Ask me in December

It‘s 7:30 am on a cold January morning. I snuggle back into the fabric of the tiny subway seat, thankful for the warmth the last occupant has left behind. The weather application on my phone registers a sub- zero temperature and as I glance out the window I see figures, gloved and hooded, tuned to their iPods, determinedly running by.

And though I’ve seen this scene a thousand times over, I am filled with admiration yet again. What is it that compels them to lace up and get in their daily run even on these bitter mornings? How can they make it seem so effortless when a mere brisk walk in the heavy winter air leaves me groveling for ventilator support? Will I…can I ever be one of them? Will I ever experience an addiction so strong, one that wills me to conquer even the harshest Boston weather?

Home to the world’s most famous marathon, running the 26.2 miles seems like a rite of passage before I can claim this city as my very own. And so when the ASHA email comes around offering training support and running buddies in return for a child’s future, I promptly sign up.

We begin in April. The sun is stronger, the river has thawed and the number of figures I see on my morning commute, now in shorts and sunglasses, iPods still plugged in, have multiplied. We are a mixed bunch- motivated, self-doubting novices, mother-son duos, students, professors and seasoned runners now training for their third marathon.

Our goal is to run 3 miles. We begin with gusto but by 0.7 miles, my resolute gallop has simmered down to a winded, wavering walk. “Start slow”, the coach warns. “Run for 5 minutes, walk for 1. As days go by increase your running time and reduce the amount you walk. Run for at least 30 minutes, three times a week. Amplify your mileage every weekend. Stretch. “ I take it all in fervently, like a wide eyed toddler on his first visit to the toy store.

Four months, 160 miles and a pair of running shoes later, I lie on a patch of grass numbly staring at the mellow light filtering in from the leaves above. The exhaustion is absolute, the endorphins high and the contentment replete. I pride in the 16 miler I’ve just completed and marvel at the reserves I have slowly discovered within myself. “So you’re a runner girl now, yeah?” he asks as he plops down beside me. I smile remembering the runners on that cold winter's morning, “That’s something only the first snowflakes will tell.”