The Missing Feet

Running was born in me the day I realised I could send my feet one place and my mind someplace else. I made a home out of everywhere I ran without remembering much of the physical places I passed by. Imagination was a wonderful companion. And if that failed to transport me the music I stuck in my ears took up the slack. I never knew there was anything missing.

Since my own feet beneath me were much less painful than the possibility of someone joining me and then leaving,  I ran alone. Always.

I was not looking for her the day we met. Yet there she was. Crashing into my space with a smile and a request. "Wanna run together?"

Damn my mouth. Why did I mention I was a runner at all?

I tried to talk her out of her own idea.

"I run early."

She didn't care.

"Like 6 am."

She kept smiling.

"Actually 5 am."

"Whatever. Fine with me. Where do you want to met?"

Honestly, I could have cried. And I could have said no. After all, I ran alone. But sometimes persistence should be paid. Besides, I wondered what this girl with the cheek to ask me to run would be like at 5 am.

I let her come. Once, twice. Twenty times. Fifty times. Six months in it turns out she is quite the chatter. One hour into a run, she is still telling me stories. And damned if I can out run her. While I am working she appears to float.

So she talks. I listen. She flies. I pound pavement. She is there... I am not.

My feet go one direction, my mind another. Pieces inside me simply aren't ready to glue themselves back together and risk including another person who could leave me again. I've been there. And 'There' is not somewhere I am keen to revisit. Maybe she understands that. Maybe that's why she lets me add little to our running other than my feet beside hers.

This morning I pulled my car up beside hers at our regular 5 am. She was already looping the car park, warming up.  I stopped to strap my feet. Blisters care of last nights boxing weren't stopping me today. She went back the her car to get something. I didn't ask questions. I rarely do.

With my feet strapped and shoes back on, we headed off. No discussions about where we were going. We both know the loop by now. 7.5km if you don't add the extra hill, 8.6km if you do. 10.8km if you loop the warm up road twice. She was doing her usual flying while I worked hard. Only halfway through this morning my body hit the breaks. My lungs, still recovering from infection, ached, and the morning air was cold.

"I'm heading back," I said. " I don't have the rest of this run in me."

"I know." She waved me on in front. "And go to back bed. You need to let your body rest."

I headed back. She kept going.

But here's the thing, for the first time in a long time I was running alone again. And something began to happened to me on those last few miles back to my car. I missed her.

Her chatter. The distraction. Her feet.

I missed her feet.

Somewhere in between all the miles we have jogged I've developed a taste for her story telling and the sound of her feet beside me.

Honestly, I could have cried. Maybe I have been missing some one's feet to run beside me for awhile.

I gathered my crying inside and drove home.

Taking the kids to school later on I noticed a small gift box sitting on the front seat of my car. Inside were a pair of heart earrings. Very funky. Very me.

 I called my husband to thank him, but he was confused.

"I didn't leave them for you."

And then I knew. She did. That's what she was getting from her car this morning.

Honestly, I could have cried. 

I guess I like her feet beside me, or in front of me and occasionally, if I can push the pace early enough so that I am leading, I like those feet behind me.

No one really runs alone I guess. Maybe that is why my mind was elsewhere on runs for such a long time. It's been searching...

What about you? Do you 'run' alone? If you are a writer, who 'runs' with you?

~In honor of Tracy. The running partner who story tells when she should be working hard, floats when she should be running and gave me heart earrings when I expected nothing. Thank you.~

Once Upon a Run

Once upon a morning run there was a girl, not unlike myself, who pounded road after road before most of the world was even out of bed. She was up admiring the freshness of a day unstarted before the birds even gave song to the morning.
This was most unlike her.
Never an early riser, she shocked not only her husband, but herself when she set the alarm for 5:00am. More shocking was how addictive this new found running and waiting for the sun to come up became.

The addiction had something to do with breathing.
In, out, in out.
The sheer rhythm of it. The way one foot followed the other. They way hills were broken down into one jogging step after another, never a whole hill. And most importantly, the way she heard things she had never noticed before. The sound of her heart echoing life in her ears. The sound of stillness in the shadows around her. The peace of it all.

And then another sound she didn't even recognize at first. The sound of her own voice. She'd spent so long letting her tongue beat her down that this inner gentleness made her deeply suspicious. Maybe she really had lost her mind rising so early just to run. But there was no denying it. The inner whispers began guiding.  They told her she could. They said she was strong.  They told her they were proud. And if whispers could smile, these whispers smiled.

Now she knows not only the voice, but the woman from whom the voice comes. And she is not bad company. Not bad company at all.  Now, when she runs, she is in that moment with herself so completely that it is almost worth all the years of being lost just to appreciate the power of holding her own hand.

What about you? Where are you most at one with yourself?
If you write, does that inner voice make it into your words?

[Image]