I have a niece that loves to run. She does triathlons and marathons. Although I really admire her and I “get” why she loves it so much, it’s never been my thing. I really tried to love it in college. They called it jogging then. Do people still jog?
I tried it, tried it with a friend, in the rain, it was a pain. In the sun, it was not fun.(Okay I couldn’t resist, sorry Dr. Seuss)
Shin splints, tripping and falling on my face were my very negative experiences with running. I had advice from friends on getting the correct shoes, running on a more forgiving surface. But after giving it a try, I abandoned running for walking.
These days walking with my 3 year old granddaughter is my favorite. It’s never rushed and always filled with awe. Who knew there was so much excitement and adventure just walking from the house to the car.
She chases a bunny delightfully and then pouts when he escapes her grasp.
“Look Grandma, I found a peanut! Can I keep it?”
“Of course, bring it to the car.” Later I’ll explain to her that it’s actually a seed from the beautiful trees near Grandma’s condo.
“This is where we fell Grandma,” she recalls the time we were holding hands and both slipped on the ice, falling together on our butts giggling and scrambling to get back up.
As we continue our long journey from the house to the car, I don’t have the heart to rush her.
“What’s that?” I say.
“Oh, let’s not bring that in the car.”