Running for Meg

I ran five miles today, nothing out of the ordinary. But today I ran that five miles for Meg, a woman who was struck by a drunk driver on her morning run this past Monday. We runners have all had close calls, we have all jumped out of the way just in time to avoid the distracted driver barreling toward us. But this week we lost one of our own. I do not know Meg, but I know a little about her.

I am her: I am a mother, a daughter, a friend, and a runner. I know what it feels like at the end of a run, when all of my limbs are tingling. I know what it feels like to reach a goal, to shave a few minutes off a race time, or to meet a new mileage goal. I know what it feels like to have something to work toward. I know what it is like to stand at the start line with thousands of others, with one purpose, to run. I know what it is like to run through the finish, with bystanders and faster runners cheering me on. Today, I, along with a whole lot of other people ran for a woman we don't know, and will never meet. We ran because that is what we do when we are sad, when we are anxious or when we need to work through a problem. Runners run. We ran after the tragedy at the Boston Marathon. And we will run the next time we lose someone.

Today I also ran for those who have never experienced the silence of a country road after snow. I ran for those who don't pay attention, who have never noticed the bluebirds sitting atop swaying stalks of milkweed, or great blue heron waiting patiently for a fish. I ran for those who have never stretched out sore muscles, who have never felt truly alive as their bodies moved in time with breath down a back road. I ran for those who don't understand. 

Today I attempted to find compassion for those who value their destination or their text messages over my life. I tried to forgive those who find it amusing to scare me by swerving into my path or those who just don't care. I thought of Meg, and of Jim, and of all the others who have been killed or injured doing what they love to do, run. Today I am grateful, I am grateful to have been given the gift of this day, to run, without my headphones on the back roads of Berkshire County, with snow silently falling. I ran past rabbit tracks and a family of deer. I ran because that is what I do. My thoughts go out to family and friends of Meg today and it is an honor to be part of an amazing, supportive community.

Megsmiles Website

Slowing Down

I completed a half marathon on Sunday, something I try to do twice a year. It was an amazing day, in the sixties and the route was along a river in northwestern Connecticut. I managed to shave two minutes off my previous time. The day after was again beautiful. Living in the Berkshires, one takes these gorgeous Autumn days when they come. Any time it could turn cold, and the foliage is beginning to peak. We have had major snowstorms as late as June and as early as Halloween. So the day after my 13.1 I needed to run rather than take a much needed rest. It was a slow one and I allowed myself to walk the length of a dirt road that it on my usual route. The result...

"Put a smile on your face...

make the world a better place." I love running to this song by Vitamin C. But the other day, when temperatures reached 90 and the humidity was thick I tried a simple experiment. Rocking out to Italian hip hop, I was still struggling, my legs were heavy and I was not a happy camper. But I started to smile as I was climbing a hill, a shit-eating grin, and probably looked a little strange, but that smile was enough to shift my attitude and I kicked asphalt. I started to smile widely as I prepared for a sprint. The heat no longer affected me. It was magic, but it was just a smile. 

26.2

I look a wee bit pained!

The other day an SUV passed me while driving on the Mass Pike, the woman in the passenger seat was giving me the thumbs up. I didn't know why until they pulled in front, but saw the sticker on the bumper, 26.2. While this means nothing to anyone who doesn't run, for those of us that do, this is a major accomplishment and source of pride. I began running 7 years ago, near the end of my marriage. Running saved me, relieving the major stressors that come with the break up of a marriage. It took me a while to be able to run a full mile, my lungs had been clear of smoke for years but still didn't function as well as a non smoker's. Flash forward five years, I am ready to race and I choose a full marathon for my first (probably not recommended.) I had never run that far before and my training runs were at the longest 20 miles. But that day in October, in  Hartford CT, I did it. I completed 26.2 miles. I am not a natural athlete, I skipped gym class in high school, smoked and drank throughout my early twenties, and when I hit 35 ran 26.2 miles. So I have the sticker on the car, and only a runner knows how much work those three little numbers mean. So when I pass a car with the sticker I always smile to myself. We are connected through our commonality, our love of this sport, the work and dedication it takes to be able to place the sticker on your car. We can be from completely different walks of life, but there is a connection. Thank you for that connection.

It's Better with Two

Today was gorgeous. Spring-like weather in February, a mile into the run my coat was tied around my waist. Today I ventured out with a friend for a 6 mile loop through some of the most beautiful countryside (I think) in the Berkshires. This run had it all, rolling hills, flat stretches bordering cornfields, shaded areas, brooks, and farmland, complete with a flock of geese crossing the road. The geese would have been featured as the stars of this post had my cell camera not been full. Running with a friend keeps me motivated, not only to get started, but to keep going. Neither of us had run this distance in a while, and I know I had my doubts, but most of it went by with conversation and scenery. We passed a farm, home to a large flock of sheep, and stopped for a moment to say hi to the babies. With temperatures in the high 40's, this was a perfect late winter loop. I got my vitamin D and had the time to catch up with a friend.

Paying Attention

This winter has been a strange one to say the least. I have been running in long sleeve tee shirts for most of it. This warm again cold again weather pattern has created havoc on the dirt roads on which I run, giving my ankles an extra tough workout. There were frozen ruts this morning and I had to make sure and slow my pace, zigzagging across a road not traveled by many (closed for the season) and really pay attention to my footing. I do use running as a sort of moving meditation, many ideas or solutions to problems come within the rhythmic cadence of foot on pavement and attention to breath. This morning I was made aware of more than just the pounding of pavement and labored breathing as I ascended yet another Berkshire hill. I needed to watch the ground carefully as I traveled, lest I twist an ankle. This made for slow going but paying attention always brings rewards. First is a safe and healthy return, second a greater connection with my body. Although I enjoy experiencing those "Aha" moments during a run, running for me is more than merely meditation. It affords me opportunity to be here, on this earth, in this body, creaky ankles and all. It affords me the chance to feel those lungs that were, for so many years filled with cigarette smoke, and now are filled with country air. It allows me to propel myself through space, and ending with a sense of accomplishment. I did it, I can do it, I am here.

New Loops

I just moved to a new town. At first I was scared that my running would be disrupted. How could I find a loop that was as perfect as my old one, the route I had been running for years, past a brook and through beautiful farmland. It took a while but I finally discovered a new run, a five mile loop that follows a dirt road now closed to traffic because of the winter. I see a hawk nearly everyday and the terrain is just perfect, part trail and part pavement. Now I realize that I can always find a perfect place to run, wherever I move.
Laura Gross
January 2012