Running is Awesome! At the End!

When I left my house to run this morning, the first time in many moons, my neighbor teased that I needed to run faster. I was walking. Getting the old synovial fluid flowing through the joints. Finding a song on the ipod shuffle. It’s a ritual and an excuse to ease into the pound of the pavement.

I used to run - much further and faster with a jaunty lift in each step. I used to picture myself breaking the tape at the end of a marathon while the crowd chanted my name and cheers rang in my ears. Unfortunately, the last marathon ended in the emergency room in Honolulu, but I swear I heard the crowd cheering - or perhaps yelling, “Don’t die!” while I crawled toward the finish line. Literally. I have the scar on my knee to prove it. It probably looked something like the ABC Wideworld of Sports opening (I just dated myself- who cares), just more pathetic. While crawling on the pavement and hallucinating, I sincerely thought I was in the Olympics and told the people on the course, trying to lift me up so as not to get trampled, that if they touched me I’d be disqualified. The EMTs ignored my pleas and dragged me to the side of the road - out of the way of the real athletes, but at an angle where I could still see the finish line. I probably would have been much angier at them if I had remained conscious. So close to the end...

I’m embarrassed to say that today’s run was all of two slow miles. At the end, I stretched on my steps and may have pulled a muscle. In the stretch, not the run. Wept just a little bit and hobbled into the house.

I try not to imagine how I looked on the run or gingerly walking through my front door because seeing someone cling to their youth, all sweaty and stinky, is just uncomfortable for the unfortunate onlooker. And the saddest part of this pathetic run? I was convinced those two miles did wonders for the gluts - tightening that jiggly mass obediently following behind one painful step after another- and squeezed into a pair of jeans that should have remained on the hanger. I’m still wearing them now, feeling a bit woozy - likely the lack of blood and oxygen to all parts of my body- but inspired to do it again tomorrow. Or perhaps after a few more moons. Assuming the pulled muscle heals before then...