I Run Slow
by drahma

I work in the social services, and a lot of the people we work with have a lot of regrets.
I've asked our case managers to have their clients come out and watch me run. I run so slow, time runs backwards.
As I waddle along, your life runs in reverse. Scars becomes wounds become chances to exercise better judgement.
I run slow.

Like most people, I enjoy running in the mornings, before it gets too hot.
Unlike most people, I've been pushed over by a squirrel.

I run slow. Sometimes when I am running, I think of those zen fountains that absorb a drip drip drip of water
down a bamboo tube before finally tipping over and dumping their contents into a pool.
Each step I take is another drip. I think that fountain would call me a pussy.

I run slow. But I know where I have been.

Six months ago, I didn't run.

Six months ago, I had heartburn bad enough to keep me from sleeping through the night. Six months ago,
I felt like I needed to go to sleep at 2pm. And six months ago, running felt impossible.

I run slow, and I still have a way to go. But I can sleep. I feel alive. I can run two, slow, miles.
Slowly.

Sometimes I get discouraged. I compare where I am to where other people are.
But all that matters is where I am compared to where I was.

Once something good becomes something you are going to do for the rest of your life, the pace becomes less important.
I know that my drip drip drip will amount to that deluge, eventually. Someday I will run 3 miles, slowly.