Running with the Kid

Saturday morning, JP and I got up early to go for a run.  Although it was a beautiful late summer morning, refreshingly not hot, I didn't feel great as we began our run up Linden Avenue toward Belmont Boulevard.  Maybe it was the two gin and tonics I had Friday night or the fact that I stayed up late reading the latest James Lee Burke novel but I just didn't feel right.

I needed to get five miles in, so we ran past Belmont U., up Portland Avenue, toward Fairfax and Elmington Park.  One of my regular routes.  The first mile was a struggle and our 8:30 + mile split reflected it.  

Gradually, though, as we ran through the neighborhood on Fairfax, past Eakin Elementary School, I began to feel better and we picked up the pace.  It was nice, as it always is, JP and I running side by side.  Not talking much, just running together.  Father and son, lost in our thoughts.  

As I always do when JP and I run together, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to be run with him.  To be able to share with him something that is so much a part of me.  So much a part of who I am.  I don't take any of my runs with JP for granted, not by a long shot.  Every run with JP is special, in large part because I know there is a finite number of them.  It's like a wave I'm going to ride as long as I can, appreciating ever moment I am on it.   

I wonder, sometimes, if it's akin to how my father felt when he took my flying in his Cessna 172 and, later, his Mooney airplane, in the late 60's when I was a toddler.  Then, as now, it was a father doing something he loved with his oldest son alongside.  I treasure those memories, even now.  Always have, in fact.  I hope when I am gone, JP will treasure these runs, too, and understand how meaningful they were to me.  

I began to push the pace as we ran through Elmington Park and up West End Avenue.  I felt strong, almost young again, as I do sometimes when I run.  I guess, to an extent, that's what I am doing when I run - chasing my youth.  Trying to turn back the hands of time or, maybe, to stop them, if only for a few minutes. 

As we passed the three mile mark and turned onto Blakemore, I began to sense we had something going, J.P. and I.  This might just be one of those runs I look for all year long and, if I am lucky, find five or ten of them.  A run where everything falls into place.  I feel good.  I feel strong, like I could run forever.  Nothing hurts.  My breathing is even.  

Runner's high.  The zone. Call it what you will but I think it's what ever runner looks for when he or she goes for a run.  Same shoes, same route, different feeling.  Way different.  

Losing ourselves in the run.  Surrendering to it.  It's a hard feeling to describe and it doesn't happen often.  But when it does?  Damn, it feels good.

I continued to push the pace as we turned right onto 21st Avenue and JP ran along beside me.  No talking.  Not breathing hard but putting the work in, our bodies like engines running smoothly.  His, the younger model, for sure.  Mine, the older model, but reasonably well maintained.  

The last mile - mile five - I pushed us harder.  I was fine but I could tell he was working, which was good.  We ran up an alley to Portland Avenue and made the turn onto Belmont Boulevard, running hard now.  I wanted to finish strong and we did.

We hit mile five right in front of the Trout Theater and stopped, breathing hard.  JP was spent.  I could have run more.  Soon enough, our roles will be reversed, I know.

Splits:

8:27, 8:10, 7:55, 7:28, and 7:03.

Negative splits, yes, but 7:03 on mile 5!  That's smoking!

7:46/mile and, for sure, a top ten run of the year.

Running with the Kid inspires me.  Every time.