Running

Kelley and I enjoyed a run in Forest Park today, just the two of us. Nicholai, Izzy and me had walked early in the morning as we usually do; in the afternoon with work finished, I hopped into the car and made the trek to Northwest Portland and Leif Ericson Drive.

Running was at one time non-newsworthy in my life. I've run the Hood-to-Coast twice and the Twin Cities Marathon, along with a plethora of other events including the Turkey Trot, Shamrock Run, Race for the Cure and a favorite of mine – the midnight New Year's run. Running has been a fitness strategy, stress release, and spiritual pursuit at various times. But the cautionary tale I've told myself for the past decade involves advancing middle-age, an old foot injury, and other whispers of the actual and potential dangers of my once beloved sport.

Nicholai does not worry about how old he is – approximately seventy in human years. He doesn't tell himself, or me, a story about what old dogs don't do. He doesn't whine about lymphoma, or fearfully focus on the disease and its likely outcome. He doesn't opt out of our daily walk citing his aging and slightly arthritic knees, each of which required surgery five and six years ago. Nicholai is clearly glad to be alive; enjoying it while he still has the privilege.

I'm grateful to be in my fifth decade; it could have been otherwise. Today, my soul longed for physical release; my sister faces a challenge that reminds me to celebrate daily joys while I can – pounding rain and sloppy mud; bouquets of bracken ferns, sword ferns and maidenhair ferns all dripping wet; heart pounding in the chest; the vigorous shake of a wet muddy dog in an enclosed vehicle.

Today as I cruised up old familiar trails with Kelley at my side, the story of my aged infirmity rinsed off by the downpour, I felt ageless. I was simply present on the curving, climbing road. I may have looked slightly nutty – middle-aged woman, slightly overweight, hair plastered to her head, lumbering along with a goofy smile on her face. But I felt fantastic. Maybe you really are only as old as you feel. Maybe there really is something to this "living in the moment" concept.

Is this how Nicholai feels?