I ran this morning, for the first time in a LONG time. OK FINE, I didn’t quite run. I kind of can’t run right now because I think that the lot of running I was doing a couple of months ago is the reason my herniated disc started having a tantrum. It was a big tantrum. A long tantrum. I had to get doctors involved to calm my stupid angry disc down. So there will be no running for me for a while. But I can walk. So I walk really fast, cause it’s more fun, and more like the feel of running. Bob makes fun of me cause maybe it looks a little stupid. I just say I walk hard. That’s what I say. Walk Hard.
My neighborhood is very multi-generational, and on my walk this Saturday morning there were a lot of people out doing their thing. There are the bicyclists dressed in popsicle cycle outfits who I betcha measure their body fat every day with those fat-measuring-thingies. They look all smug as they ride by, cause they're going super fast and have helmets and 6% body fat, and I’m just… walking. There are the best-friend ladies with their visors and their dog sticks. We say good morning as we pass each other. I love the best-friend ladies. I hope to be one some day. There are the runners. The runners I like best are the people working like hell as they make their way up that hill, head down sweating, willing themselves to keep going. They don’t say hi. They don’t have a thing to spare for anybody. The only thing in their head is “Keep going”. Every ounce of their body and mind are focused on moving forward. They aren’t asking themselves about the virtue of their run. They don’t have any existential doubt about the reason for their running. They aren’t wondering if they’re running in the wrong direction, after the wrong thing. They aren’t wondering if it’s fair to the kids, or where the money will come from. They aren’t thinking about what they will come back to.
I miss running.