A little slice

This has been a hot summer. Day after day of 90-plus temps, and it’s beginning to wear a bit. Running can become a private war on days like these. The work needs to be done, but the mind-body connection isn’t happening. By some miracle, I get outside, start moving, and hope for the best.

This morning I decided to close my mind to the art film that is constantly developing, editing, replaying, over and over and over in my head. Instead, I opened my mind to the little things, the tiny, almost imperceptible joys of running early in the morning, as the world is just awakening.

It would be easy to force the focus, to keep my eyes consciously trained on the next little thing, every bug or butterfly or bird. But that would be cheating. So I just unburdened myself. I opened my heart and my eyes and waited for something to happen, knowing that maybe nothing would happen. And in the process, I saw things I know those whizzing by on bicycles, let alone those in hermetically-sealed cars, would never see. And if I blinked or looked the other way, I’d never see them either.

I saw three male goldfinches, feathered bodies like pure sunshine, tangled in a spat in a low tree. I saw a huge black beetle, overturned and grasping at a life slipping away (should I use a stick to turn it over?) I saw a fat worm covered in an army of tiny ants, intent on some communal task. I saw a honeysuckle plant, dense with orange flutes, thriving up a light pole towering to the blue sky. I only imagined, however, the hummingbirds and butterflies.

Mile by mile, with my heart exposed, I made it through my morning run in relatively cool 83-degrees, a teaser for the 95 the mid-afternoon will see. Another day, a different perspective.

As always, I’m glad I did.

say it loud, say it proud

My dear friend Cindy LaFerle, a local freelance writer and the current Writer In Residence at the Royal Oak Public Library, hosted a "Writer's Life" session last evening. Understandably, the participants were geared toward getting published. They believe that this credential will put them in an elite club of "real" writers -- those who are paid for their work.

A wise panelist encouraged the group to take it slow. If you are writing now, she said, even if the only person who reads your work is your mother, you are a writer. You are doing the same work a paid writer is doing, and if you want to be published, your time will come.

An inaudible "ah ha" moment for the crowd.

And so it's the same with running. Sue, my friend and fellow Detroit Marathon relay team member told me she believes the very act of telling others that she is a runner makes her a runner.

Even if others would say that she just jogs ...or walks a few minutes of each mile...or isn't really "serious" about running -- because after all, she doens't fit the mold.

Runners, the logic goes, are lean, hungry marathoners who run daily, year round, never succumbing to injury or apathy or a busy schedule. Runners can torch a mile in less time than it takes most of us to eat a bagel.

And that's so not true, says my friend Sue. And I agree.

If you lace up your shoes and hit the pavement -- once a week or once a day -- you are a runner. If you sweat on purpose while moving your body from point A to point B, you are a runner. If you stretch and limber your muscles with the wisdom that they will work for you the next time you run, you are a runner.

And for Sue, simply stating the truth makes it true.

Anyone who runs and tells others about the experience -- or is simply caught in the act of running -- often gets promoted to a supreme fitness pedestal by those who, with a longing look, say they wish they could run, but [insert excuse here].

But I believe running isn't out of the realm of possibility for any of us, barring those with true unresolved physical challenges.

In a world of people looking for the best health, the most rewarding experiences, the challenges which keep us sharp, there simply isn't room for the elitist "RUNNER" label society is so keen to slap on.

Because every one of us is a runner, just waiting to take that first step.