Thanks for the run

"At least then they'll be together," she said, talking easily but with breath to the woman running beside her. It was all I heard of the conversation as they and I whisked past each other on the sunrise lit path. But I could imagine the exchange. Maybe they were talking about kids going to school together, or an unexpected travel situation, or a new job that is taking partners far away from home.

I long for such an exchange. Before we moved, I used to run at least once a week with a friend along Lake Michigan on the south side of Chicago. We started out at 57th Street and worked our way either north or south before turning around to face the opposite weather on the way home. My first words upon meeting her on the corner, without fail: "I really feel tired today, can we take it easy on our way out to the lake?" My departing words, also without fail: "Thanks for the run today!" One of us said it, and the other always returned it. Of all the things I give thanks for during a day -- a door held open, groceries bagged and loaded into a cart, a child going to the potty on the first asking (a child doing anything on the first ask), hot food steaming on the table -- giving thanks for these runs stands out. After all, we were both out there, we were going the same pace, and we were encountering the same wind off the lake, often chunked with ice. But somewhere between my lousy feeling upon walking to meet her and returning to the same spot 40 to 100 minutes later, I became grateful. The day had dawned and I was a living, breathing part of it. Wherever the day went from here, I had been out there at the lake, running.

But the running was only part of it. As the miles clicked by, sometimes easily, sometimes with a side stitch or blazing sun or numb fingers, we talked. It didn't really matter about what, though from my running buddy it was often a whimsical story of her children, or a thorough review of last nights' book or movie or an article I just had to read in the NYTimes Magazine or Christian Century. She often followed up by delivering the article, along with some hand-me-down clothes to our doorstep later in the day. During the 2008 election, our miles went faster as we tried to fathom what was going on and would our neighbor really be president and who on earth is this Palin person anyway? It may have been breathy, and sometimes more one sided than the other, but over the miles we shared the bits of our lives that fit together to make it whole.

To my Chicago running buddy: thanks for the many, many runs. And thanks also to my Durham running buddies for the steamy runs in the forest and the slogging runs after a year of non-running (and two babies and abdominal surgery). And to the speedy running buddies in Minneapolis who helped me run in ways I hadn't dreamed possible. And finally to the running buddy in Asia who met me at ridiculous hours for a 20 minute out-and-back, everyday, which got it all started. And, to those who are hopefully in the future, we'll meet up soon. To God, thank you that this living and breathing and being whole is even possible.