PACING
There was a farmer/had a dog/and Bingo was his name-o
That little ditty was my introduction to "pacing yourself" during a race. Back when I was a "miler", that's the song I used to maintain the right speed for the distance. Three laps of this steady stattaco, and then the fourth lap, let the tune speed up a little faster in my mind, increasing speed by some imaginary 10% at each 100 yard line, until the last straightaway, where I would really let it fly.....
I was thinking about this last night as I started a running program again. I have always loved running, and sometimes I think it is for the same reason I love jumping horses - it's the sensation of flying, I think. It's also a good way to jar loose all those ideas in my head, give them some time to come together to a coherent whole. Sometimes, it's just the focus on nothing but breathing, and that relaxation it brings, that I think is the best part of this solitary sport.

I was a little apprehensive. I hadn't been running for any kind of a distance for over a year. I'd been dancing, but my version of dancing involves some stopping between songs and distractions. This girl from my neighborhood, a woman I know from church, had been running with a group of women and was already at a level I hadn't done since my peak. At the same time, I had a little competitive drive to see if I could keep up.

We met out on a semi-light track in the dark night. She was all business, filling me in on how the running group worked, and leading stretches. She had brought her Ipod, lucky her. I left my earbuds at home, so it didn't help that I had my Ipod with me. So, we decided to talk to each other instead. It was cold and damp on the dark track, the lights from behind the bleachers shining in random half-lit moments.

We talked about some things, the things she never knew but somehow did, the things that hadn't made sense in a long time but now were perfectly clear. We talked about the hard stuff, and she stopped and looked at me. She wanted to give me a hug, and we both thought maybe I would have to cry about that. But no, let's go, girl, it's cool. It actually feels better to keep moving ahead.

Since she knew better than I on how to pace this, I let her set the speed. She started out slow, but steady. I lost count of the laps before she suggested we walk. "How many miles?" "I think about two..." (damn)...we start up again...And it's my eye watching her shoulder, watching for signs to slow down or speed up. I try to think if my Bingo song matches, but no, it's an altogether different rhythm. It's the comfortable pace of conversation, it's the turning of the head, the listening. Running with her was nice, because I didn't have to do the thinking for us; I only had to follow her lead.