To An Athlete Aging Slowly

I ran from you and, in my running, I brought you even closer.

Arthritis. This burning ember in my hip.

The fire that does so quickly dim my hopes of every being able to compete in races as I once did as a younger man. To be honest… Right now I’d settle for being able to run alongside my 13-year-old son.

What does one do when the doctor’s verdict drops?

What is one’s response to the reality of those weighty words:

You’re not gonna die… You’re only going to hurt.

I suppose I am thankful… I know many who are fighting for their lives.

But, you see, it was running that has saved me for so many years. She was my therapy when the clouds of depression would shut me in that dark room.

It’s always been in the dark of night that the cadence of my steps descended upon the pavement and I was able to stomp out angst with every foot fall. I could feel it release.

It’s not that I always wanted to run, I needed to. And now, I aid and abed a hip guilty of treason and struggle with a mind slowly slipping into all too familiar territory.

I suppose I’ll have to adjust… Grab a bike, swim a few laps in the pool. I’ve heard all these options. It’s a lot like telling a pianist he can no longer be with his first love… But, hey, here’s a fine clarinet.

I don’t know… I suppose tonight I’m just struggling with the reality of it all a bit. I haven’t run in a few weeks and my hip doesn’t hurt for the first time in a long time. So, that’s good news.

I just feel as though a little piece of me is dying.

A peace in me is dying.

I miss that long, dark stretch of road, free of competition and finish lines.

I long for the rhythm of the road.

I yearn to run again.