A lady sits across the cafe, and her long sleeved cotton t-shirt reads, “Running is Cheaper Than Therapy”. I smile, longingly. I agree; the roads and paths and trails and beaches that I have run on are strewn with my issues, worries and concerns and I picked up instead humour and perspective and peace.My hip is sore and it has been 2 weeks and 3 days since my last run and I miss him, my run. I miss my out of breath-ness and my rhythm, my focus and my time out. I miss him, my therapy called Runner.
I walk now. I need to do something, it doesn’t hurt (much), and it gets me moving. I am trying the slower pace of life. I have to work harder to stay focused or I lose speed and then I am just dandering around the countryside. I only like dandering around the countryside when I’ve planned to, and I don’t plan to. Not as an intention, I am not sitting here thinking, I will never dander around. Simply, it is something I don’t make plans to do. Perhaps it would be nice to.
In my 4 walks, I have managed to knock almost one minute of my mile, quite an achievement but not really, it’s more about oiling the wheels and remembering to push it, and now a runner with her blue headband comes in, purchases a coffee, or a green tea to go, and leaves.
I am sure there is a lesson in this. “Life is not meant to be run through” perhaps, or “slow down and savour the journey”. Perhaps it is simply, “Do not run 8 miles on a Saturday when you have barely done 8 miles in the past 2 weeks”. That, though, isn’t likely to make it on wall hangings or fridge magnets, but it should: more practical. Maybe it is, “Even when you can’t do it all, do some”
So I am a walker now. It is more empowering that injured runner. He is not quite the therapist my runner was, but maybe we will become friends.
Waking Up In Canada 