It was another one of those gorgeous, late summer-reminiscent days today and I was laying in the grass in the Blakely Fields in front of The Fletcher School chatting on the phone, trying to get some reading done, and taking in some sun when I got stung by a bee! I had been lying there watching them get in and out of the hundreds of grassy weed flowers around me and must have accidentally swiped one with my hand as I turned to switch sun sides.  I felt that poke/sting and rapid swell spreading, tried to pull the lil stinger out but failed, so I trekked across the field to Health Services to see what they could do for me.

The last time I got stung by a bee I was at the annual boomerang tournament at the Ruhe-Ruhf farm exploring the train tracks with Luna Babes when I stepped into a beehive. And Yikes! Two or three buggers got me on my leg which immediately swelled-up balloon style, and stayed that way, itching and hurting for days, and leaving big red bumps for several weeks!  With an important tennis match tomorrow morning (I have a reigning title to defend) I was determined not to have a swollen hand for the next several days.

Which brings me to running. As one of the sweet doctors at Tufts Health Services took my pulse she asked me, “Are you a runner?”  I immediately blurted out, “Yes!” Surprised to hear myself say that I went on, “Well…” “An Athlete?” she asked? “Yeah…” I said smiling. “Nice and slow and steady,” she said referring to my pulse.

I confess I have never considered myself a runner. In fact I’ve mostly hated running.  I’d throw it into a weekly workout here or there just to change it up a bit, almost always on a treadmill and struggling to pump out more than 20 or 30 minutes at a slow pace. I only started to really like running when I was up at my cabin in August. I wanted to get back in shape and the weather was awesome, our dog Abby would come with me, and we’d run in the sun, the north woods and marshlands of Wisconsin making a great scenic trail, and sounding board, as I tried to sing at the top of my lungs while huffing and a puffing along the dirt road. When we’d get back we’d end at the dock and jump in the lake to cool off and the whole thing just made life feel good.  Here in the Medford-Somerville-Cambridge-Arlington area of Massachusetts we’re lucky to have miles of running-walking-biking trails, and I’ve grown to love the one that starts just behind our house.

Which brings me to today and why I love running.  I set off this evening just before sunset in need of clearing my head and determined to get in a good run. I started fast and with my music LOUD.  It felt so good to get out of my head and into the music and run that I decided to see which would slow me down first: my legs or my lungs.

In the beginning when I ran I’d think about running, or think about not thinking about running.  I run because I like to get a good workout. I feel strong and that feels good. I run because it’s part of my personal mental health plan, because running outdoors takes you places, because, second only to skydiving and bicycling, you really feel like you are flying.  And that’s a pretty amazing feeling.

When I passed the high school where the football and cheerleading practice is usually taking place the woods part and the sky opens up. I caught a glimpse of the sun setting magenta but kept running.  When I got to the end of my loop I had to stop to watch a few pitches of the Somerville little leaguers.  These kids were young, maybe only 8 or 9, but they could throw!

As I turned to make my loop back I started thinking about how my dad used to run track when he was younger (he also used to look a lot like Elivs Presley, but I digress..).  And though I started running to get back in shape, I don’t think I’ll ever stop (well, save for the knees) because “getting in shape” doesn’t have an end.  As my dad would attest, like most things, it’s really a life-long process.

And so it goes, Asi es mi vida corriendo.