Not one of us thought this pandemic would happen. Not one of us had it in our foresights that there would be this novel coronavirus that would take the world and humanity in its frightening clutches. It did and all our plans were waylaid.
I was looking ahead to running a marathon again this December and maybe a half before that. But this was not to be. The pandemic happened and the restrictions on movement came with the varying degrees of quarantine imposed by the government. Simply put, no running for me for close to two months.
The last enrty on the notebook I used as a running log was dated March 25 for a 39-minute 5k. By then I had run a total of 392 kilometers from January 2.
When it was allowed again, I went back to running short distances at slow pace: 13 runs in May, 24 in June with 8k as the longest, 22 in July with a couple of 10k's. August had me logging a total of 93 kilometers (20 runs in all for the month) and my tally for September: 130 kilometers over 21 runs.
This isn't much I suppose by other runners' reckoning. At 64, closing in on 65, this is perhaps the best I can do following the lockdowns. They are much slower, much shorter, than the ones my younger self logged a number of years ago. But I keep at it, running, because I enjoy it in the weird and seemingly crazy manner runners do. It is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other but difficult and demanding yet very rewarding in the end. As they say: "It is something only those few know. Those who put themselves through pain , but deep down know how good it feels."
For now, I look forward to another month of runs, and perhaps additional mileage? We'll see.
