Running for My Life

I've been running for about twenty years.  I started when I lived in Atlanta.  Bob was a runner and I was more of a gym rat, following the exercise trends, but mostly loving step aerobics.  Something about the music, the group comradery, the sound of our synchronized feet hitting the bench  like a marching band.  It was enjoyable, albeit predictable.  Maybe it was the good weather that Atlanta offered, or the curiosity factor, but one day I decided to go for a run with Bob and see how far I could make it before needing to stop, or walk.  I made it about one mile, or ten minutes.  I was encouraged and began running.  Little by little I built up my stamina, eventually reaching six miles at a time and then entering local fun runs and the famous Peachtree Road Race, a 10K spectacle of sweaty humanity.  Every July 4th in Atlanta 50,000 runners jostle each other with sweaty elbows, the air filled with the scent of garlic from pre-race carbo loading, and the streets lined with spectatators offering orange slices and water sprays from squirt guns.   It was a tradition I embraced, but had to leave behind when we moved to Indianapolis ten years ago. 

I continued running and have entered several half marathons here in Indianapolis, challenging myself to stick to a training schedule, longs runs on Saturday mornings, lighter runs during the week.  My best time ever for a half marathon was an hour and fifty one minutes.  It was a glorious day for me, when the stars aligned and all my training paid off.  I have never seriously considered tackling a full marathon.  Despite having a father and sister who have run many, I do not seem to have that calling (or the drive) and am content to plod along, mostly doing four miles at a time now with an occasional half marathon thrown in when I feel up to the challenge. 

Running is a funny thing.  Once it is in your blood, you are compelled to continue.  It has carried me through two pregnancies, though I traded in my running shoes for less vigorous activities as I reached my third trimester, and Sam's autism diagnosis (back then I sometimes ran faster with angry steps, or slower, with tears streaming down my face).   My sisters and I ran together in sorrow in Myrtle Beach in the days before my mother's funeral, and we run together in Hilton Head each summer, planning our days on the beach and family barbecues.  I don't always love to run and I often don't feel that elusive runner's high.  Mostly it is just what I do to try to stay healthy and to release my stress.  Most runs are forgettable; just 45 minutes out and back, music to keep me company, and I step back in the door and go on with my life.  But once in awhile you receive a gift, as I did last night.  As I turned a corner to run around a neighborhood lake, I was overcome with the beauty of a sunset pink sky, swirls of purple and streaks of deep blue.   I turned down my music and walked for a few minutes, admiring nature.  A few fireflies lit up the tall grass along the path.   I was filled with gratitude and reminded of my blessings.  Then I began running towards home, with that image tucked away for a bit of future motivation.