I run with a friend of mine, Glenn, three days a week. Over the last couple of months, we have settled into a routine that we will maintain throughout our training together. He has his water bottle. I keep my hands free by tethering my key to my finger with a pony tail holder. I run to the right of him going out and coming back, farthest from the road if not on a trail, closest to the grass when on a trail. He runs to my left, nearest the road, inside the trail and takes the brunt of any cars, runners, cyclists, or dogs coming the other direction or up from behind us. He shields me from having to do anything except talk (a lot) and run. Because I am able run without much defensive movement, I am also able to look around. Usually our conversations wander through a variety of subjects, and often I will interrupt to point out some small detail that I observe: extremely blue birds flying around, hawks screeching overhead, rock formations, the pace of the creek, the way the grass bounces when we run downhill, the smells in the air, geese flying over us (or at us?), cloud formations, blue trucks on overpasses, temperature changes, shorts that are too short, anything that catches my attention along our miles together. He always obliges my conversational whims. Yesterday was no exception. We decided on a six thirty in the morning start time in the freezing weather in order to prepare for our upcoming race. Though it was early, cold, very windy, and I had not yet had my coffee, I still looked around through my glassy eyes to point out the little details. I pointed out the ice flows in the creek breaking off of the banks, the trash that I thought was more ice that ended up being Styrofoam (he made fun of me for this one, but at six thirty in the morning when you’re blind from a cold wind blowing in your face Styrofoam looks like ice), the way the grass cracked beneath the weight of my body because it was frozen, and the brisk wind that we ran against. Our breath hung in front of us with every word. After more than three miles of my chattering and our running, we turned around to retrace our steps. He sounded off the time it had taken us to get to the turnaround point and I knew we had been running slowly because of me – slow out, fast back. Once I heard the time, I looked down and picked up the pace. I always notice more before we turn around. When I know I am half way through any run, my mind becomes a little less interested in my surroundings and more focused on form. I look down more at the trail lines and clear my mind of anything so I can think about my breathing, in and out, and the pace of my footsteps sound more like a metronome. I have always assumed that Glenn did the same thing. I found on this particular run that he does not. He is still looking up at the trail and paying attention to what is in front of him. For a few minutes after turning around, we did not talk much; we ran to make up time. The next thing I knew, Glenn pushed me over into the grass and yelled “watch out!” I looked up to see a white utility truck coming quickly around a blind curve on the trail, which is only as broad as four bodies set shoulder to shoulder. I thought it was odd and dangerous for a truck to be there, but it was worse because it was moving quickly. We regrouped, and laughed about our treacherous run, how I notice all the little things, but not the big white truck driving toward us. As we laughed, I pointed out where the truck entered the trail and the mud he tracked on to it, and this made us laugh more. I told him I was going to make up some elaborate story about how he saved me from certain death and had earned a hero’s welcome, how he pushed me out of harm’s way so that he would sustain the injuries and I would run another day. For the rest of the hour we added to this story and chuckled about my attention to details (albeit insignificant ones), and the big white truck that almost ran over us. The truth is he kept me from getting hurt. If I had been alone, I wouldn’t have seen the truck until it ran into me – I know that. We pushed ourselves the last couple of miles and in the end we had smiles on our bright red faces and made up all of our time. Another success, we lived to see another freezing cold morning! During our post-run stretch, I looked up at a leafless tree right next to us. The sky was still grey, the building grey, but this bare tree was full of bright yellow birds. They were watching us with their heads cocked to the side like we were the bizarre things on the ground. I pointed and he looked up, tired, and laughed. We discussed whether they were yellow finches and how much more fun it is to get outside even on cold, gray days and see fun things like bright yellow birds. As I watched the birds in that tree, I realized how great it is to have a friend that watches out for the big things so that I can look around at life’s little details.
Thanks Glenn! (It's not quite the hero story we discussed, but I mentioned that I reserved the right to change it at any point.)
p.s. shhhh – it’s a new year so I’m restating my running goals. Glenn and I may be training for a half marathon this fall. He is a bit of a task master though. If I can bear his fits over my insufficient and intermittent training schedule we might get a t-shirt and a sticker. If not, he’ll end up in that creek I run past three times a week. I tried to train by myself last year and it didn’t work. I hope he doesn't end up in the creek. I don’t like running alone.