Running with hounds

Sometimes I run with hounds. The best kind of running hounds. Greyhounds.

Okay, so they aren’t real dogs; they’re young men. But they are definitely racing. Oh yes they are. 

Honesty here:  I run with them for just a short time, only a few seconds, if that. But I look forward to those seconds. They make me happy. 

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately running and walking on a rail trail, a three-mile long dirt pathway through a forest filled with evergreens and deciduous flora  – oaks, elms, ash trees. It’s quite green and pretty. The rail trail is always a little cooler than the rest of the world, probably because the trees let in little sunlight. What brightness that manages to weave itself through the canopy dissipates at ground level into a twinkling dreamscape. There’s a sparkling reservoir past the trees and down a steep hill on one side, and bubbling streams everywhere. 

About a mile into the trail, the dense greenery dwindles. The gentle dappling gives way to harsh sunlight as the path scoots under a major highway. Concrete piers hold the behemoth in place. Its harsh noises far above sound alien and wrong. There are remnants of an old mill just a few hundred yards after the overpass, then there isn’t much to see for awhile, except for twisting branches , woodland flowers, chipmunks, birds, then two brooks that you cross via footbridge.    

It’s a great place to be on a hot summer day. It’s where I wanted to be early today. But I’m back at work so now I run in the late afternoon.

Weeks ago, I figured out that the Greyhound cross country team practices at my rail trail. One day after work, I pulled into the small parking lot off the trail, and found myself next to two white vans that said Assumption College on the side. I wondered what I was getting myself into.  

The team had just arrived. Two older gents in street clothes were standing at the start of the trail, giving instructions to a dozen young bucks in running gear, long legged creatures, all sinew and muscle. 

The coaches saw me and nodded in my direction. No one tried to stop me, so I started my run, a little self-consciously and a lot slowly because the first mile should always be the slowest. The second mile the second slowest and so on and so forth.

I was old, flabby, awkward; the broken-down opposite of these shiny new models. 

About five minutes into my run I heard a bit of talking and some pounding; nothing scary, but enough to make me stop and turn to see what was going on. I stepped off the path and onto some tree roots. I watched in wonder as these magnificent animals, sparkly-eyed and panting, passed me by. I must have been smiling because a couple looked my way and grinned. Once they passed, I got back on the trail and followed behind, a doddering old grandma. I watched the pack, the straight backs and clean gaits. I remembered what running had felt like back when I was in college and dreaming of my future.  I picked up my pace. I straightened my core. Soon, the boys disappeared into the dusk.  

  

For a while all I heard was the sound of the crackling waters nearby and the pad pad pad of my shoes on the dirt. There were a few other runners out there, some familiar faces I’ve gotten to recognize over the last couple of months. We nodded politely as we passed, kindred spirits converging then moving on. 

I’d passed the first footbridge and was closing in on the second when I saw the Greyhound frontrunners headed back my way. They took long, luxurious strides. They were talking. As they approached I dared to look in the eyes of the one closest to me. He looked right back. He smiled. For the briefest of moments we shared something alive and electric. 

I continued on and soon met up with the rest of the pack. Some of these guys were struggling. I could see the weariness in their rounded shoulders and broken gaits. Some stared ahead others sought out my eyes. I know they did. I can tell. I’ve handed out thousands of cups of water at plenty of marathons. I know when a runner is asking for help. I smiled and kept my thumbs up. A few smiled back at me and did the same. 

Today I saw the team for just seconds. I was just starting out as they were finishing up. The air was crisp and dry. Perfect for running. They all looked strong. There were a lot of us regular runners on the path today too. In no time at all I found myself tapping the metal barrier that marks the end of the trail. I turned around and trotted toward home. The sun was low and the path was darker in some spots, but brighter than usual in others. In the places where the light appeared, so did my shadow:   longer, leaner, ageless.