Our Mommyhood

By Julia Magnusson, Staff Writer, It’s Not Like a Cat (@notlikeacat)

“Hey,” I huffed. “This feels like an angry pace.”

Sasha checked her Garmin. “You’re right; let’s back off a bit.”

I didn’t mind our speed, but kicking off a long run at a fast tempo is a hard way to start, and it was an angry pace. My running partner and friend Sasha was telling me about a particularly annoying recent situation. Funny how just retelling an annoying incident—or a happy one, or a worrisome one—can affect your pace.

The Sunday long run is back.

Sasha and I used to train together every week. Sometimes we’d meet midweek to run if we could, but last fall we ran together every Sunday, for the long run for the marathon she was training for.

I was just along for the fun of it, but after I ran a 20-miler with her (and felt great afterward), I knew I could do a fall marathon, too. I had my sights set on a half marathon, but I decided I’d run a full one after that.

An injury killed that plan, but I was able to resume running with her in time to train for another half marathon that we ran together, last February.

Our long runs are precious. We usually communicate by Facebook and email, with sporadic summertime play dates for our children, but it’s the long runs that really give us time to talk.

And boy, do we talk. You have no idea what sort of topics you will cover on a two- or three-hour run until you’ve run the distance with a friend. Or how those topics will affect your pace. Besides “angry pace,” which is pretty fast, a mellow conversation about something mundane can slow you right down. Describing a long-ago situation keeps you at tempo, as does talking about work (assuming you’re happy with your job).

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her until we resumed our long runs a few weeks ago. We meet every Sunday morning and talk our way through (at this point) eight miles. One week my mystified husband wondered why I’d been gone for so long. Once he pointed it out, I was confused. Where had the extra half-hour gone?

And then I remembered. Apparently eight miles wasn’t enough distance to cover everything we needed to talk about. When Sasha arrived at our meeting spot, we stopped and talked for a while before starting our run together. When we got to the halfway point, she stopped to stretch and we kept on talking. Time to part ways? We stood on the corner talking for a long time.

Those minutes add up.

So does the connection with another person, someone who’s not my husband, not my children, not a client, and not just someone in my email inbox—as most of my friends seem to be these days. She’s a real, live person who reminds me that I’m still a person, even if I spend most of my time at home with children or behind my computer. I may not be able to meet up with my trail-running group very often lately, go out for drinks or even meet someone for lunch, but I can still get out there and connect with a friend, every week, as we slog the miles together.

No matter what the pace.

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