Distance running is usually a solitary sport. At least most of my runs are done alone. This very morning was one of the loneliest I have yet had. I ran early up at Forest Park, which can certainly feel isolated, remote and lonely. This morning the effect was especially consuming because of the cold, drippy, misty weather. Most times I look forward to the time alone. The running itself keeps me company. Playing the game. Talking with myself. Listening.
But at other times, like this morning, I can not shake the cold. I can't run far enough to get lost within myself. I am never able to build that internal fire that drives away the mists. It is on those runs that I must admit defeat. I don't admit to taking a loss but I do throw the ball out of bounds and jog to the mental sidelines. On these days the run can even end up being shortened, not from lack of stamina or lack of ability or injury, but because of the discomfort of being alone.
So that's why I don't always run alone. I think we all have buddies that we call upon to help us push through the fog. We runners may embrace our solitude but, ironically, we have also made friendships along the roads.
Josh is my co-worker and sometimes can surprise me with an accepted invite. Randy is a fantastic running partner of almost identical speed and ability to me, but alas he has a regular schedule which restricts him to weekends. Lynda will almost always go down with me to the the track but our goals and abilities are so far apart that we merely share a ride and then pass each other once in a while while doing laps. And then there is Bob. While we don't run together as often as we once did, but once a month I reckon, I still look forward to the chances we do have and cherish his role in changing my life.
But I do have a running buddy who is ALWAYS there. Always available and always so excited to go. Just the sight of seeing me pulling out my Vomero's sends her into jumps of joy and squeals of anticpation. No other running buddy is as passionate and loving of running on the open track. Either hanging off my starboard side as I round the rubberized lined surface or breaking free on her own and bounding across the center grass, Hannah loves to run with me. There are times when the sheer pleasure of it all seems to overwhelm her and she takes off in a bee line in a wind blown brown blur.
Later, panting and tongue hanging to one side, she'll finish her run at my side and I'll swat at her softly, affectionately with my diaper. "Having a good run girl?" I'll ask, and she'll look up and answer me with her eyes.
This morning, up at Forest Park, I wish I would have Hannah with me.
