This week I wrestled with post-holiday blues and in this quiet time I recall those no longer here. Those shiny, vibrant beings who escaped their earthly bodies to dance with stars. Or at least that’s what I imagine tonight. I mean, if I can’t share a bottle of champagne with my mother anymore, at least I can presume she is doing something fabulous, starry even, right? As my eye drifts out the picture window at the endless snow falling, I hear her ringing laughter, for she adored the holiday season, skating full force from one glittery gathering to the next without pause.
I have been running for decades, although the task has never been particularly easy nor have I been very fast, so I thought it time to learn about this sport I hope to continue for yet another decade. With this in mind, last April, on Fool’s Day, I began a ten week running clinic. I really didn’t know what to expect other than what was offered in the short blurb in our weekly paper: meet every Wednesday evening, 2 hour running time coupled with short lectures, gather at the town recreational path, and most importantly, all levels are welcome. After 5 weeks, I’m thrilled I signed up for what I have gained in such a short time is far more than I could have anticipated. Our very first class, shockingly, still met in frigid weather, 26 degrees on the thermometer. Ten women arrived, bundled in hats and gloves, and wearing multiple layers. Our coach arrived in a full down-parker. But what he told us on that night was to first and foremost keep running fun, and his weekly message has kept that theme at its very core. Then we learned how to run hills because this is Vermont after all.