the Mother Runner

Micah and I used to run together a lot. It was our thing. We’d go out with the boy(s) in the jogger before work, or on a Saturday morning. We’d do speed work and long runs side by side. We’d talk through the long laps of the park and distract each other from the cramps and blisters and aches that invariably arise during those miles.

And during those runs whenever we passed an older person, gray-haired and wrinkled, we’d nod at them and say, “That’ll be us in 50 years.”

Sometimes those years seem right around the corner, a natural extension of our life and who we are as a couple.

But other times, it seems like it’ll be forever until then – until we’re able to run together instead of tag-teaming at the door of our apartment, until we’re able to give each other the full, undivided attention that we seem to only have when we’re moving, unencumbered, together – focused on the same goal, working toward the same finish line.

This essay made those years seem a little closer, and little more exciting, a little more attainable. I’m sure as we near the final laps of life – after we’ve weathered more storms, conquered more hills, enjoyed more stunning views – we’ll count each step we’ve taken together and each mile we’ve completed as a blessing.