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| Running along the Grass River at St. Lawrence University in the fall of 1964 by Mary Stebbins Taitt background oils pastels. click to view larger. |
I am currently reading Born to Run, the Greatest Race the World has Never Seen, by Christopher
McDougall. Although I am enjoying it so
far (a lot), this is not a book
review, I never review a book until I finish it (I learned that the hard way,
with River King, but that’s a
different story.)
When I was a Freshman at St.
Lawrence University, I joined the downhill ski team (this was long (14 years?)
before I learned how to cross-country ski).
In order to get in shape for racing, the coach required ski team members
work out with the cross-country running team.
It was autumn. The cross-country
running trails followed the winding bank of the Grass River for miles. Gradually, the trees turned brilliant with
color and I discovered that running made me feel as if I were buoyant, almost
lighter than air. I moved into an easy jog and floated for miles and miles, for
hours and hours, alone on the banks of the golden Grass River. I remember green and bronze light, sparkles
of sun on water, red leaves sailing downstream like little boats, deer bending
their necks to drink, picking up their heads, pricking their ears, and then
either gliding into the forest, or, after a few weeks, ignoring me and
returning to their drinks.
Early on, I gave up running with the
others, who chatted as they ran about drinking and parties or hopping in sack
with me (they were mostly guys and I was a virgin) and took off to run by
myself. I loved the solitude.
Running was effortless and
joyous. I not only did not experience
the tedium that some of my friends groused about, nor the exhaustion other
complained about, but instead, I came back both calmed and energized.
Granted, I ate like a horse after
those long runs, but, hey, at the dining hall at SLU in the fall of 1964, we
got all the food we could eat, no questions asked. We could go back for second or thirds. (Or fourths or fifths).
Unfortunately, I spent too much time
running, hiking deep into the wilds and partying. My grades weren't good enough to race when
the snow fell. So instead, I snowshoed
deep into the wilderness, alone.
I ran slightly longish distances later
in life, when I was married and had kids, nothing
like the 100-miles runs in Born to Run,
but I would run around the 3-mile trail at Beaver Lake nature a couple times,
or take the longer route, the roads around the lake, which amounted five miles.
Born
to Run talks a lot about barefoot hikers and runners, and here, too, I
connect. I used to trail run in bare
feet and climb mountains in bare feet, mountains like Marcy, the highest
mountain in New York State, as well as a number of trail-less peaks back when
they were really trail-less and required a lot of heavy-duty bushwhacking
through dense stands of firs and over rough granite boulder fields. There was
no cushy trail, only sticks and rocks. But
I had tough feet.
I've never been much of an athlete;
I’ve never been able to run fast. As a
kid, I came out near the end of any 50-yard dash, which is the only kind of
race we had in “gym” class (it wasn’t called phys ed when I was a kid). What I
did have going for me most of my life was endurance. Whether I was running, hiking, cross country
skiing, snowshoeing or swimming, I could just keep going and going and GOING.
Not any more though. At 68, and for some yeas now, I have and have
had fibromyalgia and it hurts to walk
or run. I am writing this while riding an exercise bike. I read that walking on a treadmill or riding
an exercise bike helps with creativity.
I don't know if this is true or not, all I know is, l enjoy walking or
biking while writing.
So, that's what I do.
*
My mother-in-law is 93. She recently fell and hit her head and had
bleeding on the brain. They took her to
the hospital. She seemed so bad, we were
afraid she wouldn't make it. But she
seemed incrementally improved yesterday, and that's a good thing. After lunch, we're going to see her.
This and a number of other things
have kept me from posting lately. (I
wrote this story Saturday morning, 2-21-15.
Since then, I have been to see ML twice, and she’s doing somewhat better,
but that’s another story.)
I’ve probably written more than a
hundred stories intended to be posted that I never had time to post.
