposed to change some words, but keep the same structure of the poem "Those Winter Sundays." Here's my version:

Saturdays too, the man got up early,
And slipped into his running shorts in the piercing morning air,
Then with badly blistered feet that ached,
From the weekday mileage in the rugged terrain,
He ran. No one ever joined him.

I’d wake and hear the rhythmic patter of his footsteps.
When the day was young and sun still slept,
And slowly I would rise and go to the window,
To catch a glimpse of this solitary man,

I viewed him indifferently,
He who ignored the bite of the cold,
Or the tolls on his body as well,
What did I know, what did I know,
Of diligence and dedication