” . . .  let us run the race.” Hebrews

Every now and then I can run again. Not often. But when the sun sneaks out after long absence and the pacific northwest sky is uncommonly blue, I’ll risk aggravating my slightly bulging L5 S1 disc and head into the forest near my home. Years of pounding on road and trail have worn down my spry, so I start slow, all plod and ache, until stiff joints remember younger days and I can escape – all my worries, all my thoughts, lost in a rhythm of wind and trail and breath and legs, and I recall why I started running.

It would be too dramatic to say that running saved me, but there’s truth in it nonetheless. I started in the 5th grade because I was really a bit lumpy and lost. Family life was chaotic and uncertain; I needed something to grab, a piece of flotsam in the storm. Also, I had started noticing girls. One day, during art hour, the teacher asked us to sketch the person across the table. I was sitting across from from a cute, green eyed classmate, on whom I had the vaguest stirring of crush, and this young crush informed me that I was too ugly and fat to draw. I knew immediately it must be true, and I suddenly realized I cared, a lot, and comments like that could hurt in ways I couldn’t yet define. Continue reading “Running”