Running Again, Sort Of

Note: I'm a bit late with my August post, but here it is.

I am running again, running from grief, running from sorrow. running not as I did when I was 40 and running 10-mile workouts at 8 minutes per mile, but jogging short intervals, a tenth of a mile in between walking intervals: 200 left-foot walking steps to warm up, then alternating 100 jogging and 100 walking steps out the trail a mile and then back in with 200 walking steps at the end to cool down.

Occasionally, I see wildlife: Many coyotes over the years, recently one carrying a ground squirrel in his mouth and loping leisurely along, scarcely glancing my way as he slipped into the woods. I see many hawks, usually redtails, and never tire of them. Cottontails, red squirrels, peregrines, quail, lizards, and the other day we saw the most beautiful rattler we’ve ever seen, iridescent. He must have just shed his old skin. I almost stepped on him but leaped four feet to the side in midstride when I heard his dry whirrrrrr! For that brief instant his presence restored the alacrity of youth! We faced each other then he turned and slid into the tall grass, tail still whirring, waving farewell as we thanked him for the warning.

The hills are dry and yellow-brown as September’s song commences. I still think of Shannon but already sadness is … well, not receding, but now arrives accompanied by resignation each time it hits. What is, is and cannot be changed. As Dodo Miller always said and sang, “Life goes on.” She was correct, of course.

So I run again, recalling how I ran in younger days, when I ran to escape responsibility, to flee the pressures of job, of the fathering and husbanding I really didn’t know how to do. I am now I hope a much better grandfather than I was a father. Either way, I run out, but always return, wondering how many more years I’ll be granted this gift.

The gift of running has been passed along, apparently. Cameron, our eldest grandson, has joined the ranks of runners, perhaps also running from his grief, but also because he wants to. He’s gone out for the high school's new cross-country team. That makes me happy: to see another in my line lace up the shoes and fire up the endorphins. May he find as much joy in it as I did and do still in my somewhat feeble way.

Sometimes I dream of running. I am jogging along some familiar street and my stride becomes longer and longer and stronger and stronger until each step is an almost flying and I am bounding past the other runners, and taking even longer strides that are now almost flying! Then, just as I begin to soar away into the sky, I wake up, back to earth again.

Life goes on. The earth repeats her cycles, making necessary adjustments, recovering from disasters, ignoring the sorrows and joys of humans, but also providing comfort in her wild beauty and the possibility of fulfillment. Shannon’s run has ended. Ours goes on. May we meet at the finish.