Run away thought

12/2/11

I can’t say I remember my first run. I was so young, 7 or 8, training for the presidential physical fitness awards. But that is only a time I can’t remember when I was running. Like recounting a summer of training, I can’t remember all those runs. Just like I know I was training for this fitness thing and I just can’t remember the first run, or at least right now. Who knows, maybe it will come screaming back to me; a subway running late so hurtling forward to make its stop out of the recessed station of all memorable moments.

Regardless, this is only the first time I can’t remember when I ran, but who cares; I mean that has happened hundreds of times by now. Just ask yourself some random date and see if you can recall what you did that day, even with a good running log. What I will say is that I can never even come close to recalling the first time I ran, at some ridiculously young age, mind hardly formed and I screaming happy to be forwardly propelling myself. I like it that way, that sort of it-was-always-part-of-me thing. The way you always knew your mother tongue, as far as any real thoughts go, you sort of always knew it. That’s what it is with running, it just has always been.