TITLE: Five Years On, I Still Dream About Running
AUTHOR: Eugene Wallingford
DATE: November 01, 2015 10:16 AM
DESC: 
-----
BODY:
A little over five years ago, on October 17, 2010, I ran
<A HREF="http://www.cs.uni.edu/~wallingf/blog/archives/monthly/2010-10.html#e2010-10-20T12_33_44.htm">
   my last marathon</A>.
It was a great day.  At the time, I didn't know it would be my
last marathon.  I figured I'd take it easy for a couple of weeks,
allowing my legs to recover, and then I'd be back to running as
usual.  And that's how things went, for a few months.  Then
<A HREF="http://www.cs.uni.edu/~wallingf/blog/archives/monthly/2011-04.html#e2011-04-30T10_05_29.htm">
   things changed</A>.
I wasn't a runner anymore.

The fifth anniversary of my final marathon passed with no fanfare.
That's unusual.  I'm sentimental and prone to remembering
anniversaries.  I remember thinking last summer that I should blog
a reminiscence about that Des Moines Marathon, and a paean to the
loss of running from my life.  Then I got busy with family and
school, and the day passed unnoticed.  Time marches on.

Last night, though, I dreamed I was running, and it all came back
to me.  I was running through the town where I live, down a street
I don't ever recall running down in real life.  My heart beat
faster.  My breathing was rhythmic, strong.  Soon the scene segued
into a strange nowhere, on streets and trails unlike anything in
my town; yet they felt as real and as much home to me as the
streets I walk every day.  The run became the backbone of a crazy
dream, as some dreams are, but the running itself felt as it so
often did before.  I was both aware of my body and oblivious to
it.  The dream and the run seemed to go on for a long time, until
both were over in an instant.

Feeling these feelings again was at once sad and enormously pleasing.
It's sad to feel something I enjoyed so much and know that I can
never enjoy it in the same way again.  But to feel that way again,
seemingly as real as any time I ever felt when living it, was a
surprising joy.  I wonder how long my mind can hold these memories,
so real, and serve them up unexpectedly.  I will gladly accept a
little sadness every so often, feeling the loss again, if it also
means being a runner again.  Even if it's only a dream.
-----