Running Body
It’s a surprisingly cool early September morning. I start off on the Central Park bridle path where there are rarely horses anymore. I take it slowly, staying tall when I remember that I’m hunched over. Others pass me. So many look like they’re training for the marathon, lithe, sculptured bodies, ready to take on the world. I, on the other hand, am wearing a fanny pack with my iPhone inside along with a small bottle of water and my keys. My tee shirt is soft and comfy and my cropped leggings hug my generous thighs as if they are support hose. Both knees are clad with knee braces to secure torn meniscuses. My socks are striped but match my shirt. I like colors and the little accessory is evidence of that. I wear Hokas. They seem to have extra reinforcements for my feet and knees. My hair, in a high ponytail, looks more like a gray firecracker than a proper hair style. Nonetheless, I am running. Slowly but surely, I am running.
For years I thought that all runners looked more like track and field stars than regular people. My introduction to running in grade school had me out of breath with a stabbing pain on my right side. I could do the 50-yard-dash easily. I had some speed for such a short distance. But for the longer runs, I had no clue how to pace myself and within and minute and a half I was struggling to get through it. I was not built like a natural runner. My shape is pear-like. I am sturdy, not slender. For much of my life I was told overtly or subtly that mine was not an athletic body. Nor was it fashionable. I was limited to videos at home to get in shape. Then, maybe then, I could run.
Once I turned 50, even with the aches and pains that come with living a half-century something shifted in me. So, at 53 I started to run. A friend told me I could run slowly. There was no speed requirement. Since I was old enough not to care, anyone could pass me and I’d just go at a pace that was good for me. Within two years I was training for a marathon. It took me over six hours to complete. And, though most runners will try to beat their best time, I was happy to get to the finish line. What I lacked in speed, I more than made up in stamina.
These days, now starting my sixth decade, I don’ think I’ll tackle another marathon. It seems that three to five miles is my sweet spot. My lungs and knees thank me for my slow pace, and I am happy that this non-traditional running body is the perfect running body for me. It’s a great way to get through an audiobook, or enjoy some new music. It feels like I’m accomplishing something. Something that I never thought I could do.
