My virtual running buddy now has his own blog where he is logging his journey toward his first half. Now our contact won't be limited to voice mail messages left on the other's phones, and intermittant e-mails when he happens to be at the library. This is thanks to his brother who bought a home computer and Internet access. And somehow that makes him feel closer, and better connected.
I also feel more connected to my real time running friends, now that we've done a couple months of club runs together. I've found my spot in the group -- at the back of the pack till the last mile or two. I get a tempo run in this way, and also have someone to talk with most of the way. There's not much talking on my part though, mostly just heavy, hard breathing! At one point last week, running alongside a four-lane highway, I ran sandwiched between two guys. To me, anyway, it seemed obvious that they felt a need to protect me somewhat. I chuckled at the thought of me, between these two macho guys. Scenes from movies flashed through my brain . . . the lady "in distress" running from or to whatever or whomever, with the muscular macho guy or guys alongside. It seemed almost surreal at first, and then I realized it also felt good. I felt cocooned, safe. Where I used to run (before my February move) the only thing that came that close to me were rude and careless motorists who seemed to see how close they could get without hitting me, or huddles of pedestrians who thought they needed the entire sidewalk to themselves and refused to share.
At one point on Tuesday's run, Ken though he'd draft off me for a spell, said as such, slowed down and ducked in behind me. That lasted all of about 30 seconds.
"You're too short," he observed.
Ahh yes, my 5'2 (almost), 115 pound frame doesn't block much wind. Instead the gusts of wind knocked me around a bit, making my course a bit unsteady. We decided it would be better for me to draft off him, and I then moved in behind.
Things like the height, weight and stride length all become so very evident when regularly running with others. Running alongside others brings a unique intimacy. I know who will burst from the start full of energy and end barely spent. I can often tell who's coming up behind me by the sound of their pant for air, or the slap of their feet. I can identify those in front by their running style -- the way they pump their arms, hold their head and lift their feet.
Yet should I meet these same folks on the street in everyday clothes doing everyday things, I'm not sure I'd recognize them. Runners, like cyclists have this odd expression, "I'm sorry; I didn't recognize you with your clothes on." But the lack of recognition is about more than switching tights and shorts for dress pants or jeans; more than the switch from wind-tossed to finely combed hair, or a switch to skin no longer covered in sweat. No, it's their reaction to the stress of running that identifies them, that makes them unique -- qualities hidden during the course of the daily routine. My first running coach used to say that running is mental, that your mind quits before your body does. And it's way a runner struggles to overcome the mind that makes each one unique, for each one has their own way of beating their body into submission.
Slog on, my friends. And do let me see you sweat; for then I'll know what makes you uniquely you.
1 comment:
Yes maam, I'll slog on. On squishy shoulders through puddles and slush. And you have seen me sweat. Like the time in the ministry center after chairs.
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