Thursday, November 10, 2011

Running Away

So, unexpectedly, I am running.  Again.  It appears to be a middle aged woman's Oh-my-I-really-ought-to-get-my-life-back-on-track kind of plan.  And I am one of them, now.  But that's okay.  It did,indeed, help me get my life back on track.  :)

That said, I have a lot of very fond memories of running.  And not because I really liked to run. 

My dad has run since I have memory of him.  He ran marathons, half-marathons, triathlons, trail runs, street runs.  You name it.  It was a somehow core part of my "whole picture" of him. 

Imagine my surprise when I suggested that he come run with me for my "homework" run when my folks were here a few weeks ago, and he said "no".  And not just no, I hurt myself and I really shouldn't, but no, my knees have gotten excruciating and I cannot run ANYMORE.

I acted fine, of course...I ran without him after he left.  But the more I thought about this aberration to my universe the more it hurt me.  And not because I didn't get a running buddy.  It hurt because it was a passion, a talent, a joy of his.  It was kind of like when I heard that Julie Andrews could no longer sing because of a throat infection and surgery.  A desecration, almost.

I started running with my dad when I was little.  He jogged and I ran up to the horse farm across the street.  This started when I was somewhere between ages 5-8.  Seriously.  I was not probably the world's best running companion, but I did love the big-ness and camaraderie of it.  I ran with him for years.  I even ran about a mile race on his hospital team for the Deaconess Dashers for a fundraiser run.  I felt like such a part of something.  It was so cool!

As I got older, I kept running.  Not because I loved it, but because I enjoyed how it made me feel after.  Wiped...but triumphant.  Tired...but successful.  I ran track in High School.  Again, not because it was fun, but because I was reasonably good and I loved being a part of a team.  I enjoyed the common goal, the sisters-in-arms kind of relationship with my teammates.

I appreciate my father setting the family goal of health and involvement with the out-of-doors.  I tend to dismay when I am not exercising.  Not depression, but not a great emotional place.  I think that is the same for my father.  I know that he knows that of me, so I suspect it's genes...

All this to say.  I am randomly thankful for my father's passion and sharing of that passion of running.  I am thankful for his sharing his secrets to a certain peace of mind.  Running to exhaustion and to prayer.  He is a great man.  And I am blessed to have run along side of him for 36 years. 

Ethan despises stickers on cars.  I mean really hates them.  I asked him this morning if I managed to get myself in gear and pull off a half marathon, could I put a "13.1" sticker on my Suburban.  He said, "Sure.  I guess."  I find myself thinking that reason alone is almost worth the insanity.  :)

But just know that if I do pull it off.  It's for the running trips to the horse stables, Daddy.  Thank you.

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