... expansion from previous post..
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I miss the crunch of leaves under the soles of my shoes, the beat of my shoes along a lonely boulevard, the sting of the wintry air lacerating my face. I felt strong. I overcame pain. I felt like a conqueror. I felt rugged. Those sultry days of summer were grueling. It was just my pain, my teammates, and me running in solidarity. They were forever encouraging. They made my experience wonderful, full of fun and laughter. When I think about those days, which there are many, nostalgia overtakes me. The pain, at times, plucked at my heartstrings:literally – sometimes the pain was dizzying. With every step I took, I developed a tougher exterior, just as a guitarist with every pluck develops calluses. I was internally stronger. Yeah, those were the days I could muster enough energy to run with Chucks for five miles straight, or run with vigor in the muddy trails of mount sac (in the rain).
Whew! Now I am winded walking up a flight of library stairs, not to mention running a mile(!) I remember those times when my best friend and me would ditch Saturday running practice, only to take fourteen-mile bike rides along Ontario’s streets. I remember racing with our heads facing the sun, and our backs to civilization, or so it seemed. We would end up in the remotest parts of Ontario, reaching the cow farms – a time when they still were present, now long gone – and simply basking in the rays of the sun and the unmistakable scent of cows. Okay, maybe the smell of cows wasn’t as glorious, but it made us feel alive and somehow happy. To end our ride, we would pluck oranges from trees we found along the way of which there were plenty. They were one of the best rewards after taking on endless miles of dirt, concrete, and grass.
She just called me recently to plan another one of those infamous bike rides. I am ecstatic to say the least, hoping that I can somehow peddle fourteen miles without completely dying. Still, I somehow wish the cows would be waiting for us, stench, oranges and all.
