Runnin' up that Hill
This is a thing that's been rattling around in my brain for months.
This spring, on a sunny afternoon when I went for a lunch-time run, I had an experience. There was an older man on the trail, under the Higgins street bridge who appeared drunk and possibly homeless. I noticed him on my way out, but on my way back he decided to yell at me. As it often does, it took me a while to process what he'd said, and by the time I'd puzzled it all out I was already a way down the trail.
Unlike most drunks who yell at women running in Missoula, he didn't make a sexual comment. His comment was something to the affect that anybody who ran must be running from something. And he said it with rather a lot of disgust in his voice.
But the thing is, he wasn't wrong. I do run *from* things. I run from anxiety. I run from depression. I run from heart disease. And I run from whatever the hell you'd call what happened to my mom and her mom. I'm not sure how much I've talked about it, here or in person, but I imagine it's not an accidental secret. My mom and her mom were both more or less house-bound. For my mom, this started in her late 30s or so. She'd leave to go shopping, or run to the fast food joint, but that was mostly it. But with my grandma, as far back as I can remember, she only left the house for special occasions, and that was only once or twice each year. In fact, she didn't even get dressed. She sat around the house in her nightgown and housecoat all day, every day. She had no friends to speak of. Her sisters and children did her shopping and stuff. I don't think I saw her dressed and outside the house more than 10 times until she wound up in the hospital and nursing home.
I don't know for sure, but I imagine that both grandma and my mom suffered from pretty extreme anxiety, and that this is what caused them to live that way. If you can call it living.
I recognize those tendencies in my own behavior. I have anxiety, and I've gone through long periods where I only left the house for work. How much of that was learned from their modeling and how much is the anxiety itself, I cannot say. But running helps to control the anxiety, and the running club I belongs to helps to get me out and get me to socialize with people beyond my small circle of friends.
So yeah, weird drunk guy, I am running from something. And really, who wouldn't run from that?
This spring, on a sunny afternoon when I went for a lunch-time run, I had an experience. There was an older man on the trail, under the Higgins street bridge who appeared drunk and possibly homeless. I noticed him on my way out, but on my way back he decided to yell at me. As it often does, it took me a while to process what he'd said, and by the time I'd puzzled it all out I was already a way down the trail.
Unlike most drunks who yell at women running in Missoula, he didn't make a sexual comment. His comment was something to the affect that anybody who ran must be running from something. And he said it with rather a lot of disgust in his voice.
But the thing is, he wasn't wrong. I do run *from* things. I run from anxiety. I run from depression. I run from heart disease. And I run from whatever the hell you'd call what happened to my mom and her mom. I'm not sure how much I've talked about it, here or in person, but I imagine it's not an accidental secret. My mom and her mom were both more or less house-bound. For my mom, this started in her late 30s or so. She'd leave to go shopping, or run to the fast food joint, but that was mostly it. But with my grandma, as far back as I can remember, she only left the house for special occasions, and that was only once or twice each year. In fact, she didn't even get dressed. She sat around the house in her nightgown and housecoat all day, every day. She had no friends to speak of. Her sisters and children did her shopping and stuff. I don't think I saw her dressed and outside the house more than 10 times until she wound up in the hospital and nursing home.
I don't know for sure, but I imagine that both grandma and my mom suffered from pretty extreme anxiety, and that this is what caused them to live that way. If you can call it living.
I recognize those tendencies in my own behavior. I have anxiety, and I've gone through long periods where I only left the house for work. How much of that was learned from their modeling and how much is the anxiety itself, I cannot say. But running helps to control the anxiety, and the running club I belongs to helps to get me out and get me to socialize with people beyond my small circle of friends.
So yeah, weird drunk guy, I am running from something. And really, who wouldn't run from that?