Growing Old Pains

Oh how I remember, those terrible leg pains which kept me writhing and rustling in my bed for hours at night, turning this way and that, tightening the muscles and letting them go - just about anything to alleviate some of the pain. Growing pains. Why must growing hurt, I wondered.

And now I recall those times almost wistfully. At least as a growing girl I knew the leg pains would pass and were a normal part of maturing - a sort of level one must pass to get to the next one.

But now the pains are pains of aging. Growing old pains, I call them.

Today the pain has been in my knees. A frustrating, unrelenting, slowing-me-down pain. Of course, these growing old pains which I lament at the moment are mostly of my own doing. Why? How? Well, I'm a runner, you see.

There! I've said it for the first time. Not "I'm going out for my run" or "Time for my jog." No, I said "I'm a runner." Wow! That felt good.

To be honest, I'm not a runner because I love to run. I read and hear all about how running is an addiction and that runners have to run for the sake of running. That's not me. I run because I love to eat and because I hate fat. Simple as that. I force myself to run 3-5 miles per day just so I can stay trim and toned and still eat mostly whatever I please. I force myself to run because I'm creeping up on 40 (shhhh!) and my metabolism isn't as fast and strong as a freight train like it used to be. Oh, those were the days!

And how do I feel on my run? Hmmm. Good question. I usually lie when someone asks me that. "It's great!" "Love it!" etc. I take off in my bona fide "running clothes" and bona fide "running shoes" with my handy dandy ipod, intent on my task. For it is a task to me. Yes, I love the "me" time I get during that run - no kids, dogs, cats, phones.... Yes, I love the rhythm my feet create hitting the asphalt or the sidewalk. Yes, I love the sense of accomplishment and strength I get after every run. But really and truly, what I love most about running is being done with it. The last leg is always the hardest, being uphill most of the way, but once I top that ridiculously long swell and hit the flat area, I know it's time to turn right - onto my street and down a hill to the third house on the left, up the steep driveway, up the three steps to the front door, and it's over. Again. Until the next time.

Ah, but it hurts, and sometimes the hurt lasts. Today's pain is from Sunday's run and I still have swollen knees. I guess I have to stop by a drugstore and hope they carry run-of-the-mill knee braces, or at the very least ace bandages so I can tape my knees. But I'm tough. I've been through much worse, I remind myself. I've given birth without so much as an aspirin, only to get up and take a shower 20 minutes after. I've been a single mother to two kids, a dog and three cats. I've starved for days at a time to ensure my kids and pets were fed. Yes, I'm a tough bird. I can handle this pain.

And will I run today anyway? You bet your sweet ass I will! I have to, you see, because I ate a cheeseburger last night and a 12-inch turkey sandwich today and now I must pay my dues....

Make sure you look for me today at around 5-ish. I'll be the blondish chick looking determinedly ahead, possibly running much like a penguin might run. I'll be the one praying that the runner's high kicks in quickly and lasts long so I can continue to run. I need those lovely endorphins to mask the pain I'll be feeling. Yes, I'll be the one grinning with joy as I turn onto my street and see my driveway welcoming me, the front door opening its mouth and swallowing me back into my cocoon where I'll moan and groan and limp around with ice packs on my knees.

But I did it and I'm alive. There's nothing like a little pain to remind me that I'm alive.