Or… On Retirement from Running
I have been running for as long as I can remember.

Growing up in the 70s and 80s, I raced outdoors in my neighborhood, and in the school yard during recess.
In the 90s, I ran track, sprinting until I pulled a muscle in my senior year.
I took a break for a few years, then as grown up, I took up running again. Instead of 100 meters, I tried miles this time. I wanted to like it, but my muscles were allergic to the effort. As in, my legs itched something awful; an indescribable hell very few people understand.
I gave up. Tried again. Stopped again. Restarted. Restopped. But eventually, I tried it, and it took! Anything to fit into an old gown on short notice. This was around 2007 or so, and I’ve been running 5ks and 10ks since then. Nearly 20 years of running 10, 12 or 15 miles a week.
Until now.
Lately I’d found myself saying something I’d never said in the past:
“I can’t picture myself running tomorrow.”
It was the third time.
The first two times, it barely registered in my consciousness. It was a throwaway comment, really. The morning after, I had gotten up as I had hundreds of times before, and went for my run.
But this time, I actually heard myself.
“I can’t picture myself running tomorrow.”
Hmm. That’s interesting, I thought.
Imagination and visualization are big with me. I see it and then I do it. I picture scenes I’m writing, conversations I’m having, dinner I’m cooking. You name it, I create the image in my mind, and then go do the thing. (I never really thought about how much this factored into my daily life until this very moment).

I didn’t know what to do with this inability to picture myself running, other than get up and run anyway, same as always. But this time, before I finished mile two of my three mile run, I up and told the wind:
“I think I’m going to retire from running.”
As soon as I said it, I knew it was true. I knew it was time for a change.
I was in the mood for walking. Meandering. For pain free knees. I love aerobic exercise and cardio but maybe it was time to go back to dance or try swimming or something, anything else.

That was Valentine’s Day. And today, on my birthday, I made it official. I went out for a 5k walk.
Funny enough, after several minutes of walking, I felt the desire to run a teeny bit. So I jogged a few seconds and then stopped.
And that felt good.
The unscheduled jog. The untimed, unmeasured distance. The stopping and walking with no rhyme or reason. It pleased me.
At some point, during an interesting straightaway, I jogged once more. Again, no clue how long or how far, but I stopped when I felt like it and resumed observation pace.
By the time it was all done, I had maybe four of those bursts mixed in with my walking and that felt just right.
In runner’s terms, it was more or less a Fartlek walk. The perfect speed for retirement.















