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But that was then. This morning I have to stay focused on the upcoming race, and I am singular of thought, planning out my every step against my running enemy. It’s a little risky going out as a group into the woods in the light of sunrise today, but we’re crunched for time, and this is all part of being a serious amateur runner nowadays. Actually, since no one is dressed in running clothes, today isn’t as dangerous as it feels. Worst case, we all get busted for trespassing, but at least they won’t be able to prove we’re a running club getting ready for a big race. Before we get started on clearing the trail, we agree on a cover story in case someone catches us. We’re archeology buffs interested in exploring and preserving this site with its ancient above-ground electricity lines for future generations. It may not sound like a great cover story, but they can’t disprove it, and if anyone asks us to leave, we just shrug our shoulders, go home, and pick a different site for the next day.
Amy shows up right on time, and she looks even better in the dawn than she did in the moonlight last night. She’s about five foot six with a thin runner’s build. She’s in jeans again, wearing a sweatshirt and work gloves. She makes the gloves look somehow rugged and cute at the same time. After I go over the plan with the group, everyone moves out along the utility poles, whacking and mowing away at the overgrowth and then raking it away into the woods. It’s slow work, but twenty people can make a quick dent in a job like this. After about an hour, we’ve got a nice lane of flat grass and dirt started with the poles running down the middle. I stop for a break, and Amy makes her way over to where I’m working.
“I’m really new at running, you know? Just been practicing on my own,” she says.
“Where have you been training?” I ask, since I haven’t seen her around before.
She hesitates, then answers a little quietly.
“On…a treadmill.”
I stop my whacking.
“A treadmill? How the heck did you get one of those without losing your insurance? You know, they monitor your purchases.”
“My dad was in a car accident and needed one for rehab. Had to get special permission to have one at home when he was learning to walk again. It’s factory limited to 5 mph, but I messed with the wiring, and got it up to 10 mph. Not bad, but nothing compared to that run last night. That was really fun.”
I just laugh at this. That wasn’t a run. It was barely a warm-up. Only a mile. Still, it was a pretty amazing eight or so minutes, and I’m glad it happened. Sharing a run can bring two strangers together faster than most things.
“So, do you have any tips for me?” she smiles, as we both get back to clearing the brush.
“Park somewhere without any closed circuit television cameras nearby.”
Now it’s her time to laugh.
“I meant any tips for running.”
I swing my machete and motion for her to join me a few feet away.
“I’ve read a decent number of old books on the topic, actually. One thing I always thought was funny was how every book seemed to teach a different way to run. I’ve learned a lot more from just running than from most books about running. Pick up your feet. Drive forward with your knees. Keep your feet stuck to the ground on the toe off as long as you can like you’re pushing the world on a…well on a giant treadmill. Run with a high cadence. And keep a tight core. That’s what they used to call your mid-section. Oh, and breath. Deep, belly breaths as much as possible. And the biggest tip of all is to run. Just run.”
“I love the way it makes me feel. Better than I thought it would,” she says, and for some reason I think she really means it.
“Yup. Makes me feel like a human. One of the few things that does any more.”
And as I look over at her, I can’t help thinking of other things that make me feel like a human as well. I realize I like having her next to me, and I’m beginning to hope she’ll stay with the club and become a regular. Maybe someone I can run with.
We both keep cutting down the overgrowth, throwing the chopped grass and weeds to the side, off the trail. We don’t get things perfect, just short enough so that our feet stamp down what’s left, flattening the ground as we go. Like the heard of slow moving bipedal mammals we are, we gradually make out way down the pole line leaving a slightly uneven but usable trail in our wake.
“Want some more tips?” I ask.
“Of course! And thanks so much for spending time with me,” she smiles. “I know you could be clearing faster without me to slow you down.”
She smiles again, sheepishly almost but also a little fake. Enough so that I think it’s odd. Almost like she’s acting a bit?
“Ha! Not a problem,” I say. “I try to help every new member as much as possible.” Well…that’s not exactly true. She’s getting a bit more attention than usual.
“Here’s a few tips that aren’t in any of the books I’ve read. As soon as we mark off an exact mile, figure out how many steps it takes you to run that mile. When you don’t think it’s safe to go out for a run in the pre-dawn or at night, run in place at home and count off your steps so you know how far you’ve gone. It takes a little willpower, but I do a lot of five milers in my living room and it really helps.”
“That sounds worse than a treadmill. I think I’ll just take my chances.”
“Running in place is still better than a treadmill. I’m telling you.”
“Maybe I’ll try it sometime.”
We both go back to whacking.
“One more thing,” I say.
“Yes?”
“Run with your butt. Strongest muscle in your body. Use it.”
She just nods her head a bit and grins as she goes back to work. The clearing isn’t going as fast as I’d like, but we get about half a mile done by the time it starts to get late. We’re all exhausted, but we have some hope now that the course will be ready by the next weekend. We’ve essentially cleared a third of the course and decide to call it a day, when a few of the guys decide to go out for a beer. Alcohol is OK in the minds of the Big Three, since the pill takes care of any related diseases, but for me, it’s just another way to get dehydrated. I start to decline the invitation until Amy chimes in and asks if she can come along and whether or not I’m going. Some of my buddies get a good laugh as I tell her that I’ve decided to go after all. I try not to smile openly as we head back to the cars. It’s hard not to run, but we’ve been lucky so far this evening and decide there’s no need to push it. We walk along our newly created half-mile of trail, proud of what we’ve done so far. We look like a bunch of field hands with our hoes and our machetes and our portable mowers slung over our shoulders or dragged behind us, silhouetted by the setting sun. I think what I’m feeling must be what happy feels like. My running is going well, and I’ve met a cute girl who seems to be somewhat interested in me. Life couldn’t be much better.
Before we disperse officially for the day, we set up the next meeting time for Tuesday after work to continue the path clearing. As we are all about to head to our cars, Amy looks up from the ground she’s been staring at while we’ve been saying our goodbyes. She announces that she should probably just go home and get some rest. She’s a little more tired than she thought. I’m sure that I don’t hide my disappointment very well. Almost like she’s making up for that, she reaches out and squeezes my arm, the universal sign for “Don’t give up. I still might be interested in you.” I take some solace from her touch and wave goodbye to her as she drives away. Bob turns to me after she’s out of sight.
“Still coming out with us?” Bob asks.
“Nah. I think I’m going to get a few miles in tonight.”
“OK, Runner. Have a good time. And don’t worry, you’ll get to see her next time. She’s not going anywhere.”
I just grin and head home, not sure what to feel exactly. I try to focus on more club work I have to do, and I remember I need to contact the other club and let them know about the details for the new course. And that means t
alking to the Norwegian again. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Shouldn’t have to be this much work just to run.