Blue Jeans & Jelly Beans
Last year about this time, I had just become the proud owner of a wonderful dog named Blaze. Blaze was an eager young black Labrador retriever with no manners whatsoever who needed to be worn out every day if he wasn’t going to eat my furniture.
I wished I were a runner. I longed to stride for miles with my new dog. The only problem was my knee. It had nothing terribly wrong, just an overuse injury I’d had for years. But it definitely kept me from running without pain.
I decided, regretfully, that I was just getting too old to run for fitness. I started to put together alternate exercise plans for both of us.
Blaze and I learned about dog parks, those wonderful places where doggies can congregate off-leash and socialize. There I could throw tennis balls for him to chase until he was worn out.
I also hired my son one morning a week to walk the dog while I hiked in the hills. On those days I got a low-impact, high-energy workout, as well as all-important conversation with my girlfriends.
On the other days I walked Blaze to Cuesta Park to practice his obedience skills. After practice, we’d head over to the Cuesta Park Annex. Even tethered on his leash, Blaze was in Lab heaven, scouting out squirrels, birds and other doggies in the long grass. I’d lift weights and stretch afterward.
My girlfriend saw my jeans getting loose and called me “Runner-butt.” I laughed. I wasn’t a runner, just a woman trying to get her pet exercised. But I did start paying attention to what I ate, and casting around for a way to get in better shape myself.
Then my friend Mary lent me “The Beginning Runner’s Handbook” by Ian MacNeill and others. The book’s 13-week program is intended to take a complete nonrunner and turn her, by tiny, noninjurious stages, into someone who can run a 10K.
It looked so easy I had to try it. Blaze got ecstatically happy when I started running, even in the 30-second intervals the book recommended at first. After the muddy exercise, we both felt relaxed and ready to start the main business of the day: for me, cleaning, shopping, cooking and writing; for him, a serious nap.
Through the fall and winter, I ran more and walked less. Doing it so gradually, with rest days between running days, my knee hung in there. Blaze got so much exercise that he had no problem heeling on leash, and actually ran behind me sometimes instead of straining out in front.
Fast-forward to a glorious warm morning a couple of weeks ago. I drove Blaze out to Baylands Park on the Palo Alto side, where dogs are allowed on the trail, and we took off.
Ducks and geese were dipping and calling to each other across the salty inlets. Water birds flashed gold and silver as they rose up in the sunlight. The sun dazzled me as it poured into my eyes from sky and sea alike. I reveled in the warmth on my skin as I ran. I stopped thinking and just felt, and what I felt felt good.
When I was finished, the trail markers informed me that I’d gone five miles, and I was astonished. “Me? I’m not a runner! I can’t go that far!” said the old voice in my head. But my muscles and lungs, fatigued and exhilarated, told me otherwise. My heart slowed down, my breathing calmed, and I was simply happy. I was finally a runner after all.
Passarelli is the mother of three and, now, a runner. Blaze is, too. Her column runs the fourth week of the month.
