Mothers' day, a little early

I wasn't supposed to run this morning, but when I got up and saw the partially clear skies and my mother sitting at our kitchen table clad in running shorts I didn't really have a choice. I love running with my mom, especially on what she calls "old lady runs." While these are by no means slogs, they are not my usual pace. Which I really enjoy. My mom was the person that first got me into running. When I signed up for middle school track in eighth grade, she took me on my first 20-minute run in Phoenix, AZ during our spring break. In the dry heat she pulled me along, probably not even 2 miles, in the hopes of preparing me. From that day, our next big milestone together was when she asked me to run her usual six-mile lake loop with her. I will admit to anxiety dreams about being left behind the night prior to this momentous occasion. Gradually, it became our ritual to run together when I didn't have practice. Running with my mom gives me an hour out of my day to really connect with her. Since we've had this opportunity to talk and just be together for a small bit of our busy lives, I feel that she's become more than just a caretaker, provider, and protector; she is now a mentor, therapist, and my best friend. Usually we fall into step with excessive chatter and by the end of the run I feel caught up on her life and content she's up to speed with mine, but today we ran predominantly in silence. All I could hear were her light footfalls and measured breathing, which was actually really comforting. I remember a run we did in Costa Rica during a family vacation: every morning we got up just before sunrise to escape some of the oppressive heat and humidity, however I inevitably dripped in sweat by the second minute. The dirt road was riddled with pools of soft mud and water-filled potholes, making the trek both treacherous and necessarily engaging, shutting down most chatter. We ran next to oversized, prehistoric-looking foliage with only the sound of dripping water and waking birds around us. As I weaved in and out of the obstacle course a chorus of barks shattered our silence. It literally sounded like a pack of wolves was fighting to the death less than 800 meters from where we were standing. To this day we laugh about how I instinctively positional myself behind my mom, ready to literally jump into her arms. Yes, I regret my intrinsic selfishness and willingness to sacrifice one of the people I love most in this world, but I have to honestly admit that it was my automatic response to the perception of danger. After the initial shock and fear we realized the sound was merely the morning wakeup call of the howler monkeys. To this day, though, I remember the way the peace was broken on that run, and the atmosphere this morning flashed me back. It says something about the relationship we have, though. It is she that I depend on when something goes wrong. I feel more secure with her running next to me, as cheesy as that may sound. It's funny to look at the difference running together has made in our relationship. Though she now encourages me to speed up for the last two miles of our runs together, leaving her behind, we still have a common ground on which we can connect. Running with my mom, even just once or twice a week, allows us to talk, listen, and learn about what's important to each other. She'll give me an honest opinion that I can count on to be in my best interest. I attribute a lot of the closeness I have with my mom with our ability to run together. Some women pass on jewelry, recipes, or traditions to their daughters. Mine has given me her time and imparted me with a passion that I value as much as any inheritance.