Be still, little voice

It was about half way through a 10K run, where I would come off a highway and join a rail-trail in open farm country.  Thus far it had been a pleasantly uneventful run on an unseasonably warm, misty morning, the first day in December.  I sighted two runners in the distance coming my way.  I would soon join them on the trail, returning to town with about a quarter-mile “lead.”  Nice to see someone else out here on a fine morning.

But, a little voice pipes up. "How long before they pass me? Not so soon?  Maybe not at all."

Not too long later, though, the other runners’ voices start to filter through the cool, humid air. The conversation becomes clearer. They're getting closer and closer. The little voice starts to ascertain details.  Chatter about kids, schools, friends, more about kids…. “I’m not a helicopter mom,” one says.  The little voice wonders.

I realize I must have stepped up the pace a hair. Yikes, looks like now I’m going about a minute a mile faster than normal. Why?

Soon enough, here come the moms flying by. Together for a moment,  we detour around a couple folks walking dogs, and then they’re gone.  They’re good-looking runners.  One has track form.

Don’t feel too bad, little voice.

These moms are my kids’ age. They have real talent.  I recall a few of the many runners who have passed me in my long, inglorious history.  At one point of suffering in the Berlin Marathon a couple years ago, I was passed late in the race by a person wearing a pomegranate suit. She sort of bumped me, it seemed.

That old voice, the little voice of competitiveness, is still there, I guess. But it can be soothed, as it was today, by a larger mindfulness….of running for its own sake.  Lots to celebrate this morning—quiet knees, the blessing of good weather in December, a mostly calm mind-- just moving. Everything.