Running from My Phantom

Attempted resurrection fails: RIP

March 26, 2021

Early Monday evening, upon emerging from the subway station — en route home from Corona vaccination: take two — I was hailed by a jogger, who greeted me by name.

Mask notwithstanding, I was outed by my then-magenta hair. By default, I recognized the lady as Paula, an erstwhile racing compatriot.

Before Corona stopped the world, Paula and I often met up at area road races. We were friendly competitors. Given that there were so few in our senior division, we generally placed in the top two of … two. Paula’s ever-present husband, John, would give us pep talks before the race, cheer us on as we set off, and take photos after we “won” our medals. John was justifiably proud of Paula — who’d been a speed demon twenty years prior — for her persistence, despite a significant decline in performance.

After greeting Paula, who’d stopped jogging to chat, I expressed my admiration for her discipline. I told her that after eight months of increasing demoralization as regards my concomitant loss of speed, I’d given up running. As we parted, I asked Paula to give my regards to John.

Ten minutes after I got home, the phone rang. It was John. He implored me not to give up, that what counted was not my performance, but my love of running.

I thanked John for calling. I was truly touched that he and Paula cared enough to reach out. I told John I disliked running, and always had, that I raced by way of discipline, so as to justify my otherwise-unimpressive existence. I said I had since found fulfillment here in “StoryLand.”

John and Paula promised to stop by.

If they hurry, perhaps they’ll catch up to this piece.