I haven't gone running in nearly three months. Part of the problem was the weakness in my legs, weighed down by the concrete blocks on my feet. The weather also had something to do with it. Even though I ran in the winter in Rhode Island, the snow here has made it too dangerous for a wobbly woman like me to navigate the streets.
Today I'm back.
The inspiration came from my son Mark. Last night we went to see him run the mile uptown at the Armory. The race was rabbitted, meaning that another runner set a speedy pace for the first 800 meters. Mark had been in second place for most of the race, alternating the lead with a fellow Lion. Before the race began, and to clear my racing mind, I made a vow to myself that if Mark broke the 4-minute mile, the holy grail of running, or even if he didn't, but he won, that I would start jogging again. Mark won in 4:07.88, a personal best.
Early this morning, I found my warm running clothes and double-laced my sneakers. I had no idea how this was going to go down, but I set off in 29 degrees determined to go a mile. Heading south, I saw Lady Liberty lifting her torch to me. It was cold and windy, but I felt good. It took me four times longer to run a mile than it had taken my son (plus I picked up the weighty New York Times as I neared the end), but I was proud of my effort, almost as proud as I'd been last night at the Armory.