Run, Lulu Run! (Again)

It is hot. The sky is blue. I am standing with several hundred people. We are converged on the green in the center of New Milford. We are all decked out in various forms of exercise gear, mostly shorts and t-shirts and sneakers. We are at the starting line. A man’s voice announces “Ready... Set... Go!”. The New Milford Library clock begins to chime 9AM. We shuffle off, and by the end of Main St, we are running. The pace is quick. We leave the main town behind. The sound of feet on the pavement. The crowd thins out. All I can think of is how different it is to the City to Surf. I miss the crowds. There are stretches where I’m almost running on my own. It could just be another Saturday morning run. A few families sit on their lawns to watch the runners passing by. They wave, or just watch quietly, observing the motley crew of humanity running by their front doors. Children, and grown-ups. Serious runners and running clubs and people who just like to run, and, of course, the parents with prams. An older runner calls out to a group of spectators, “Am I winning?”. A woman calls back, “Top 500!”. Everybody laughs. I try to focus on my breathing.  At the first mile we reach our first water station. It is a hot morning. It is difficult to pace myself in miles. I have only ever known kilometers. The scenery is stunning. We run through the leafy green back streets of New Milford. I think about how at home I feel here. But I am a foreigner. I have a different accent to all the people around me. When we run though, we sound the same. I have a revelation about what I want from life. I'm doing exactly that. And that feels good. I round a corner and see a group of people I know cheering the runners on. I feel both elated and strangely confronted. What do I look like when I run?! They give me a boost. Later when their cheering has worn off and the pain returns, a kind stranger and fellow runner jogs up next to me and says "You can do it! Finish strong!". It gives me the final boost. The last mile is mercifully all down hill. I can see the finish line ahead of me and I get that delicious rush of adrenalin that comes from long distance running. I’ve nearly done it! A man on a microphone calls out the names of the runners as they come through the finish line. He incorrectly pronounces my name, twice. It takes a little of the shine off the achievement of having just run 8 miles. But it’s not the finish that counts. It’s the inspiration from having done it. From the possibility of being fit, of being in control of my body, of my mind. Of living a life where I can run races in different parts of the planet. I grab an orange quarter and another drink and head over to the green to meet my friends and cool down. It wasn’t my best event. It was harder than I expected. But I got a new sense of resolve out of it. And that is exhilarating. See you at the next one.