You’ve heard it said, “Don’t judge someone until you walk a mile you their shoes.”
The day called with a bold invitation. The skies were a vivid blue, the air crisp and clear, the birds sang in a chorus of harmonious rhythms. I just could not resist. Terry was still sleeping as I pulled on my shorts and then tied my shoes – my walking shoes. But give it a shot I thought.
Of course, I usually only walk two miles, maybe four on a good excursion, but why not run? Give it a try. Inspired by a daughter-in-law who runs marathons, I have a hidden dream to be a runner. In this past year, I’ve been quite intentional in my own physical health. I see a trainer at the “Y” twice a week to lift weights, work out on the rowing machine and elliptical and I lose 10 pounds, over and over again.
But, in all my 67 years I have never run a mile. I was never an athlete. As a teenager, my mother told me guys were not attracted to women athletes. She warned me to not be too physically active. I played a little volleyball, but was never encouraged to run. Girl’s walk, not run, I heard in my head. Yet, I stopped listening to my mom about many things a long time ago. Now it was time to run.
With water bottle in hand, I stepped out the door, stretched a few muscles, walked down the first block to warm up and then I went. Run girl, run.
Into the second block, my breath took over, and began to yell at me, “What have you done” as it gasped for air at a deeper level. I began the focus with the rhythm of steps: In–2-3, Out-2-3, In-2-3. “We can do,” this I affirmed.
By the forth block, it was my knees who screamed, “NO-O-O!” Just relax, I thought, keep moving.
Within the next 10 minutes, I heard my mother’s voice with an “I told you so” from all parts of body. There was the tension in my neck, the nerve pain down the back of my leg, the arthritis in my hips, the lack of arch support in my feet, and always the breath calling for more air. And sweat, ugly sweat in my eyes.
Yet, I pushed on. At the stop light on the corner of Middle Road and Tanglewood Lane, I did it. I had run my first mile. As I stopped to congratulate myself, I looked up to find several more runners, speeding by. Men and women moving at an easy pace, confident and comfortable. No one seemed to notice, but this was a big deal for me. I ran a mile in my own shoes.
As I walked back home, I thought of my mom yet again. She had a different world view. One that doesn’t fit today. She would have never gone out for a run. But she did teach me with her own German stubbornness to persevere and push through. That is what I’ll take with me when I try for that second mile – maybe next week. It’s now time for a cold beer.