Saturday morning, J.P. ran 5 miles for the first time in his life. And I was with him every step of the way.
Blakemore Avenue to West End to Elmington Park to Fairfax Avenue and back home. J.P.'s first 5 miles run. I mean, damn.
This running thing with the two of us. It's hard for me to put into words how much it means to me. Even if it's only for a little while, to share with him something that is so special to me means the world.
When we run together, it's almost like we're not two people, but one. Running together, fast, not effortlessly but not working too hard. Often time, he runs just off my shoulder, slightly behind me, always close. It's a beautiful metaphor for our life together, in some ways. He's my guy.
I've been running for almost 30 years. J.P.'s just started running. Still, he runs with me almost effortlessly. For now and for now only, I'm a stronger runner than him. I know that and he knows that. But, damn, I know - I mean, I really know - that if he sticks with running for the next few months, he'll be holding himself back when we run so I can keep up with him. He may not know that, but I do, for sure.
I feel so close to J.P. when we run. Closer than father and son, somehow. It's almost like our age difference melts away and we become friends or peers, running together. We're sharing something - a run - that really has nothing to do with who we are. It's something we're doing. Together. We leave ourselves or, at least, I leave myself, for a few minutes, anyway.
As we finished our 5 mile run, I was so proud of him. 8:18 per mile, running at a conversational pace. Not racing. Not by any stretch. We could easily have run 7:40 per mile or, maybe, even 7:30 per mile.
J.P. has natural, God given ability when it comes to running, or so it seems to me. Where will it take him? Who knows. In truth, I'll be happy if he takes up running as a lifelong activity like I have, because it's something we can share. Now, and always.
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