After a couple of months of training, we participated in a 5K together. It was enjoyable, but the highlight was definitely the water stations, where spectators handed out cups that I could dump over my head—it was the little joys at age 9. However, this narrative doesn’t lead to my becoming a track star or a dedicated marathon runner. In fact, I hardly remember running again after that event, because, despite my mother’s hopes, I never truly embraced running.
My mom, on the other hand, was deeply passionate about it. She was part of the running boom of the 1970s. Jim Fixx’s 1977 bestseller, The Complete Book of Running, was prominently displayed on the dresser in our home. By the time I was 6 or 7, I could name Boston Marathon champions like Bill Rodgers and Joan Benoit. In her search for women’s running shoes, my mom found that local stores often didn’t stock them, so she would visit the New Balance outlet, where employees directed her to the boys’ section for a size 4.5. Sundays were dedicated to races, where my dad and I would cheer at the finish line, camera in hand. He’d signal when he spotted my mom, and I’d wave excitedly while he captured the moment.
In the early days, the races had so few women participants that my mom sometimes won large trophies simply for placing high among a small group of competitors in her age category.
Recently, I’ve begun to contemplate aging, and I’m surprised to find it happening to me. My mom never openly discusses it—she doesn’t scrutinize her reflection or lament wrinkles and gray hair. As I experience new aches, especially in my knees, and get closer to needing reading glasses, I reflect on our trip to Ireland for my 40th birthday. We walked for miles each day, maintaining a steady pace, and I was relieved to keep up with her, even though she’s 32 years my senior.
Having spent time with older generations, I know better than to tempt fate regarding health or beauty. As I write, I’m knocking on wood, spitting three times, and warding off bad luck. I also recognize that our health is ultimately beyond our control. However, I can’t help but think that the research suggesting exercise contributes to health and a youthful appearance holds some truth, because my mother, who has been running long before women’s running shoes were available, looks fantastic. She often gets carded for senior discounts!
Now in her 70s, my mom still participates in the popular Boston all-women’s race known as the Tufts 10K. It was once the Bonne Bell race, and participants received goodie bags filled with Lip Smackers—remember those? Even as she approaches 74, she rarely questions whether she’s too old for this. Sometimes she does, but her response is always an emphatic “No.”
Running events have evolved over the years; my dad no longer captures finish line photos, as companies now handle that, posting images online for purchase on various products. When my mom sees a picture she likes, she occasionally buys it on a mug, so when I visit, I can sip coffee from a cup featuring her sweaty, determined smile as she crosses the finish line of her annual 10K.
All these years after she first introduced me to running, I think I’ve finally grasped the essence: perhaps the best approach to aging is to keep moving forward rather than dwelling on it.
This article originally appeared on May 10, 2013.
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Summary:
The author reflects on the lessons learned from her mother about running and aging. While she didn’t take up running herself, her mother’s dedication has kept her youthful and engaged in the sport well into her 70s. The piece highlights the importance of movement and a positive attitude toward aging.