I was not feeling good yesterday; I had a bad night's sleep and my body was sore from maybe (just maybe) trying to show off in front of Mr. Every-Body-Run during our Mother's Day Family Run. I was dragging.I decided to run. That's what you're supposed to do, right? You get out there anyway. Didn't I just mention how a short break for illness from running meant that when I returned, I loved the FEELING all the more? And that just getting out there was the right thing?
And the morning had begun with a decidely toddler-y spin: Tiny Overlord has been fighting a cold for several weeks that had was now turning to a stronger cough, and so she was cranky. She fought leaving the house. She upended my coffee. She insisted on putting on her own socks, then threw a tantrum when she couldn't get them on, then threw a second tantrum when I deigned to help.
Outside, she fought the jogging stroller, twice kicking off her shoes that every other Target reviewer assured me toddlers could not kick off (never underestimate Tiny Overlord) leading me to loudly and snarkily declare "it's mama's turn to get what she wants and MAMA WANTS A RUN so too bad!" -- of course, right as my sweet neighbors were getting ready to walk to school with their equally sweet elementary school daughter, leaving me to really feel like I was winning mom of the year over here.
And the thing was, I really needed ALL of that coffee...
I checked my watch once an applesauce packet provide a brief respite (seriously, I wish I invented those things -- but at the very least, if you did, please email me so I can express my undying appreciation!). I was hoping the magical librarians at the regular outside storytime might help us salvage Tiny Overlord's mood, so I saw I had exactly 35 minutes before we'd need to be back on the library lawn with those wizards of words, I opted for a 30-minute out-and-back on the Custis Trail, which would leave me very close to enjoying some "Wheels on the Bus" and matching games. Now, if you look up said trail on Wikipedia, you will see one of the first qualifiers is that it is a "hilly" trail. Not the best choice of terrain if you are already hurting and dragging, but I just thought I'd be a toughie about it -- "needs must" said in a stiff-upper-lip-British style and I was on my way.
Five minutes in, I was cursing myself. Applesauce packet demolished, Tiny Overlord was insisting she wanted to run, which while I love, is a near-impossibility on a trail that is also used by bike commuters (someday, I have a whole other post about bike commuters who think they are trying to beat Lance Armstrong on multiuse trails and why that's no bueno, but gotta tamp down my snark first). As I tried to distract her -- "look a bow-wow!" "how pretty are those flowers -- how do we say their color en español come papa?" -- she decided instead to throw her body back and forth, adding a new level of challenge. I walked a minute to catch my breath enough to get her engaged in singing her own version of "Wheels on the Bus" to prep for story time, and then began my way up the first big hill.
I'll just jog, I thought, I'll be fine. But my arms were wobbling, I somehow banged the inside of my calf against the stroller frame hard (don't ask, because I don't know how either) and could already see a bruise forming, Tiny Overlod pitched the empty applesauce packet at me and the dregs stained my shirt, and then a big chunk of my hair -- overlong since I haven't even had time to get a haircut since last August -- escaped my braid and landed right in my mouth. So I added "gagging on own hair" to my awesome look as I slowed to a walk.
At that moment, an absolutely gorgeous runner --flawless carmel skin that actually looked good with a sweat on like one of those Athleta models, super cute matching outfit, visible muscles on every bit of her body and stylish braids that she was not at all choking on -- started running down the hill towards me at a pace that would best my oh-god-a-T-Rex-is-chasing-me sprint but looked effortless on her. I locked eyes with her, thinking: "If she doesn't have kids yet, I'm her best option for birth control... a literal walking cautionary tale."
Gorgeous Runner then looked at me. She gave me the head nod -- that sometimes universal symbol of "I see you, I get you" that runners tend to give each other on the trail and that we know means encouragement. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the girl crush I was developing on someone who could look so pulled together on this hill, but I actually got a little emotional lump in my throat.
She passed. "You're doing great, mama," she said, then continued on.
I got to the summit. I let myself enjoy the gravity going down the other side. I shouted "Whee" and even Tiny Overlord got more cheerful. For the next 25 minutes, while I finished my out-and-back, I made a point to look right at everyone I passed -- runner, walker, and even frantic bike commuter (though they usually ignored me) -- and offer the head nod and a smile. I accepted the ones returned to me gratefully. We think of running as a "solo" sport, as if others do not matter. But this was such a reminder that they do.
It was a reminder about the little acts of solidarity on the trail, and how you never know what someone you're passing -- in running, or in life -- is dealing with. Maybe Gorgeous Runner Lady also has gag-on-own-hair days and understands -- or maybe she's just kind. Like all the little social kindnesses it is so easy to skip -- putting down your phone to chat with the barista making your drink, holding the door for the person behind you, asking the person behind the counter how they are -- it costs nothing. But it matters a lot. Your head nod could be the reason someone else doesn't just flop face down on the trail today.
So, give it a shake -- literally.
