Stopping

The other day I tried to run.

 

Again.

 

I have been trying to run for a few weeks now. Somehow I seem to have injured my right hip. Or leg. Or foot. Or maybe all of them. All I know is that when I try to run I can only get a few steps along before I am in shooting pain.

 

The first time this happens I pretty much ignore it and run anyway. I wind up limping.

 

I wait a day.

I try again.

 

Same thing.

 

Still, I am not going to give up. Beside who wants to stop anything anyway?

 

Son says, “Mom. You have to rest it.”

 

I ignore him.

 

I get up the next day to run. I can tell just by the way I am walking I should probably not run. I put on my running gear anyway.

 

Son is up. He sees me in my running gear. Son says, “Mom. You are NOT going running!”

 

“Oh, just a little running.” I say. And I walk out the door.

 

Halfway up the hill to Prospect Park I am thinking: Wow. This is serious. I may have to actually stop running.

 

I stop for a minute and walk.

 

Then I think: Nah. And I keep going.

 

When I get back I decide to let it rest for a few days.

 

I try again.

 

Son sees me. Son says, “MOM! You cannot run yet! A few days rest is not enough. You are really going to hurt yourself!”

 

Somewhere inside me I know he is right. But still, I cannot stop.

 

I go out there anyway.

 

This time I have to stop like 4 times. While in the park I am wondering if I am going to have to walk the whole way back. I decide this would take much too long and I just run through the shooting pain anyway.

 

When I come in limping son is shaking his head in I-told-you-so disgust at me.

 

“I KNOW!” I say. And I walk into my room and shut the door.

 

Really, I don’t know what I am going to do. Oh ok, maybe running is a little bit of an addiction but keeps a girl like me not too tightly wound. Discharged. Generally, less. And without it I am pretty sure I will get all wiggly AND I will go bonkers. And so will the people around me.

 

“Do more yoga.” Friend 1 says.

“Yeah, yeah.” I say. “But yoga is not running. Yoga is yoga.”

 

I circle around my apartment trying to figure out how to force my body to heal. Now.

 

Nothing is coming. I decide to do more yoga. I will do more yoga and I will only run twice a week.

 

I tell son of my plan.

 

Son says, “Mom. You have to not run at all.”

 

I know I should listen to him. He had an actual trainer and was on the Cross Country Team. Plus all that Ultimate Frisbee running around hoopla.

 

“Sorry.” I say. “I cannot stop.”

 

I can tell he is at his son-wits-end.

 

“Anyway, I think I am getting better.” I say.

 

Son raises a son eyebrow.

 

“Ok.” I am lying.” I say. “It still really hurts.”

 

Then I say, “Maybe I will try a week off.”

 

Son looks at me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks right into my eyes.

 

“It’s a start mom.” he says, with his old-man-son wisdom.

 

“It’s a start.”

The Secret City

This morning I went for a run before work.

Like I mostly always do.

And like mostly always, I wake up and it is dark.

 

I lie there in bed and briefly consider not running.

But ok, I get up because really I only have about a minute window before I talk myself right out of running.

 

I can see a light from the living room shining under my door.

Daughter is up already.

Daughter gets up early now being a thirteenager and all. She has to GET READY. This process takes much, much longer than it did just a few years ago.

 

I come out of the room and she has already eaten her croissant breakfast and is now sitting on the couch in her silky bathrobe. She pads over to me and drops her head down a little since she is taller than me and says softly, “Mama.”

 

This is my cue to open my arms and give her a morning hug. Which is one of my very favorite things to do in the whole wide world anyway.

 

I savor the sleepy morning hug and then say, “I got to go run.”

“Ok.” she says.

 

I start getting all the winter running gear on. Luckily it is 36 degrees and so I don’t need too ridiculous an amount of gear. Still, having to put on layers is annoying. I much prefer stretchy shorts and a running bra and off I go.

 

I finish the gearing. Son is still not awake. Son sleeps until the very last minute and then efficiently showers, feeds, and gathers and is gone.

 

As I grab the iPod and walk out I think about walking by the trash in the hall instead of taking it down to the garbage but oh ALLRIGHT. I take it with me.

 

Being outside in Brooklyn early in the morning in the winter is worth the gear. It’s quiet and dark. I run up the hill towards the park. Some early people are out waiting for their kid’s school bus, or going to work or walking a dog. I smile at them.

 

I get to the top of the hill and the park is in front of me. I can see the sun peeking out from behind the stonewall. Just a little teeny-tiny bit of orangey-pink goodness bleeding into a deep hazy blue-black.

 

I run down along the park wall and when I get to 3^rd street I run in. Sometimes, later in the year, when the positions of things earth and sky are different, the sun comes right up over the tread of 3^rd street. It’s pretty fabulous.

 

I turn and go down towards the ball fields. When I get there I stop and do a little secret ritual and take a picture of a tree I like. I look at the long meadow and I think: I am so happy to live near this park in this city. Especially now, in the winter quiet.

 

Soon it is time to start running back. I see a little white dog and also a big brown shaggy dog and a guy smoking a cigarette. I try to decide if I should stop at Starbucks or just run straight home.

 

Starbucks?

Home?

Starbucks?

Home?

 

Starbucks wins. I run right up to the door and get in line. I order a giant double espresso, you know, to add to the adrenaline run rush. And a water, because after all I did just run, right?

 

I get a muffin too. They look so cute all in there together. The muffins.

 

Two blocks and I am home. Daughter is getting her boots laced up and ready to go. Son is cutting his dairy-free waffle in a perfect right angle grid.

 

I sit down on the red chair with my daily reader and my writing book to write my three morning pages before work.

 

The light is coming in the window now. Daughter is on the last of her pack up. “Bye mama!” And she goes.

 

When I finish writing I take a shower, WITH hair washing.

Hair washing always adds time.

Therefore, hair washing is not an everyday occurrence.

While I am in there son knocks on the door. “I’m going.”

 

“Ok bye!” I yell. And I hear the apartment door slam.

 

I dry off, moisturize, throw clothes on and am out the door in 10 minutes.

 

Can you tell I am proud of this 10-minute factor?

 

When I walk out the city has come to life. People everywhere bustling off to work. I walk down the street to work and look at the other people and smile because I have a secret.

 

A secret morning city soft blue and true. I take with me.

All before work.