My husband asked me if I had written about our run. No. No, I had not. It wasn’t that I thought the event was insignificant, unworthy of words. That wasn’t it. I think, and this is going to sound strange, I needed to process my feelings about the whole situation. Situation? That makes it sound worse than unworthy. This, my friends, is called quicksand; the muck and mire or not being able to explain myself properly. Sinking slowly into sounding stupid.
What I meant (and what I think I have always meant) is that my husband together with even the word ‘running’ is something I am finding a little hard to accept. This is an about-face attitude coming from him. After the 21.24K he was less than enthusiastic about me returning to the run in any capacity. Okay, he was dead set against it. He would have preferred I pick up needlepoint. Origami. French poodle grooming. Anything but running and ruining the knees. And, now here he is, sharing my treadmill, logging his own mileage and this latest thing, running with me. It’s all so strange and at times I think I should pinch myself to make sure I’m not in la-la land.
Running with Kisa is something I always dreamed of doing. It makes my run safer. Having him there gives me more places to go, too. It adds diversity to an otherwise been-there, done-that routine. His stride is bigger so he pushes me to go faster. For now, I have endurance on my side. I can go for longer. (ooooh, that sounded bad). But, eventually Kisa will catch up. Soon he will be matching me minute for minute, mile for mile. And you know what? I can’t wait. Bring it on, big man!