Ran 42, Waterfront (Tuesday, 19 May)

I probably shouldn't have gone running. It was hot and I'd been dizzy since Monday, but it had also been 4 days since I'd done anything. I ran slowly and the only thing that sort of kept me going past 20 was the fact that I saw someone I know, also running! We were running in opposite directions, so I was looking forward to meeting her again on the way back. After 30 minutes passed I decided that I could stop whenever I wanted. Good songs came out of my iPod and the temperature dropped, and those things also kept me going for the remainder of the run.

When the number on my watch finally turned to 42, I stopped and walked back the way I came. As I approached the L corner a man in a HUGE knit cap leaning on the railing said something to me. From that distance, he looked like either he could either be sketchy or just eccentric. Despite the warnings in my head (voiced by my more cautious friends), I removed my earbuds and shut off the iPod. "Pardon?" I asked the older man. He had dark skin and white hair. Like me, he was wearing sweats, running shoes and earbuds around his neck. Everything of his was at least 2 upgraded versions of mine. "You used to run," he repeated. For some reason I felt the need to justify my pace. "I still do. I just finished and I'm trying to cool down." "No," he clarified, "I saw you. You used to run. Years ago." Still misunderstanding I explained, "No, not here, I've only been coming down here just under 2 years." It finally sunk in as he explained, "I mean like when you were a kid. You look like you've been running for a while."

I explained how I'd had a few stops and starts in my running "career" over the last couple decades and he said he could tell I was a runner from years back. Lest it gets creepy, I should explain that he said he was a runner and a coach. "I watched you run by. You looked like you wanted to quit, but you just kept going. That was good!" I thanked him, and found myself talking candidly about my running, saying that yes, I did want to quit, and quite a few times. And that even when I want to quit, and when I know it might be a good idea to quit, I almost never can. I just slow down and finish. He then told me about a distance runner for the high school he no longer coaches at, latina, he said. He asked her once why she didn't push harder and finish fast enough to place. "She told me, 'I guess I'm scared.' And I asked her, 'Scared of what?' And she said, 'Of not finishing.'" We chitchatted more about running (he thought I was doing well) and about the meanings of first names and then he began his own run, a slow canter across the grass, elegant and smooth stride for anyone, but especially for someone of 65.

I would have liked to take some sort of Jedi lesson from that interaction and apply it to my own running. But I'm not exactly afraid of not finishing. I certainly feel an exhilaration every time I push myself and run the farthest I ever have. But I still feel that the minutes are generally more important than the speed and distance.

I would have liked to take some sort of Jedi lesson from that interaction and apply it to my own running. But it might just be best applied to other courses that I'm afraid to not finish and/or afraid of not finishing.