How do you run with a twelve year old?
Very slowly, and with a lot of complaining from her… apparently.
September was a slog of a training month. Back to work, back to school, a new routine full of exhausting and time consuming activities.
The only real highlight of the month was a five klick run through the streets of the small city of Red Deer where the family wen to help out with the annual Terry Fox Run, a charity run to raise money for cancer research. After our handful of duties were complete, the kid and I participated, slogging through the trails in the warmth of the sun, jogging for a bit, walking for a bit, jogging a bit more, and listening to the rhythm of complaints emitted from the mouth of my twelve year old daughter.
I don’t know if kids maybe have a different sense of time or distance, or it’s merely that after twelve years of running (yes, twelve — not a coincidence actually) I’ve honed an ability to not only tolerate long stretches of meditative running activities, spans of time where the mind has nothing to do but watch the sidewalk and let the moments pass one by one by one. Kids suck at patience, whereas in my forties I’ve been craving long stretches of mindless quiet time. Running has been ideal for this.
We ran our five klicks for Terry, did some more volunteer tasks, and went for dinner with the organizers — who also happen to be the kid’s grandparents. Again, not a coincidence, actually.
Life was suddenly busy, changing and getting quietly darker as summer passed into autumn.