A Saturday I Would Not Race Through

My perfect Saturday morning would start with enough time to drink my coffee before heading out the door. As a former college runner, I can turn movement into a test. But for now, I’m trying to focus on a morning of movement and enjoy the simple things without trying to make everything into a training run.

My cat, Waffles, is at home. Waffles has never seemed too interested in my fitness routines. So, I will grab my handheld water bottle, my running shoes, and the hat that I have worn to every Peachtree Road Race since 2019.

I am imagining cool air, a dry path and light that lets the morning arrive slowly. My Saturday walking group in Smyrna and my run on the Silver Comet are already part of my life. I want to have enough space around those activities to enjoy them fully.

Before I go, though, I will be honest with myself about how I am feeling. I am good at making plans for activity and less good at accepting rest. So I will try to honor the body that I woke up with today, as opposed to the person with endless amounts of energy who wrote out the plan for the day.

I arrive ready to walk at the group’s pace. I run the group for people returning from injury. I want to make room for them to move and talk without having to earn their place.

That does not mean that the conversation has to be remarkable for the walk to be worth it. There is plenty of room for ordinary conversation and even silence. Working in physical therapy gives me plenty to say. It should give me the patience to listen too.

The path asks us to keep going a little at a time. I like that scale. A person returning from injury does not owe me a dramatic account of progress. I would rather offer a steady place to return to than leave anyone feeling they must produce a better story next Saturday.

As for starting again, I know something about that. I was 7 when I had meningitis and had to relearn how to walk. My pediatric physical therapist was Ms. Gloria. I remember the walker and the work that followed. I recovered fully, but the memory stays close enough to make me careful about what I call easy.

That history does not make me an expert in someone else’s recovery. It makes me interested. I want to know what matters to the person beside me, rather than treating every walk as a smaller version of my own. There are many reasons to want to get outside. Running does not sit above the others.

The walk with the group ends. I take a drink of water, pause for a moment, and then start the run. I want to be able to make a clean break between being responsible for the group and choosing my own pace. Rushing from one activity to another can rob you of some of the pleasure of those activities.

The Silver Comet is where I want to do the longer running portion of the day. It’s familiar to me on Saturdays and I don’t need to set a distance for the day to be real. I just need enough room to move comfortably and then decide when I’m done with the run and can head back for the afternoon.

I start gently. My college years gave me an appetite for effort, and I still enjoy the feeling of a run settling into place. There is a brief stage when my attention remains on each choice. Then I find a pace I can hold without bargaining with myself about every step.

The first thing I notice are the small sounds of the path. My shoes meet the path. Water shifts in the bottle. A little air moves under the brim of my hat. None of it needs a recording. I just need to be present with the body that I have brought to the day.

I can make a pleasant run far too complicated. Given enough time I can make any outing into a question about training for future running. On this Saturday I shall simply let a stretch of running be a stretch of running. There is no need to explain why each minute of it is so enjoyable.

This is much harder than it seems. In college I learned how good it feels to work hard with other runners. I learned a different lesson from the stress fracture I had in 2019. I spent 8 weeks away from running. I have no wish to build my ideal day around proving I have forgotten that experience.

So I’ll drink, pay attention, and keep things open for change. My shoes are the ones I replace on schedule. My bottle is enough to keep in hand without fuss. I have no special purchase waiting to improve this morning. I’m interested in what I can do with the ordinary things I already use.

I think of my dad, Marcus. He started running with me when I was 13 years old. We have run the Peachtree Road Race together every July 4th since I was 14 years old. The race matters to me as time with him. A quiet Saturday can hold that affection without becoming a rehearsal for the next event.

Today I run for myself after walking with other people. I like the balance of things. I can enjoy being with other people and then go off on my own to do what I like to do with my thoughts. Neither of those things has to be bad. The morning is long enough for both of those things to be useful in their own way.

I turn back with enough energy to enjoy the return. That decision is part of the run, not a disappointing limit placed on it. I want to arrive where I started feeling ready for the afternoon.

As the run comes to a close, I drop back into a walking pace. The shift lets me notice how warm the day has become. I finish my water and let myself stop. I have no desire to squeeze an extra achievement into the space between finishing and getting home.

I can think of a simple lunch like a tomato sandwich. This would make me think of Mamaw’s house in Rome, GA but I would not have to travel there to eat. I can enjoy what is on the plate and leave the meal free of calculations about what the run allows me to eat.

At home, I take care of the wet hat and the bottle before settling in. I’ll want a comfortable chair to sit in and maybe Waffles will join me if she chooses. I’ll have no more training related problems to solve for the rest of the day.

I could read research. I often do that for pleasure, and I like knowing what a study actually asked. On this particular afternoon I want the freedom to close the paper halfway through. I am very curious about things and that is a good thing but I don’t want my curiosity to be another task to complete in order to have fun in the evening.

Later, I can think about the people from the morning without inventing victories for them. I hope the group felt welcoming. I hope I left enough room for their own aims. Those are things worth trying to do again. I do not need to claim a walk changed anyone’s life to care about offering it.

The evening is quiet. I eat, put tomorrow’s ordinary things in order and leave my shoes alone. I am happy to be a runner, but I do not want that word to crowd out the rest of me. I am a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister and someone who enjoys sitting with her cat.

Writing a regular column appeals to me for much the same reason as leading the walk. I want to help make physical movement more understandable and more accessible to people. I can explain what I know without pretending to know you. I can tell you why I care without asking you to have my history.

I like having a little time to prepare breakfast for the next morning too. It is an ordinary act of kindness toward the person I will be after sleep. I can do it without planning another run at the same time. Tomorrow can receive some care without taking over the hours I have left today.

Before bed, I like to go through my day in order of how it actually happened. Coffee, group walk, run, lunch, quiet afternoon. Each part of the day has its own value and I don’t feel like I have to make any of them more important than the other. I used my legs, enjoyed some alone time and had time for others. That’s a good Saturday.