A few months into our training, my mother and I participated in a 5K race together. While the event was enjoyable, the highlight for me was receiving water from the spectators as I jogged past, allowing me to drench myself in it. What can I say? I was just a child of 9. However, this story doesn’t conclude with my transformation into an athlete or marathon runner. In fact, I don’t recall us running together after that race, and despite my mother’s hopes, I never truly embraced the passion for running.
My mother, on the other hand, was completely captivated by it. She immersed herself in the running boom of the 1970s, inspired by the bestselling book The Complete Book of Running by Jim Fixx, which proudly occupied a spot on our family dresser. By the time I was 6 or 7, I could name iconic Boston Marathon champions such as Bill Rodgers and Joan Benoit. In her quest for suitable footwear, she often found that local stores did not offer women’s running shoes, leading her to buy a size 4.5 from the boys’ section at the New Balance outlet. Sundays became a routine of attending races, where my father and I would stand near the finish line, camera ready. Whenever he spotted my mom approaching, he would exclaim, “Look, there she is!” and I would wave excitedly while he captured the moment.
In those early days, there weren’t many female participants, so my mother—who was never particularly fast—occasionally brought home enormous trophies simply for finishing first or second among a handful of women in her age group.
As I reflect on aging, I am surprised by the reality of it; it seems to sneak up on you. My mother never dwelled on it—she never lamented her reflection or expressed concern over a wrinkle or gray hair. While I now experience aches—particularly in my knees—and find myself nearing the need for reading glasses, I recall our trip to Ireland for my 40th birthday. We walked several miles each day, matching each other’s pace perfectly, even though I was 32 years younger.
Raised among a community of elderly individuals, I’ve learned not to tempt fate regarding health or appearance. As I write this, I’m simultaneously knocking on wood, hoping to ward off any bad luck. I recognize, however, that health is ultimately beyond our control. It strikes me that the researchers who claim that exercise can promote longevity and youthful looks may indeed have a point. My mother, who has been running long before women’s running shoes were available, looks remarkable. She often gets carded when requesting senior discounts.
Now in her 70s, she continues to participate in the renowned Tufts 10K, an all-women’s race in Boston. Previously known as the Bonne Bell race, it even offered goodie bags filled with Lip Smackers. As she nears 74, she never questions whether she is too old to run. While she occasionally ponders it, her answer is always a firm “No.”
Races have evolved significantly over the years. My dad no longer captures the finish line moments; professional photography services now provide that, allowing participants to purchase framed images or merchandise featuring their race photos. When my mother feels particularly proud of how she looks, she often buys a mug with her finish line image. During my visits, I enjoy sipping coffee from a mug that portrays her sweaty, determined, and smiling self crossing the finish line at her annual 10K.
Decades after she first introduced me to running, I believe I am beginning to understand her lesson: Perhaps the key to embracing aging is to stop overthinking it and simply keep moving forward.
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Summary
The narrative highlights the author’s experiences with her mother’s passion for running, demonstrating how it has impacted both their lives over the years. While the author did not adopt running as a hobby, she appreciates her mother’s commitment to fitness and its effects on aging. Ultimately, the story conveys the idea that staying active is beneficial, and perhaps it is best not to dwell on the inevitability of aging.
Keyphrase: running and aging
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