Today I went out for a short run to clear my head and recover from the marathon. As soon as I got out there, I felt better. In a way, I think that the first run after a marathon makes me feel as much like a runner as the marathon itself. Because of the return, of the homeness. I break into a glide (or a hobble) and remember. After my first marathon I took ten days to recover before running again. These days I take one or two, but the feeling is the same. Relief.
I was in such a mood when I got home. Grouchy, out of sorts, wanting to lash out at someone but knowing that I really didn't. I don't have anyone to be mad at. Spring is hard at work. I went out to look at my garden: 14 young green bean plants uncurling in the dirt made me happy, but not completely. I hadn't even totally planned on running since my foot has still been hurting, but suddenly I needed to really badly. I came inside to change, searching like a crazy person for my stuff where I had thrown my bag when I got home Sunday. Not only did I desperately need to run, but I very much needed to listen to Chris Pureka while I did it. I tore up the house looking for headphones and finally found some.
Out on the road in the heat under the blue sky and trees, I found my peace. "Swann Song" came on, with the chorus, "It was a good life, yeah it was a good life. I'd do it all again." I started thinking about the things I would do again, the things from my childhood that I would like to do maybe even just one more time. I would like to wander aimlessly in the country and slide under a barbed wire fence like I go in and out of doors these days. I would like to play in another softball tournament. Not as an adult. As a 12 year old, finish up dusty and sit back against bat bags drinking cokes and taking off my cleats and socks and looking at my hot, dirty feet. I would like to spend a night with my childhood best friend, Cristi, laughing and laughing at Skip Bo and the very first Mario Brothers and I would like her to beat me at Monopoly while her cat lay on the top of the box next to us. I would like to play catch with Taffy one more time. I would like her to bring me her tennis ball and drop it at my feet and I would like to throw it and throw it down the hall in the house I grew up in, bouncing it off my mom and dad's bedroom door and watching Taffy put the breaks on and scramble back up the hallway for the ball. I would like to drive in the dark down a country road in the summer with all the windows down and watch the lightning bugs in the field, so many that the field looked alive and full and magical. I would like to walk down the basement stairs again, only one stair with carpet, and maybe turn old bits of sheet rock to dust outside the basement door with my brother. I would like to fall asleep on the floor on a sheet in front of a box fan in the middle of the summer in a house with no air conditioning and wake up chilled.
I would like to know where the mark is that divides my childhood from my adulthood, where the line is that marks what was possible then and what is impossible now. I would like back the parts of me that I gave away in my teenage years for no good reason.
Running took me there, running and the sweet salty sound of Chris Pureka's voice. Right now I'm not sure if it's the best place to be, but I do know that I bless the content feeling in my legs and knowing (or hoping) that it will be there for me next time.
Maybe you can go where I went. (Or in other words, go listen to the song that took me there.)
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