For the entire summer, my long runs on Saturday mornings have ruled my weekends. This morning I ran 10 miles again.
My poor legs can’t take much more. In the last five months I have run over 500 miles in preparation for a half-marathon. The race is next week. After that I might never run again.
As I sit typing, I take inventory and can report that, depending on my position, there is pain from my hips to my toes. The funny thing is that nothing hurts while I run. The pain kicks in when I stop. When I try to get out of a chair, or walk down a flight of stairs, the old legs scream at me in harmony.
At the two-mile mark this morning I came upon the early organization of a junior triathlon. Little kids in bathing suits, SUVs, bikes everywhere, parents in reflective vests, an ambulance and a bunch of cop cars. I checked with a monitor and he said there were still about thirty minutes before the race would start. That only allowed me to run three of my four planned miles in that part of the neighborhood. That meant I had to find another mile to tack on somewhere. I ended up running a big hill on my alternate route, which let me see my favorite old dog walking his owners, but that damn hill on mile eight was brutal. Poor old legs.
These poor old legs did outrun the batteries in my MP3 player, though. Dead batteries are normally a pain in the tush, but for some reason when I run longer than my batteries, when I actually outlast the transfer of electrons in the stored chemicals in the little batteries, when I beat the reduction and oxidation cycle, it makes me smile. I’m an odd old lady but I still have some incredible stubborn stamina.
Two more five-mile runs this week and then I’ll drive seven hours, meet my little brother at the beach and we will jog 13.1 miles together again, me gasping for breath beside my little brother chatting away. We’ve done this twice in the past, when we were MUCH younger. This might be my last half-marathon if my ankles, knees, toenails, hips, and thighs get to vote.
This year, close to the end of the race, Jim and I will cross our 75th mile together and we will do a shout out to our dad who would’ve turned 75 on September 7. Love you, Daddy.