For most of my life, I was a runner. I use the term loosely, of course, because I wasn’t much good. I was certainly never a competitive runner, at least not until I was in my 60s. Then I won a couple of road races, mostly because there were very few other runners in my age category.
But winning, or even being very good, was not what running was about for me. For me, running was sort of therapeutic. I did it partly to stay in shape and to keep my weight down, but mostly, my running was “me time,” a chance to unwind and shift gears.
I’d come home from a day of teaching and switch from my coat and tie into my running clothes. It was kind of a reward for having made it through another day of lectures, paper correction, mentor meetings and whatever other happenings had filled my day. And I loved the exhilarating feeling of working up a heavy sweat and feeling the “burn” in my muscles after a day a standing on my feet in front of a classroom.
Often during the school year, I’d be joined by one or more students who’d chosen to run after school rather than participate in an organized sport. Especially during the winter, these students would be cross-country or track runners who preferred running to winter sports like basketball, wrestling, etc. We’d run outdoors unless it got below zero, in which case we’d run indoors. But all of us much preferred outside. Running inside was boring.
So, even though I wasn’t always alone, I could just “get into a zone” and turn off the working part of my day. Usually, the kids were just as content as I was to not have to talk while we ran. When the major part of our run was over and we were in the cool-down mode, then we’d talk, but almost never about school. It was great.
Often, when I’d start out, I’d have to make a conscious effort to slow down, to catch my breath, to breathe deeply and settle into a comfortable pace and rhythm. And even though one of the girls was a state champion, she was willing to run at my pace, or she’d run ahead and then loop back to rejoin me.
I ran all year round, but my favorite time to run was in the fall. The crisp air and the changing colors of the trees and sumac along the country roads were like tonics for me. And many of the kids who’d be running with me were away from home for the first time in their lives, and as the autumn progressed, I could observe a transformation in them. A metamorphosis took place. From homesick kids, they morphed into quietly considerate, responsible, motivated young adults. I’m not claiming that the running was the cause of their transformation, but I think it was a factor.
I always made it clear that as their running chaperone, I was not a friend. Rather, I was a faculty member who happened to enjoy our time together on the road, and that this relationship would have no impact on our relationship in the classroom. And I think it worked, but I have to admit that many of my former running companions eventually became good friends anyway.
Things change. Because of some health problems, I can no longer run. Walking and biking do not produce the same kind of euphoria that running did, but I truly enjoy the times Marilyn and I spend outdoors together. And I love to watch our granddaughter’s cross-country races. I suppose I’m vicariously re-living all my old running days when I’m watching her. She’s way better than I ever was, but I love to see the look of satisfaction on her face whenever she gets a new personal record and the pride she takes in doing her best.
Like me, “winning” is not what running is about for her; doing her best is. I admire that. At the rate she’s improving, though, “winning” might not be out of the picture.
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