Missed my ride today so decided to give my new running shoes their debut, and all I can say is that I love to run. Sometimes I forget, or am injured, or whatever, but nothing, not even my much loved two-wheeled conveyances, can replace the steady rhythm of the feet, the breathing and the sheer simplicity of going for a run.
I remember learning to run. I don't mean as a toddler, but the first time I focused on my form to be faster. It was in kindergarten. I went to a one-room schoolhouse near Norfolk and an older kid, Jeff, said to me during lunch recess, "Sydney, you run pretty good, let me show you how to run faster." And he did. He showed me how to use my arms better and after that I worked on it. I even remember a time I got out of the car and asked my mom to drive beside me and see how fast I went with the speedometer. She said 10 miles per hour and I was quite satisfied, but she might have been making me feel good. No matter. It was enough to keep me running and it sort of foreshadowed a time in high school when I didn't feel like running because it was cold and dark out, and I asked her to drop me off in the dark out on a country road so I'd be forced to run 'cuz I had to get home. She did and I did. How many moms would do that? My friend Jeff and I also used to jog on the way home. He would tell me how to breath and on my last day before we moved to Battlecreek, NE, he told the second-grade me to keep running and that I was "as fast as anyone - don't let those city-kids scare you." Thanks for your encouragement and advice Jeff. I hope life has treated you well.