The I can't complex #2

When I take my son to the park it is very seldom that you don't find him running, here, there and everywhere.  It is one beautiful game to him.  I use these pictures of him and the joy of running for contrast :)

I find that this particular dilemma, the feeling that I can't, has been a particular companion of mine through out my life.  There is a feeling that I have kept it as a friend for far too long.

  When I was in high school, I ran. At least I picked up my legs and propelled myself forward, much like a turtle with severe rheumatism might propel themselves forward in the middle of winter across a deep snowy road.  It was in this slow, methodical, never ending pace that I ran Cross Country and Long Distance in Track.  

Frequently, I imagined that I was one of those slow plodding draft horses, strong and uniquely beautiful (when impersonating a horse you are always beautiful :), never quiting but not sleek and fast like a thoroughbred... In fact, later, one of my friends asked me if I wasn't horrified or embarrassed that I came in last frequently.  I had never thought about it, it was just how things were.  I was slow.  

I came in when I came in, it was never about winning for me, but about trying to do better, trying to survive the race and the burn in my lungs and body.  It was also a means to an end, I wanted to be in shape and be skinny.  I never thought about or dreamed about winning a race, leading the pack or passing them all... it was never my vision because I never dreamed it was possible.  

I couldn't.  I knew it was physically impossible for me to run faster or as fast as everyone else.  My body was different then the majority of other people's.  For instance, most people have fast twitch muscles.  I knew I had none, my muscles were all composed of slow twitch muscles, thus making it impossible to run fast.  Also, I was given alligator legs as my birth right... short and stubby... not even short, small, and slightly curvy... short and stubby.

I don't know how many memories I have of running, pumping my little legs as fast as they could go only to be outstripped, easily, by a long legged friend, well almost any friend really.  That was always discouraging, losing in a sociable race.  For whatever reason, my heart was in those battles, loosing them made it hard to invest in 'real" races,  knowing I would only lose no matter how hard of an investment I gave. 

The last difference between my body and others' was that somehow they surely 
didn't feel the pain I did.  To me the pain was a sure sign, that obviously, I was not meant 
to run fast.  I was so sure that everyone else ran faster because it didn't hurt them as 
much.  How silly of me.  I doubt there are many people who don't experience pain or discomfort when they run, the trick is pushing through it.  I remember still, the night I realized that running fast was all about running through the pain.  It was delicious.

I remember the sensation of almost flying, not that I had reached epic speeds but I had a good pace and I was pushing through the discomfort in my body, so much so that I didn't feel it anymore... I only felt the elation of conquering my weakness and doing something my body had resisted doing for so long... I felt I had wings and could conquer the world.  It was a moment I will never forget, still I can see and feel myself running with my friend, both of us inhaling the dark crisp night with enthusiasm, never slowing the pace, never stopping... just flying.