Run, Forrest--I mean Derek!

I took up running in the summer between Freshman and Sophomore years of High School, when I was 15. I remember this clearly for several reasons; first, I had been a relatively sedentary, bookish, slightly-pudgy child until sometime during Middle School, when I resolved to start getting some exercise and banish the no-longer-cute "baby fat" that was lingering into adolescence. So, I'd been riding my bike and taking walks for a couple of years, but for reasons that I cannot recall, I suddenly decided I was going to...play field hockey. (I would love to visit my teenage self and ask her: what the HECK? Field hockey? Because wearing a mouthguard and whacking other girls in the shins sounded like a rocking good time?) Anyway, a good friend of mine who had been on the team Freshman year advised me to start training during the summer, so "you won't throw up during the first week of practice." (And yet...rather than dropping the idea and bolting in the other direction like a sensible girl, I accepted her words of wisdom and started my butt on a running program immediately.)

I've been running ever since (although not continuously--boy would that suck!). In my crazy teens, I ran almost every day; like the post office, I was not deterred by precipitation, temperature, darkness, what have you. Then I reached the advanced age of--oh, let's say my mid-20s--and realized that I was, in fact, rather fond of my knees, and if I would prefer to continue using them, I should cut back on the pounding and mix in some gentler stuff (welcome back, biking, walking, dancing, and other cardio-pursuits). My point is (and I'm sure you've been wondering when I was going to stop babbling and just get to it already): exercise is a part of who I am. I do it because I must, to maintain my physical health and mental well-being. (Not to mention: so I can EAT chocolate and other goodies without becoming a blimp.)

Now, I have a two sons who are dizzyingly physical creatures. It's in their very nature to run and jump and tackle and throw and catch--and lots of other verbs as well--and they do it for the pure joy of motion. There is no "workout" to them, something to be scheduled and suffered through and checked off; it's more like...breathing...just as necessary, just as easy, and loads more enjoyable. Recently Derek (age 10) began campaigning for permission to come running with me. "Hmm", I considered, "71 pounds, 4-1/2 feet tall, can he actually be ready for this?" (Related Important Question: am I ready for this?) Last Friday night we gave it a try. I had planned to take him to the high school, so we could each go at our own pace around the flat track, but it was Homecoming, so we couldn't get near the place. Instead, we set out into our surrounding neighborhood to do one of my usual loops (including some short uphill stretches, but lacking bleachers to sit down and take a break!) And what do you know--the boy hung in there for 2.5 miles. He asked to slow down to a walk twice, for about 100-yards each time, but otherwise he chatted and jogged happily right next to me.

Here's the thing: he wanted to do this. No one was telling him to. No one was chasing him. He chose to run just for F-U-N. (And, I'm sure, so he could eat more afterwards--he IS my son, after all!) But you know something? It was fun for me as well. I'm sure at some point he'll want to listen to music rather than (ugh) talk to Mom while he runs. And soon after that he won't want to run with me anymore at all, since I'll just slow him down too much. So for now, I'm going to make the most of our sweaty bonding sessions, one mile (and Reward Cookie) at a time!