I got to a point in my training, not too long before "Stress Fracture" was delivered to me as the shit end of "We have good news and bad news," where I would think to myself "I'm not lacing up my shoes for less than 5 miles." What's worse is, I may have said this out loud from time to time. How plainly obnoxious.
Tonight I ran about 4.0 miles and it was worth lacing up for. According to the PECO tower, it was 35 degrees as the last hint of daylight was dancing across a thinly frozen Schuylkill River and compared to recent runs past, this felt almost balmy as I set out.
This particular run took me past a park I just discovered and onto the path where I trained religiously last year. Ten minutes in, I saw the same older man in the same olive green and tan oversized winter coat walking the same aging yellow lab on the grass on the river-side and all at once, I was back. This was my guy; the one that I'd seen on three prior runs at this time; the one that may or may not recognize me yet. But soon, he will.
This is the comfort I've missed. When you run at the same time in the same spot for months on end, you develop a familial attitude toward the faces you pass along the way. You create stories for them, wave to them in a way you've never waved to anyone else in your entire life, nod respectfully at the true hard-core athletes and always expect their reactions to your ridiculous "Good Morning!" at 5:06AM on a Tuesday. But all the while you lean on their consistency to get you through the next quarter mile. It is exactly that camaraderie and spirit among runners that I've been missing. Through all of the extremes (heat, cold, rain, snow, pain, heartache, happiness and joy) we are out there, among our people, consistently.
So, a quick thank you to my olive green coat and his yellow lab. You will never know what you gave me back today but I'll smile at you every night as I pass by and hope you notice.
LOVE.
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