It was a chilly, breezy morning in late September. A soft mist filled the air and a faint light in the eastern sky hinted at dawn. My mom and I trotted lightly along the prairie path listening to the rocks crunch with each step. Few words were exchanged as we watched the morning come alive. Dogs barked, lights flickered in houses and for the moment, we were at peace.
Then came the herd. A herd, indeed. Loud chatter and stampeding feet pierced through our morning meditation. Our Zen moment was pain-stakingly taken from us. My mom and I, running side-by-side watched the herd close in on us. The herd was four wide and about 10 deep. The herd is also known as a “running club” preparing for the Chicago Marathon. To us, they were a rude awakening to our morning … in more ways than one.
A running group has never appealed to my mom and me. The thought of gathering with a bunch of strangers for a 10-mile run has always seemed awful, and even daunting. The pressure to keep pace with the group. The pressure to hold a conversation throughout the entire run. The pressure to succeed. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking a person who isn’t an avid runner and needs a running group for guidance. I am very fortunate to have my mom as my running partner. She keeps me focused and dedicated, and together, we thrive.
As the saying goes, attitude is everything. I’ve yet to encounter a running group with an all-around good attitude. To a certain extent they are positive with each other, but at the end of the day each person is there for himself and himself only. Don’t depend on a group member to slow down because you’re struggling and you need support. They’ll pat you on the back and maybe wait for you at the finish line, that is, if you finish. They’ll start a training run without you, when you over slept because you hit the snooze button one too many times. They won’t move over on the path to make room for other runners. I’ve even witnessed them trample past an elderly couple walking their dog. The running group’s attitude is that they own the path and everyone else a nuisance.
This is how it works for my mom and me. She runs, I run. I run, she runs. She walks, walk. I walk, she walks. I oversleep, she waits. She never oversleeps, so I never wait. We are a team. We run together. We walk together. We laugh, cry and make memories together. We acknowledge the elderly couple and tell them their dog is adorable. And most importantly, we hold hands and finish together.
That morning, the stampede barreled down on us. My mom and I, just the two of us, moved single file even though we were on our side of the path. They trampled past remaining four wide, brushing our shoulders ever so slight. The last girl in the herd struggled to keep up. We gave her words of encouragement.
And as my mom moved along side of me once again, all we could do was look at each other and smile. We knew we had the perfect “club” and we didn’t need a herd of runners to tell us so.
