I’ve heard two or three people in their 50s say recently that they used to be runners, but they had to give it up because their knees gave out. Obviously, the answer to that little dilemma is to do what I did — don’t start running until you reach 60.
I turned 60 last year and managed to get in about three outings before winter stepped in and I stopped going outside. I shouldn’t call it running, more like walking with the occasional burst of slow running/fast walking. I could manage about a hundred yards of jogging before going back to a walk to catch my breath. I smoked cigarettes for thirty five years before quitting at age 50. Thirty five years of smoking is not overcome in ten years so gasping for breath after a hundred yards of jogging didn’t come as a huge surprise.
Ove the winter I ran once or twice a week on a treadmill until I could manage 15 minutes without stopping. Even then, it wasn’t necessarily shortage of breath or aching legs that stopped me running, it was boredom. That fitness room in my building could really use a television.
When the weather finally improved, I was back outside running/walking the two miles from Van Ness St. in D.C. to Chevy Chase Circle and the two miles back. At least I thought it was two miles until my wife drove it once and came home to inform me it was actually 1.9 miles. I’ve now been doing the onepointfreakingnine miles twice a week for the last six months, and I still have to stop for breath once each way, but it’s getting better. I have this weird need to keep trying until I can get there and back without stopping.
Running outside is rarely boring, there’s so much going on to keep the brain occupied. Avoiding potholes and dogs, watching the traffic lights so I make it across intersections without getting side-swiped, checking out other runners, etc. Something else I’ve started to do is write blog entries in my head while running, hence this entry.
Here’s what I’ve noticed about runners — at least the people running on Connecticut Avenue in Washington, D.C: most of ‘em are skinny and in their 20s. I bet I haven’t seen five people my age in six months. I guess most of my peers are suffering from bad knees (see above). I also never see fat people running. Is that because they used to be heavy but took up running and lost all that weight? Or is it just too difficult to run when overweight? Or have these runners always been skinny, and intend to stay that way? I don’t know the answers, but I wonder why they don’t acknowledge my presence once in a while.
Before today, I’ve had a couple of people notice me while running: one rather elderly lady nodded in my direction as we jogged past each other and the only person to actually say something to me was a late-twenties muscle bound monster who said something along the lines of, ‘Good for you,’ which, I suppose, was a reference to my age and activity. Kids ignore me. Of course, they pretty much ignore me when we’re not running as well. But I thought when two of us partaking in the same pursuit pass each other we would acknowledge the similarity with a nod, or a smile, or even a “hey.”
Then, this morning, two young girls passed me at different times going the other way, one smiled at me, and the other nodded. Made my day, added a little burst to my step and took my mind off my legs and lungs. Thank you ladies.
