It has been far too long since last chronicling my adventures, probably because I don't feel like there are quite as many as of late. Or maybe because they don't seem as important to me. But just to prove to myself that I am "still thinking..." I decided to pull out my handy iPhone notepad and practice again my texting/typing skills. (I don't know why, but posts come more easily to me if I type them on my phone.)
So I know I have mentioned it before, but I like to run. I am not a fast runner - an arthritic chameleon could probably keep up with me - but the fact that I can get places just by moving my body amazes me. In the last few years I have even aspired to the personal challenge of long-distance races, a goal that has been time consuming but also rewarding. Some of my favorite moments at home and abroad are the early morning or dusky evening runs that help me to sort things out in my head, warm up my toes (which seem to be cold all day on the days that I don't exercise), and see the beauties of the world around me.
On a good running day I go out looking decent (I think), with my hair in a ponytail, a clean shirt, and enough energy to avoid pitying looks on the trails. I even wear earrings when I run (yes, I know it is girly, and all I can think is that I subconsciously idolize Anna Kournikova). But somehow, no matter how good I looked starting out, I always finish a run looking ragged and asthmatic. This bothered me less as I increased my mileage, but sometimes I still wanted to tell the people with the pitying looks "This is mile _____. That is why I look like roadkill." I wished that they understood that this was an accomplishment for me, and how far I had come from straining to run a single mile.
These thoughts were curiously flipped on me the other day when I was out for a run. I passed a man that was doing something I had once heard described as "the granny shuffle," and the poor guy was sweating enough to dehydrate Idahoan potato flakes. Walking probably would have been faster than his running pace, but he continued doggedly on, with his small steps that seemed to have lost their spring. He gave me some encouraging words as I passed him, and before I could even pity him the thought came into my mind "You don't know how far he has come." It was true! For all I knew he could have been running all the way from Portland, or from the coast, or maybe he was one of those crazy people that run hundreds of miles for days on end - I had no idea! Maybe he was wheelchair bound last year, maybe he survived a heart attack, or maybe this was his first morning out after struggling with weeks of depression. Either way, the thought was completely true - I didn't know how far he had come.
With that realization I wanted to turn around and cheer for him, and I wish I could say that I did! (In all honesty, I was probably breathing too hard myself to form an intelligible sentence.) I don't do nearly enough cheering on the running trails, and I thought of how much better running would be if we encouraged everyone we saw along the way. And then, since these kinds of random thoughts unfailingly turn themselves into lessons for my life, I realized that life would be a whole lot better if I cheered for people along the way. The ragged, tired, or emotionally asthmatic people, or those who seem to be granny-shuffling their way through life - I have no idea how far they have come. And I don't need to know.
I just need to cheer!
