The Gift

Yesterday morning, J.P. and I got up early and drove to Shelby Bottoms for what was to be an easy, five mile trail run.  He's only run the trails with me once, maybe twice, so I was looking forward to running with him there again.  

We parked at the Vinny Links clubhouse, stretched on the porch in front of the rocking chairs and wooden benches, and walked down the short set of stairs to the road that runs between the nine hole golf course and the driving range.  There was a hint of a hint of fall in the air as August turned to September over the long, Labor Day Weekend.  Maybe, just maybe, the long hot summer is nearing an end.

As J.P. and I ran down the road toward the railroad trestle and the first short trail that runs along the Cumberland River, I glanced to my left.  Where four city softball fields used to be - fields my friends and I played many city tournaments games on in our younger days, when those type of things had outsized important in our lives - is nothing but green space.  To look at it now, you would never know that for many years, softball games were played on those lighted fields virtually every night of the week from March - October in summer and fall leagues and tournaments.  It's all gone.

J.P. eased into a comfortable rhythm as we normally do when we run together.  He ran to my left, just off my left shoulder.  We didn't talk much.  We just ran, comfortable together with the sound of our breathing keeping us company.  

Quickly, I discerned it wasn't going to be an easy run, as I had planned.  It was impossible to tell if I was pushing the pace or if J.P. was pushing the pace.  A little bit of both, I guess.  

When I run with J.P. - now, as opposed to a year ago - he's like a young colt who has grown into his body and is just beginning to realize how fast he can run.  I can feel that in him.  It's a real thing, this energy, almost an awakening of sorts.  It's magical and it's beautiful.

As always, running the trails at Shelby Bottoms didn't disappoint.  When we reached the turnaround point at the 2.5 mile mark on the wide grass trail covered by the tree canopy, a shadow of disappointment crossed J.P.'s face.  He wanted to run farther, I could tell.  I wanted to keep our run at five miles, since he'll have cross country practice this week and I had run six miles the day before.

As we ran back toward the starting point, we pushed the pace even faster, neither of us breathing hard.  How lucky I am, I thought, to be able to run this hard and to do it with my 13 year old son.  How lucky I am to have this ability and the health to run hard on these trails I have run on so many times over the years  and to have a son who wants to do run there with me.

As we emerged from the last trail and on to the bike path, I told J.P. I wanted him to kick it hard the last quarter mile, to work on his finish.  At the 4.75 mile mark, I said "Go!" and off he went, almost at a sprint.

I picked up my pace a bit, then smiled as he easily pulled away from me.  He has a gear I don't have any more and one I'll never have again.  I kept smiling, with pride, because I know what it feels like to run the way he does.  Effortlessly and naturally, to lose yourself in the run.  He finished and was walking toward me, cooling down, as I ran up to him at the end of my five miles.  We nodded, fist bumped, then walked back to my truck together.

It's strange but J.P. is inspiring me as a runner.  His growth and success has made me see my running in a different light.   Obviously, I love running and it's a huge part of my life.  Somehow, though, my love for running is different - deeper, even - when I share it with him.  J.P. makes me want to run more and for a different reason - for him, as well as for me.  

What a gift he's given me, my oldest son.  A deeper appreciation and love for running, even after all these years.  A gift for which I can never repay him.