Running very little very often

I have a photo of myself and my son that became instantly beloved to me the moment I saw it.

He’s on his bike and I’m chasing after him, in a bid to keep up with him -- and keep an eye on him. We’ve come to the Beltline, the rails-to-trails economic development project that’s remaking Atlanta, where we once lived.

I’m dressed in tight jeans and black sandals with hard wooden soles; my hands are gripping my pocketbook and a cell phone. I’m not, in other words, dressed to run. But I am running full-on -- and reveling in the moment.

We’re a blur in motion, we’re laughing, we're alive; need I say more? The photo means more than the plaque I received at a 5K race in my neighborhood after finishing second in my age group.

As the mother of an elementary school-aged boy, I probably run more now than ever before. Running isn’t something I do occasionally – it’s woven now, in small doses, into my life.

My go-to sport and exercise regimen leans more toward lap swimming, and I love simply to walk. I also sometimes bike and paddleboard. But running is so simple, so low on equipment and preparation, that for me it’s like the exercise you pull out of your back pocket as needed. In a new city? Go for a run to map the place out. Can’t get to the gym? Run around the block a few times. Trapped in a cycle of insomnia because you’ve moved cross-country to start a new life in Connecticut? Run in circles behind your house, in the cool, green fields of a private school on your new street. (For example).

I don't run great distances. I don't even run not-so-great distances. I run very short distances.

But it doesn’t mean I’m not serious about running. I am serious about keeping running a constant, if not huge, part of my life. If for no other reason than it makes me feel like I am six years old again, and being six has a lot to recommend for itself.

Often when I’ve run over the past five years, it’s behind my son’s bike, like the scene in the photo. I have to keep up with him, and I relish a chance to be with him while also exercising.

No, it’s not like training for a 5K, or a half-marathon and it certainly isn’t elegant. But it’s running in its pure form, which is to say how we first learned to run as children. Their bodies start moving rapidly without any reason, without checking if they have the right gear on, and in a few seconds, they are engulfed by the euphoria running seems to singlehandedly bestow. My son and his friends run because they want to arrive at the next moment, at the next opportunity for joy, at the next post in life, as soon as possible. What better reason to run? So I copy them – because I, too, want in on this surefire path to smiles and laughter and joy.

As for races, they’re constantly being staged on a spontaneous basic. A few months ago, my son challenged me to a series of races in the school fields behind our house. Each race was a little bit longer – and one race was designated a “jogging-only” course. Do I let him win? I often do but not before running flat-out my fastest (then easing up). I mean, I am sprinting across that field like I am trying out for the Olympics.

I began doing that five years ago when my son turned five and his running sped up. He challenged me to a race on the sidewalk in front of our lilac Victorian in Atlanta, and all of a sudden, I was pouring on the power in a way I hadn’t in decades. I was back at my Long Island elementary school, competing in the 50-yard dash near the end of the school year, and I was joyfully passing classmates even while huffing and puffing around the makeshift track.

I cannot say what my neighbors might have thought, seeing me sprint across the sidewalk toward the corner. I wasn’t play-jogging as many parents do. I was in it to win it. And it felt glorious.

There have been so many days like that since he was born. Days where the highlights come when I’m getting some exercise with my son. I competed in gymnastics growing up and exercise somewhat regularly, but I have never been a jock. Nonetheless I’d always intuited, even if I didn’t fully exploit the notion, that exercise can change our days, and our lives -- literally. Now I try to work up a sweat when I can, including kicking the soccer ball around our small yard over and over (it’s running, just with a ball). And I don’t care how I look or who sees me or where I am when I begin running. With a son who runs at the drop of a hat, it’s not hard to do.

Some of this shift reflects the changes all parents have to make – and the underreported transformation that parenthood conveys. You get a do-over. Looking down after that first sprint with Leo, I suddenly thought, “I feel like a kid.” And it’s all because now I have a kid. Parenthood does that to you. You become the person you were when you were a child. You are given a chance to wipe the slate clean. Got bad habits? Don’t worry -- you won’t have as much time to indulge them. Never an early riser? You can be one now. Want to run around and burn off the frustration of adulthood? You’ll have plenty of opportunities now.

I love it when my son runs to retrieve something. Something he could have simply walked to get. My partner will tease him, by saying under his breath, “Must run everywhere.” And I think, “Shhhh!” I think, Please don’t let him realize the adult world ceased running as a matter of course a long time ago -- because the adult world sleepwalks through life. He aims toward adult life – it’s the natural trajectory of all humans. But let us imitate him – at the very least by moving our bodies often, without care.

Children who are my son’s age naturally belong to The United Republic of Running. No one is wearing expensive workout tights. No one has sponsorships But they are comparing their performances, contrasting the pros and the cons – and ready to race at any time. No excuses like you hear from adults. One day, when his friend heard that Leo and I raced, he challenged me to a race outside their school. Once again, I went full-on, and he cackled the whole race because he couldn’t believe there was a mom keeping pace with him (or openly acting so wacky) along that sidewalk.

For serious runners, this “baby-step” approach (quite literally) may gall. But it aims at a revolution: Running, running often, out of pure joy, and staying alive.

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