A Solitary 5.25

There's something wonderful about running with others, be it a friend or a lover...the reasons for this are myriad, and none of us are a stranger to them:

* Companionship: There is something great about spending time doing something difficult and/or de-stressing with a partner, someone also reaping the benefit of the run.

* Conversation: I can't deny it--I'm guilty of asking leading questions to get my running partner(s) to jabber away, thereby allowing me to save my breath for the effort of a run. Then again, I'm also guilty of shamelessly rambling away, having horded any news of interest, prepared only to share it while running.

* Competition: It would be too far to say that I am "racing" my running buddies. That aside, no one wants to be the first to back down, to say, "Do you...[gasp]...mind if we...slow down...[wheeze]for a bit?" Running with someone else pushes me further than I necessarily want to go, and I know that I am giving back the same.

But...ah. There is another kind of bliss in the solitude of running. A kind of bliss in the only sounds magnified in your lonely ears--cars cruising by, snatches of passing conversation, trees rustling in the wind, and the slap-slap of sneakers on pavement, road, and ramp.

I listened to these noises, to the chirping of the Walk sign that seems to take 5 minutes to come around, then is gone again before I can sprint across the intersection; to the rush of cars along Mass Ave. as I cruised along, slap-slapping my sneaks along; the excited yammering bark of two dogs, pulling at their leashes near my turnaround point, the Starbacks near the Rt. 60 intersections. I tuned in to car doors opening and closing, the sound of a woman's high heels in front of me, the popping crunch of her date's shoes as he bounded up the curb to walk at her side.

And then I was distracted--by smell. The smell of garlic, roasting meat, and all kinds of delicious, to be exact.

As I rounded the last curve, surprised to find myself at home so quickly, I mopped away the rivulet of sweat pooling along the bow of my upper lip.

Running alone is a gift, a wonderful thing, in that you again notice the details--the sounds, smells, feeling of speeding along. You notice the hitch in a random step, and can tune completely into your body, seeking with mental tendrils along each limb for sore muscles or joints, weak points, hot spots.

Is it so strange to think that each makes me appreciate the other all the more? That running with others makes me see anew the wonder of a solitary run? That running alone makes me yearn at the same time for company, for someone to share each step and moment with? It's an enigma. But it's a good one.

Side note: This Monday was the kickoff Dana-Farber meeting. Soon I'll be running on a weekly basis with friends of last year, and at last--I won't be one of the rookies.

See below for the official (and very large--do banks even take those?) check from the 2008 DFMC runners.

I know. It's tough to see. Let me help you.

The check says $4.65 million.