Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
RUNNING CONSPICUOSLY
I want my children to grow up thinking of me (and themselves) as runners – for running to be woven into their fabric. Athleticism is something that can be passed along. My father did that for me.
When I was a little boy on summer vacation, Dad would play hours of tennis in a pair of knee-length cutoff jeans and Sperry deck shoes until the sweat poured off of him in sheets. He reveled in the effort, even in the perspiration.
My father was quite a man and quite a forerunner. He was conspicuous about it and he rubbed off on me. I am six years removed from my father’s death and I am 40 years removed from those summer days. But his exertion remains a thread woven into my fabric and it is visible every afternoon when I step out into the heat and sweat pours from me as I run.
Now it is my turn to be conspicuous.
Recently, while tying on my sneaks on a Sunday afternoon, my oldest asked if she could ride along with me. My first inclination was to go alone -- running is practically meditation for me. But I hope to rub off on her too, so I said, “Sure.” She left behind a friend with our youngest daughter, put on her helmet, climbed aboard her pink flowered bike with the wide, knobby tires and off we went, just we two.
Along the way, she remarked on things I see silently so often – Lee Middle School getting rebuilt, the tidy houses on the right that were once so rundown, the vegetable garden that I always stop to look at, the clean scent of the lake…
She’d see and remark, then we’d talk – new things to her, but to me, things I see so often. The conversation flowed from her, though I labored to speak as I huffed/puffed and the sweat poured... and a hope kindled - that perhaps many years removed from now, she will recall that this is what we do. Perhaps someday, she and some little follower of her own will run and that they will both accrue all the benefits.
There is a spiritual parallel…
Recently when I was headed out the door with my journal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moleskine) and our Labrador for a morning walk and quiet time when my youngest daughter asked if she could walk along with me. My first inclination was to go alone – the morning walk is often the only meditation time that I take to focus on God. But I hope to rub off on her. So I grabbed my daughter and my Moleskine and my dog and off we went.
Along the way, we remarked on things I silently journal every so often as a sort of prayer to God – the names of people with problems, the things for which I’m thankful, the circumstances that scare me, the fresh morning…
It was hard to talk about these things – these things are so familiar to me as I silently journal, but hard to put into words. Still the conversation did flow. I hoped I was being conspicuous enough. That perhaps she and some little follower of her own will one day walk and talk about their prayers and that they will both accrue all the benefits.
When I was a little boy on summer vacation, Dad would play hours of tennis in a pair of knee-length cutoff jeans and Sperry deck shoes until the sweat poured off of him in sheets. He reveled in the effort, even in the perspiration.
My father was quite a man and quite a forerunner. He was conspicuous about it and he rubbed off on me. I am six years removed from my father’s death and I am 40 years removed from those summer days. But his exertion remains a thread woven into my fabric and it is visible every afternoon when I step out into the heat and sweat pours from me as I run.
Now it is my turn to be conspicuous.
Recently, while tying on my sneaks on a Sunday afternoon, my oldest asked if she could ride along with me. My first inclination was to go alone -- running is practically meditation for me. But I hope to rub off on her too, so I said, “Sure.” She left behind a friend with our youngest daughter, put on her helmet, climbed aboard her pink flowered bike with the wide, knobby tires and off we went, just we two.
Along the way, she remarked on things I see silently so often – Lee Middle School getting rebuilt, the tidy houses on the right that were once so rundown, the vegetable garden that I always stop to look at, the clean scent of the lake…
She’d see and remark, then we’d talk – new things to her, but to me, things I see so often. The conversation flowed from her, though I labored to speak as I huffed/puffed and the sweat poured... and a hope kindled - that perhaps many years removed from now, she will recall that this is what we do. Perhaps someday, she and some little follower of her own will run and that they will both accrue all the benefits.
There is a spiritual parallel…
Recently when I was headed out the door with my journal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moleskine) and our Labrador for a morning walk and quiet time when my youngest daughter asked if she could walk along with me. My first inclination was to go alone – the morning walk is often the only meditation time that I take to focus on God. But I hope to rub off on her. So I grabbed my daughter and my Moleskine and my dog and off we went.
Along the way, we remarked on things I silently journal every so often as a sort of prayer to God – the names of people with problems, the things for which I’m thankful, the circumstances that scare me, the fresh morning…
It was hard to talk about these things – these things are so familiar to me as I silently journal, but hard to put into words. Still the conversation did flow. I hoped I was being conspicuous enough. That perhaps she and some little follower of her own will one day walk and talk about their prayers and that they will both accrue all the benefits.
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