And, so, I run.

About a hundred years ago when I was young-ish, I had a neighbor who talked me into running. It was the 80's when we bought into the "no such thing as too rich or too thin" mentality and I was on the fast-track to anorexia. So, the idea of burning copious amounts of calories in a relatively short span of time was incredibly appealling to me. Several weeks a night, I dragged my children (one in an infant carrier) to the college track and hoofed-it around for about a mile or so.  A few weeks into this new pursuit I talked Paul into joining me.  Long story short, he became a running-addict and I went back to cutting my daily calorie count shorter and shorter.

Fast forward a couple of years and I am intent on growing the spiritual life of my little family (read that" husband"). Assuming I would encounter resistance if I started with the "You should..." approach I brokered this deal:  if Paul would join me in a devotional time each morning, I would once again lace up my running shoes and do my best to keep up.  Surprise, surprise...he went for it! He was faithful to spend time in the Word (still does, 30 minutes first thing every morning) and I was faithful to hit the pavement with him. Nearly every single day, for an entire year, I would accompany him on the first few miles of his workout, and then he would speed off and do double the distance while I would drag my can't breathe/hate this, self back into the house. It should come as a surprise to no one that after that year, I was done. I mean DONE! I had given it a shot, but I hated the last day as much as I hated the first. I could run as far as seven miles, but never once did I experience that so-called "runner's high" (urban legend, if you ask me), nor did I weigh less, have better looking legs...absolutely NO benefits from my vantage point; it was torture and I am not a masochist.

Although no longer a runner myself, I continued to be a supportive wife, dragging two reluctant little kids all over North Texas most Saturday mornings at the crack of dawn, to 5K's, 10K's, half and full marathons. In all kinds of weather, braving porta-potties and mind-numbing boredom, we hung out at finish line after finish line as Paul pursued his passion. And a passion it was. Every day revolved around when he was going to get to run, and if circumstances prohibitted it, well....it wasn't going to be a very good day. I was proud of his committment and accomplishement, but I was also resentful: both because long training runs took time away from the family, and, because I didn't have anything that captured my attention the way running had captured his.

Of course when you are married to a runner, you are inevitably questioned about your own running history and I was always quick to point out:  been there, done that, not going back. No, never. Nothing in it for me. My dear husband overheard me taking my stand one day and commented "Well, you never really gave it your all."  What?! Oh, no Pal....I will concede that there are very few things in life I couldn't have improved upon (hold-over guilt from Harold), but I HAD GIVEN EVERYTHING I HAD to my running experiment and came up empty. His accusation was a stake straight through my heart, and it stings to this day.

So I get into my 50's and I find MY passion...tennis! Oh how I love this game! It's a great workout, it's social, you get to wear cute clothes...love it, love it, love it! I take lessons, I join a team, I play USTA...it's all great until I encounter a mysterious arm ailment that keeps me off the tennis court and sleeping sitting up for nearly a year. And during that miserable year of no tennis, I walk to keep up some modicum of fitness. But walking is so....boring!!! And one day this little voice in my head says :"Run." And I say, "No way, Jose. Don't want to, can't make me, never again." But then it occurs to me that that little voice might actually be God, who I am constantly begging for guidance, so on the off chance that it is, in fact, a divine command, I run. The next day I run again. And then I run further.

I have been a runner for nearly five years now. It got me through the arm deal, it got me through cancer, and most recently it got me through a year-long hiatus from tennis when a back issue kept me off the courts (a lift in my shoe is conteracting the effects of a lower spine torqued by scholiosis, so I can play again! Yea!) I run because God told me to. I run because Paul can't; twenty years ago, having just qualified for the New York Marathon, a diagnosis of multiple schorosis robbed him of his great love. He still dreams he's running. I run in part because I know he would, if he could.

Yes, that's really why  I run...because I CAN. No, I don't love it, exactly, but I don't hate it either. Every morning I have that same sinking feeling when I think about getting out there. But, when I get my shoes on, and my earphones  in, I am ready. I run on the streets even though I know I am vulnerable to aggressive dogs and wierdos, but I won't live in fear. (One or two friends have said I need to carry a gun....this is Texas, after all. I haven't seriously entertained that idea yet, but I do carry pepper spray. Even then,  if I actually used it it would probably end up in my own eyes instead of my attackers!) Even when it's 90+ degrees, I run. Even when I think I am too old and too tired for this, which is often., I run. Although I can't recite a long list of benefits (and, I am sticking to my story of never experiencing a "runner's high"),  I know something about it keeps me getting out there for about 15-20 miles a week, week after week.

 I am not a fast runner, but it doesn' matter how slow I go, I'm still lapping everyone on the couch, right? And, the one and only race I entered (a 1500 women race called The Jiggle Butt Run), I came in first in my age catagory. Go figure!  (Of course I promptly retired from racing, because hey, quit while you're ahead!) And last year I got to run barefoot on the beach....fantastic!!  I have to admit, when I have finished a run, I feel accomplished...virtuous even thought I don't yet know the full reason God intended this for me...it will be on my list of questions...

It will end one day, the running. But the little voice is going to have to say when. Until that time, I'll keep pounding the pavement and loving the looks on peoples faces when I tell them I run. Yes, on purpose. Yes, without stopping.

 Why?

Because. I. Can.