Today was World Run Day. I had planned to run. I registered online. I ordered my shirt, I downloaded and printed my bib, I planned my route. I was planning a 10K, my first ever.
I didn’t run. I came down with a bad cold. I almost never give in to a cold, but I had to yesterday and today. Sometimes, one has to admit defeat, even if the enemy is so tiny it can’t be seen. The virus won today, but I’m not giving up entirely. I still hope to run my 10K, although it may be a few more days before I manage to do it.
Since I didn’t run, and since I haven’t posted a blog entry in months, I thought I’d take advantage of starting to feel human again to write an entry.
I can’t believe it’s been so long since I last wrote. That was the beginning of spring, and here it is late fall. November. Winter is bearing down on us again—she said, with a sigh, looking at the weather forecast for 8 to 12 inches of snow over the next 48 hours.
I have been running since spring, whenever I can, as much as I can. I have been sidelined by sore feet, sore knees, a sore back and neck. (I am old.) But I have—by the grace of God—overcome these temporary setbacks, and gone back out onto the pavement, picking up where I left off or starting over, depending on how long I needed to recover.
I have run through the early leaves and tender shoots of grass, through the daffodils and tulips, through dandelions and iris and roses and daisies, into coneflowers and corn. I watched the leaves come in their pale green mist, grow large and strong in the summer sun, and turn scarlet and russet and gold, until at last they fell and blew away. I’ve watched the neighbors change their decorations on their homes from Easter to Independence Day to Halloween and now to Christmas. (One needs to plan ahead in Minnesota. It’s better to put Christmas decorations up in November than it is in December. But, please God, don’t turn the lights on yet.)
I’ve seen the neighbors put up signs for baby girls and boys; run past Easter and First Communion and graduation celebrations. Watched the set up and tear down for countless garage sales. I ran on the last day of school and then on the first day in September. I’ve watched the buses carry the children away each morning, and I have prayed for the safety of their precious cargo.
I usually run in the morning, so I’ve run from dark to dark: the dark of early spring mornings to the dark of fall. In between, I watched the sun rise earlier until it was bright out when I was running before six. Then, gradually, the mornings grew darker again. I’ve run in the darkness for the past several weeks.
I’ve seen other runners, walkers, bikers, and even a couple of skaters. Some have become familiar, and I’ve given them names. “The running man,” who runs hard. He has a heavy stride and runs up the hill by my house. It’s a steep hill, and I’ve never made it running all of the way to the top. We wave at each other, and I wonder how much his feet hurt. “The fast woman,” who seems to be at a tempo run all the time. I wonder how she does it. I’ve become faster than I was, but I’m still slow. “The Asian man,” is a walker. He waves his arms as he walks on his way to the park, where he does calisthenics. He didn’t used to acknowledge me when we would pass each other, but over the summer he gradually started to nod his head at me when I would say “good morning.” The same goes for “rude man,” who never acknowledged me until recently. He finally responded with a “good morning” of his own, maybe because he figured I wasn’t going to give up.
I’ve lost weight, which is wonderful. People have noticed and complimented me. I appreciate that, but more than that, I like how I feel: strong. A few weeks ago, I ran my second 5K. This one was official, and it was timed. I was a little nervous about running this time, but not nearly as much as the race I ran last November. I ended up running a personal best. I wasn’t the first or the fastest, by any means, but I completed the race with a decent time. I was proud of myself. And then…I ran it again. I had a break in between, and I didn’t intended to run it twice, but I did.
The second time around was supposed to be a walk: a charity walk for my son’s school. (The run was for charity, too.) But he wanted to ride his scooter, and when the walk started, off he went on his scooter. I couldn’t keep up with him walking, so I started to jog. I thought I would catch up with him soon, but I didn’t. I kept running, and I saw two things. The first was an inspirational sign, which I had missed the first time around. My friend Julie had put it up before the 5K race: “To my author, blogger and now runner friend Cathy.” I almost wept. I kept running. The second thing I saw was just a short distance on, when I ran past the senior citizen apartment home near the school. It was a cold, October morning, but three senior citizens had come out—one with a walker!—to cheer on the kids and the families on their walk. I decided at that point that I would keep running until I caught up with my son, and I would dedicate my second run to them.
I didn’t catch up with my son until I made it all the way back to the school. My feet hurt by then, and I was tired. But I was elated when I saw him again, and I was elated when I realized what I had done, something I never thought I could do. When the morning started, I wasn’t sure that I could run the 5K all the way through. I certainly didn’t think I could run it twice.
I know that a 5K or even a 10K isn’t a huge accomplishment, compared to what many people run. I doubt I’ll ever be a marathoner, although I have a secret hope that someday I can do a half marathon. I can say, though, that even though I didn’t run on World Run Day, I am a runner, and I’ll keep on running as long as I can.