Note to self: I am not a runner.
This past Saturday just before Father’s Day, my daughter Michelle (age 11) and I ran on the 24 Hour Relay for Kids to help raise funds for the Easter Seals Summer camps. Well, Michelle ran ahead of me, it was a relay, you see. By the time it was my turn, I quickly realized why I seldom run.
The course wasn’t that far – 3 miles, almost 5 kilometers. The runners started out at Swangard Stadium and ran or jogged through Central Park. The idea was that your team always had to have a runner on the track for the 24 hour duration.
I started out well, I must say. After a burst of speed, however, I was huffing and puffing. I look to my left and a sign says “1/2 mile”. “What? What do you mean half a mile?”, I say to myself. “Surely to goodness, I’ve ran farther than that”. But no, the sign was right. “Did someone just put that sign to mock me?” By now, it seemed, everyone was passing me. Kids were running faster than me. People in crutches were running … – well, no, not really.
I’d rather bike, swim, kayak or canoe. Not run. Me not a runner! But I did run again this year – the third year in a row at the relay. Made special by the fact that my daughter ran too. She did well. She didn’t wheeze and puff like I did. Me, I had to summon every ounce of energy to cross the finish line. And oh, did I love the sight of that finish line. So, don’t ask me to run again. Not for another year, anyway.
