Since I no longer am able to ‘cruise’ down Winnequah Road while listening to music behind the wheel to attain my zen moment I decided to run. Something I have not done in more than twenty years. Before marriage or family. Prior to the medical belt I wear because of back trouble even to do a simple chore in the yard. I was going to run. Why not?

This was not prompted by any thoughts to be healthier. Not even the steady stream of runners I’ve watched pass my kitchen window as I have prepared and cleaned up meals for the past dozen years made me do it. I decided to run because my daughter put some new songs on the IPOD the kids gave to me for Father’s Day several years ago.

It became a group effort. My oldest son had some running shoes I could fit into. My wife bought running shorts that left me feeling as if I was in my boxers as I left the house. Armed with the IPOD and my medical belt I was on my way.

I was graced with the start of a perfect day Sunday as darkness gave way to the promise of sun that would melt the frost I saw in certain spots. For a few minutes I walked, telling myself it would be a good warm up. I remembered this, recalling how I would run through Hyannis Port on Cape Cod to the jetty where I’d sit on the rocks watching the ferry leave for Nantucket. I was just picking up an old habit. All my life I have been an avid walker. I had this.

My ‘run’ began on Baskerville–up the hill. The peak my youngest son always loved from his stroller a few years back would be a small reward–looking out over the lake. By the time I reached that point I thought I might die. Going downhill was small relief. That came on Tonyawatha during the stretch leading to the pier. There I stopped to watch the sun come up over the lake and shine upon Madison. That was when I remembered the part I liked about running back in Hyannis Port all those years ago–stopping to sit on the rocks and watch the ferry leave for Nantucket.

Another jogger appeared. He was moving slower, steady and measured–gave the nod. Lucky for me I was walking by this time so I was not exposed as the poser I was. Walking through Monona the world became familiar again. Walking–I had this.

So I tried running again. Something I hear people might do when they turn fifty. Will I do it again? I am sure that I will because the memory of standing on the pier in Monona watching the sun come up on the lake will be such a good one–when I turn seventy.

Filed under: MononaTom's Posts

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