Running Again

A misty morning - you hear the sound of chirping birds in the palm trees as the wind brushes along the slick-edged grass to form a subtle serenade. Your steps seem to be almost deafening as you clutch your sweaty hands. You would have noticed the dull pain in your abdomen much earlier if it wasn't for your focus on where you step - dog poop lines the field. As you approach the finish line, members from the PTA mist you with what appears to be water while your 3rd grade teacher punches a hole in the card that's pinned onto the back of your shirt. There is glory in elementary school Jog-A-Thons.

Largely due to the influence of my brother, running has taken up a substantial portion of my life. I still remember watching him chase cars (sort of like a dog, now that I think about it) or us racing back home from the local K-Mart. Back then, running was still fun - it wasn't a form of fitness - it wasn't a sport.

I'd like to think all that preparatory running gave my legs super-human strength, but in terms of genetics, Asians typically are at a disadvantaged height. All that training made me pretty decent in High School; but, only to leave me with a faint memory of what it felt like to run just to run. By the time college rolled around, I decided it was time to leave running behind after trying to juggle academics with athletics for only one lousy semester. Little did I know ("did you just say, 'little did he know?'"), running for fun wouldn't take shape again until college was nearly over.

I'd like to think parts of us are never meant to grow up.