Episode Details

My dad started running just a few years before I did. Living 45 miles away from his job at the planetarium, he was inclined to wake up around 7 o’clock to get me and him out the door by 8.

But then he started waking up a little earlier.

I heard the front door slam around 6:15, but after that I didn’t hear the snowblower like I thought I would. Okay, so if it wasn’t the snow, what was he doing out there?

He’d go out every day, earlier and earlier. It was just a couple miles at first. Then he started eating more, and at weird times of the day. Still earlier he’d go out. He started going to sleep at 6:30 so he could wake up in time.

By the time he shattered his foot, he was running 17 miles on the daily. Recovery took over a year. After that, he knew he had to take it easy. He still ran but reined it in to a modest 11 miles before breakfast.

I started running because my friends abducted me. I mean literally. Jack and Jacob drove up to my house, pulled me into the car and said, “we’re all going to run Cross Country this year. We’ve got your shoes.”

This might have been a bigger deal than may be obvious. There were team banners hanging inside our school’s gymnasium like any high school’s, but ours weren’t football banners; they were for Cross Country. We had the hardest course in the entire state, and we won championships every year. We never checked the posted times to see if we got first, because of course we did. We checked to see how many other divisions we would have won, too, had they let us compete in them. Cross Country was a big deal.

I never contributed too much myself. My first 5k time was an abysmal 29 minutes. By the end of the season, I was able to shave it down to a fairly respectable 18.

I didn’t run in college, nor anytime afterward, but speaking of times, I hit my first serious relationship crisis right on schedule in my mid-20s. That’s when I picked up my running shoes again. I went out just like my dad did—only nights, not mornings. (I’m more of a third shift runner; I seldom did dawn patrol.)

I went out in 100-degree heat. I went out in February, when the entire state was sealed in icy blister-wrap. I’ve seen rain slow its descent and felt the stick under my feet as it turned into snow.

Then, just like the Tom Hanks movie, I just stopped one day. I was halfway through a run and decided to walk home.

I wanted to continue, but I didn’t understand what my fuel was. Anger, frustration and sadness sure got the boiler going, but of course it couldn’t last. When it wasn’t there anymore, it was difficult to motivate myself.

I never touched my shoes again until around 2020. That lasted for about two years, and then once again I tucked them back into the closet.

I find myself running again now. I couldn’t tell you why, it just seemed like a good idea. I don’t time my runs, don’t map them out and I’m not into wearables. I have no idea how fast or far I go, but I’m gone for about two hours if that tells you anything. I’m not burning anything off this time, but I do meet up with a few enemies, friends and advisors.

Worry is usually the first one to stop by, the eager b*****d.

Hey, James, did you see the news today? Please tell me you did. If not, I’m more than happy to catch you up!

There’s no point in running away from him; he always knows where to find me. So, I’m polite. I hear him out, and I wait for him to have nothing new to say.

Usually up next is Guilt and Grief. Buncha downright nostalgic softies, those two. They’re downright sentimental.

Hey, James, remember your drinking days? Remember how terribly you handled your first couple of relationships? Lost in a sea of your own inexperience is how I like to explain it to people!

Hey, that’s nothing, my man here is spectacular at disappointing his parents. Remember his wedding?

You can’t outrun Guilt or Grief, eit