The Truth About Running

I did not get to run today.

Instead, I spent from 5 a.m. to 9 a.m. working, then I took a break for an hour, only to drive another hour to attend court in a town that has given me insight into Purgatory. I argued with opposing counsels before the judge (2 against 1, which means I am winning), and when I was assured we were "off the record", I approached the bench and asked the judge whether he thought there was any chance that this trial might interfere with my plans to run the October 7th marathon.

The judge I think was expecting some complex legal thought to roll out of my mouth, and seemed a bit perplexed by this unusual turn of events in me.

All the while I felt what I was missing today: my hot, dusty, sweaty run.

After court I was banned to Limbo, which was the office of opposing counsel, where I had to sit for 5 long hours in excruciating depositions. Half-way through I realized that I was wearing one black and one brown shoe. They were otherwise identical, and both matched my new slim-lined suit. I stared at my mismatched shoes as I questioned a lying witness.

The depositions were mine, which means I had to do all of the direct-examination, save a torturous rehash by the pontificating opposing counsel on cross. I allowed him to ramble without objection because that gave me time to ponder what I was missing today: my breathless, painful-with-each-step, run.

I missed my iPod and my Fuel Belt, both of which I was tempted to wear to the depositions, to give opposing counsel the impression that I really was Batman in disguise.

I missed my sugar-free crystal light hydration mixture and my sunscreen and my Nike running shorts. I missed my Polar heart rate strap and monitor, and my Underarmor headband and support bra. I missed my cushy soft running socks and the expensive arch support with tennis shoes, and my two cell phone clip-ons, along with my mace and asthma inhaler.

I missed my state-of-the-art gym right off of the running path, where I always have the entire women's locker room to myself.

I missed the sun and the passers by, and the obligatory nods back and forth.

Running is like a camping trip for me.

I could not go without my noon-time Muscle Milk, which is what I drink within 20-minutes of a run. So I chugged it in between witness questions, all the while wishing my body were craving the Muscle Milk as it does after a run.

My brown and black shoe, notwithstanding, I drove straight to a "Back to School Night" event, where I surveyed each classroom, trying to assess which moms and dads might be looped into running, and which definitely were not.

I figured out the truth about running today, at least for me:

I am running, even when I am not.