A cold breeze blew from Lake Superior and it rustled the colorful fallen leaves on the empty road. Nobody else was out. I felt like I as running back in time.
This is where I grew up, and where I started running at 14. I ran so many miles here, in all kinds of weather (I didn't set foot on a treadmill till sometime in my 30s). I sported the first pair of running tights in town, which had to be custom made. I even got recruited for the university cross country team, and spent hours on sand hills and trails.
The younger me would have cruised by the me of today at least 2 minutes a mile faster, and would have barely noticed the hills. The younger me ran all the time. She did speed work on the track, and hill repeats. She ran lots of races. Sometimes she won them.
I ran past the site of the old zoo, now gone, and the summer ice cream stand. I couldn't shake the feeling of running in my old, ghost footsteps. So much has changed since then, and yet here I was, still running.
As I followed the familiar path, I felt like I was chasing my younger self. I couldn't catch her though; she stayed just ahead of me, her feet in the same Nike model I wear now barely skimming the ground. That girl had no idea of what lay ahead of her, but she was determined to keep running.
And I have kept running. Not as fast, as often or as far, but I'm still out there.
|I also ran on this beach.|