Diluted Stories vs. Depth, Dimensions & Details

Running:
My best run ever: The day I safely returned home—thanks to a daring rescue.

Writing:
Too much fluff can kill a story, but leaving out details destroy one as well. Diluted, undeveloped, one-dimensional stories are boring. Mere facts and statements don't make memorable tales.

Running revised:
I achieved my best run ever on a gorgeous day in January under a crystal blue sky. Temperatures topped the mid-twenties. Winds had lulled. The sun had ditched hibernation. I shed my jacket, tying it around my waist, to soak up the generous supply of vitamin D. As I reached the home-bound stretch it occurred to me that I ought to learn street names in my little village. Some are common, like 3rd North, but some have meaning. I turned onto River Meadow Drive, and being address/directional challenged, wondered how I’d remember the name. Perhaps three blocks earlier I’d crossed the nearest river—a stream that rages during spring runoff and disappears soon afterward—nothing close to a true river. But where River Meadow Drive intersects 3rd North there is a meadow, and far off and unseen, the river cuts across the meadow's edge. Turning uphill, I concentrated on repeating the name—River Meadow Drive, River Meadow Drive, remember, a river and a meadow, remember River Meadow Drive where there is no river but there is a meadow nearby. I did this until I spotted Spot, or Sport, or Killer, or whatever the owners named that huge beast they called a pet.

All thoughts of memorizing innocuous street names fled my gray cells, and only escaping remained. I crossed the road. Dog crossed. I crossed again. Dog did likewise. I slowed. Dog advanced. I halted. Dog picked up pace. I retreated. Dog angered and cornered me—a tasty looking treat. I looked for cars, people, witnesses, rescue.

None.

Dog looked for witnesses.

None.

He licked his fangs.

Stay tuned for Part 2.