Challenges of a Middle-Aged Mediocre Runner

Arlene pulled at the white laces in her pristine running shoes. The synthetic off-gassing didn’t have the pleasurable leather smell from runners in the old days, but they emitted newness and hope. Satisfied the laces were tight, she double tied them and stood up, her weight suspended on the cushiony soles.

In the elevator, feeling a spectacle in her middle-age, wearing lycra running gear, she breathed thanks as the elevator passed all the floors without stopping. Even the lobby was empty and she walked unaccosted through the main door without having to explain and defend her meager running habit, that she only ran a few kilometers twice a week, and didn’t run marathons.

Outside, the late autumn sky hung overcast and gray, and spat out a few large cold raindrops, baptizing her pristine runners. Arlene set her Apple watch to Outdoor Run Activity and propelled her heavy, lumpy legs into a steady jog. After a few moments, she merged onto the paved path along the upper bank above the seawall.

Energy flooded into her body and her arms and legs coordinated into a smooth rhythmic motion, urging her forward faster; whispering now was her chance to fly, unbounded. In the past, the familiar seductive voice had convinced her to run full hilt, only to abandon and leave her empty just after the halfway point. No, patient and steady completes the run.

Arlene jogged down the path to the seawall. Luminescent gray sea waves reflected the cloudy sky and chilly rain drops multiplied and picked up their descent. So many walkers bulked in winter gear. Did they find her odd and underdressed, and feel grateful for their winter parkas? Janet, a woman from her condo building, sporting trendy wear with a physique, Arlene envied, strode in front of her. About the same age, Arlene often saw her working out with twenty-pound weights in their building’s small gym, while she hadn’t advanced beyond five pound weights. 

At her slow running pace, Janet would hear her thudding steps and heavy breathing from behind, and then when she passed, Janet would realize it had been her, and then she’d be thumping and gasping along, barely holding a lead. Pathetic.

Her body balked at the prospect of speeding up, but her pride demanded it of her, so she summoned up her short supply of anaerobic energy and passed Janet, exchanging a short greeting in passing, and forced herself to keep going, despite her lungs protesting lack of air and threatening collapse and her muscles seizing with lactic acid; mind over matter, she willed herself on.

Three young runners bounded, as if on springs towards her. If only she had their strength and cardiac capacity. They ran abreast, taking up the dry section of the path. She routed to their left, inadvertently plunging one shoe and then another into a deep muddy, cold puddle. Her brand new runners were no longer brand new. The cold wetness quickly warmed with the heat generated from running into a veritable warm foot bath, not altogether unpleasant.

A few more feet to the bend in the seawall, where she’d disappear from Janet’s sight and could slow down a bit. A group of slow walkers took up the whole walking side of the seawall. Arlene eyed the bike path to their right, elevated by about four inches. Not a problem when she was walking, but balancing her body in a running gait could be another thing, and the variation in terrain could throw her off. Of course, she should just yell out, ‘On your left’ but she gave way to an inner resistance, and side stepped up onto the bike path. She knew her error the instant, prior to shifting her weight too far, when she lost her balance and stumbled, hitting the ground in a heap.

Now, Janet would witness that not only couldn’t she run at a snail’s pace, she couldn’t even stay on her feet. She needed to get up and keep moving. 

“Are you okay?” a man twenty years younger, with a wide, friendly face, asked. 

She avoided his clear blue eyes and tracked the many freckles across the bridge of his nose. “I’m all right,” she said, flushing as she took his hand and let him help her to a standing position. She felt shaky and a little sore, but otherwise, okay. 

Janet approached with her mouth opened in shock, pulling out and pressing something on her phone, and tapping one of her ear pods. “What happened?”

“Just stumbled. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Janet said.

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks for asking,” Arlene said, and jogged away, ignoring an ache in her lower left calf. She didn’t feel fine, and if not for Janet being there, she wouldn’t have rushed thanking the kind man for helping her. Pushing herself ahead, she expected to hear Janet’s voice behind her, or worse, Janet passing her at a walking pace. 

Step after step, she pounded along, one foot in front of the other, turning off from the seaside and jogging around the north side of the lagoon. A woman, annoyingly several years older than herself, with a svelte figure in a two-tone burgundy tracksuit passed her, deflating Arlene’s spirit, and her steps became heavier and slower.

No matter how plodding, put one foot in front of the other, she told herself. Forget about that woman; this is your run. For several minutes, focussing on gaining the earth immediately ahead, until distance had passed without her noticing. Mesmerization of repetitive forward foot movement produced magic, and unaccountably energy flowed through her and lightened and invigorated her legs, urging them faster. The mild ache in her lower left calf vanished, anesthetized by running, and encouraged, her younger faster self, appeared from across the years to rescue her from her false, aged corporal mass, but her legs awoke and spoiled the transition. Less than half a kilometer to go, so near the end, but so tempting to give into the voice imploring, she deserved to stop. No, she wouldn’t listen, she’d push those stumps of legs of hers and complete her run. 

Janet appeared, walking towards her, having gone around the south end of the lagoon. Arlene kept up the good run. When she neared her neighbor, she breathed as normally as possible, and kept up her pace.

“Good recovery,” Janet said, as they passed each other.

Arlene smiled as naturally as she could. She’d almost forgotten about her injury. A little further; she could do it.