I stopped at the red light. A woman on the curb was all in her running gear, a black band wrapped at one knee and black shorts and a red jersey. Not just red, but brick, or maroon, or blood. The sky’s light was dimming so it was difficult to put an exact name on the red of her jersey.
The sky had also been dumping rain for the previous 17 minutes or so, and the woman was soaked, in spite of the red ballcap on her head.
I sat in my car and thought about her efforts to care for her body–she looked appropriately sleek, well-burnished. I thought about myself, Back In The Day–in the day when I worked my body, sometimes three hours a day, sometimes a little more.
It was good times, it felt right and good. Of course that was WAY back-in-the-day, when I was just a girl. I ran. Distance. Miles and hours a day.
My coaches were great. Inspiring. Capable of guiding young girls in healthful ways.
That was then. Running in competition. Running behind someone, running to stay ahead of someone–running to do my best, better than my last best, running to win. Not like the running that we grown-ups end up doing in our work, not that frantic Must Keep Ahead. It was something more beautiful.
I miss that spirit. Those times. My round belly shows it.
