Blather about Running

Spring, Summer, and Autumn I keep my windows open at night. In the morning, I sit in an easy chair at the front of the house near the open windows and read-journal-read before I start my day.

That’s when I’ve heard the owl.

And, during the day, the crows, who fight over whatever I’ve put in the compost.

The other day in the early morning, I heard a bird that I didn’t recognize so I recorded it with my phone on the window sill, and then asked a birder I know at work to listen and identify it for me. It was a red-bellied woodpecker — which, may I point out, does NOT have a terribly red belly.

One of my co-workers suggested I get the Merlin app which would have done the identifying for me.

“I’d rather ask a person,” I said, in part because of the delightful bird conversation that followed the identification.

We’re fighting a battle, don’t you think, where people are being replaced by technology. Self-checkout at the grocery store. Robo-calls and now robo-texts. Apps for everything.

Meh- this isn’t where I wanted to go with this.

The Stream-of-Consciousness prompt this week is “run” and when I started to write, I wanted to tell you about the sound a runner makes when he runs past the house. I heard it this morning.

pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat.

It’s like a metronome, constant and rhythmic. I can hear him come up the hill, getting louder and louder. Once he passes, the sound fades until he’s over the crest.

Newer runners slow as they come up the hill. It’s a steady grade and exhausting.

When there are runners, cars slow down (usually).

If I hear a car slow down and don’t hear a runner, I peek out my window to see what’s happening. Usually it’s a cyclist or a deer.

The ones that drive me crazy are the cars that don’t slow down for anything.

I’m pretty sure they are all from New Jersey.

One of my co-workers was lacing up her shoes for a “little run” the other morning. “How far do you usually run?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Since the Boilermaker [a local 15K race that happens every July], I only run three to five miles a day,” she said, and shrugged.

Mind you, I haven’t run anything even close to a mile since high school. If I did it then, it was because we had to.

I’ve tried running every now and then, but it hurts, so I quickly give up. Something about running is so pounding and jarring that makes it not feel good at all. Maybe I’m not doing it right.

Plus, I’m a fast walker. I have overtaken runners while I walk. I walk nearly every day.

Mostly I consider myself a swimmer, even though I don’t get in the water as much as I would like. Swimming feels natural and at home. I get lost in thoughts. I stretch and rotate and breathe.

As I go up and down the lane, I think, think, think — about things I’ve read, or heard said, or the sounds I heard as I sat in my chair earlier in the morning.

Like an owl or a red-bellied woodpecker or a runner’s footfalls.