There’s something about group runs I really can’t get over. I’ve been thinking about it for days. And I’m usually a lone runner, aside from maybe two days of the week.
But group runs. Man. We had about 10 people go out for 9 miles at about 8-minute pace and it was just… fun. Like childhood-memories-running-down-the-street-barefoot-to-catch-the-ice-cream-man fun. Like a brave herd of deer steering our way through cities and greenways and neighborhoods. Bouncing around, looking over our shoulders to smile at somebody’s joke, yelling, “BRANCH!” or “STUMP!” to warn your comrades behind you of an obstacle. Dancing in the middle of the street mid-run. Turning corners and flying along the outside, or hugging the interior as you rub elbows with somebody else.
Not feeling any pain, any weariness, any confusion of where we were going. Just running. Just flying. Wild. Like a pack of wolves down Main Street. Free, owning our bodies, running on our own hard-earned endurance. Together. Laughing, trading stories, sharing beloved memories.