Yesterday, I took a knee to retie my shoe.
The sky was deep and clear. The sun was low. A breeze fluttered leaves still green with summer. It was a day made for running.
I used to run against time, to get faster, to be ready for the crack of the starting pistol, to finish first. We would toe the line with our ears wide open and our watches poised. At the gun, we would scramble for position before the first turn. On the straightaway, we would settle and listen for our splits at 200 meters. The clock loomed large at the start of each new lap as we did math to bury the pain. At the sound of the bell, we let go of everything: our breathing, the weight of our legs, and any thoughts of stopping. Off the last turn, I would count down from ten, convinced I could ensure anything for less than ten seconds.
I’m older now. The starting pistol no longer fires for me. There are no more swinging elbows, exposed spikes, or rushed breaths to reach the front. Now, I run to relax, to clear my mind, to feel the good kind of tired at night. But until this morning, I was still pressing to run down time.
Something bit into my ankle on my first stride. It felt more mosquito than injury. The pain was just above the sock line of my right foot. I kept running, trying to work it out, worrying it might get worse.
Having started my watch and approaching the place where our dirt road ends and the asphalt begins, I debated whether to stop and address my situation. “It will loosen along the way,” I told myself. “Just ignore it.” I turned my attention elsewhere. I pictured the view at the spot where I would drop onto the marsh path. I thought of walking our dog Stella afterwards. I puzzled over the beginning of a story I couldn’t get quite right.
Nothing worked. Push through it, I thought. I remembered the season I ran on a broken foot. It’s just a tight shoelace, I told myself, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no reason to stop.
Then, I pushed the button on my watch and took a knee. I untied my shoe. The relief was immediate. I reworked the top lace and made a new double knot. Time stood beside me, waiting patiently. I had never stopped before the finish. Time, I had been told, waits for no one.
Free from distraction, I began again, losing myself in the swing of my arms, the rhythm of my breathing, and the reach of my stride. On and on I ran. Something had changed. Something was missing. I looked down at my watch. The numbers were frozen.
Time was still waiting. I had been running without it like a needle dropped onto the lead-in on a favorite vinyl, anticipating the first song.
Today, I left my watch in the drawer. Time was waiting when I got home. It looked rested and happy to see me.
