A dog’s choice by Steve Audette
People find running at all sorts of stages of their life. I didn't know I had become a runner until it was already well too late.
Unlike many of us who came to running after not being particularly athletic at school, I had no wake up moment driven by health or some shocking realization. Nor was I driven by a new year's resolution or some sort of motivational kick in the ass that made me lace up ugly shoes to sweat and curse regularly. It was all a horrible misunderstanding that got me involved.
Running wasn't my choice. It was my dog's choice.
Dante had been my steady companion for years, a good natured dog who loved hiking and napping and eating bacon. In other words, he was like me and I was like him. But for the first time in his young life, he only had me to live with, and I had to leave for work for many hours of the day. So, Dante deserved a companion to keep him busy at home. And boy did we get that and then some.
A dog at the local animal shelter, known by the name "Willa" seemed a perfect fit for his new canine pal. They played and had a good time at introduction, and she seemed like the sort of dog who would keep him entertained. Right out of the gate, this spritely dog didn't seem a "Willa". The youthful energy she displayed(and her coppery coat) made "Penny" a more appropriate name.
You'd think that would be a good name, but she sure didn't respond to Penny, Willa or any name on the first night she came home, where she immediately darted out the door, eager to explore the wide world outside of the shelter's bounds. I ran two whole blocks chasing her before my body declared that my allotment of running was done for the month, totally unsure what name to use-not realizing that there was no name she'd respond to anyway. Either way, my lungs weren't ready for all the running I had to do to catch her.
Months of frustrating for me/exciting for her chases became our routine as she'd slip out doors, jump over fences, tunnel under barricades and otherwise teleport beyond the property line. It wasn't til I understood that this was a dog who needed a lot of exercise that I started to get it. So, that's what we did. Every day, we'd take a trip to the nearby park, with its expansive trail network. She'd run the circuit, and I and Dante would dutifully follow behind her, panting and struggling to keep up til we got to each stream where she'd mercifully stop to re-hydrate. She was still a ball of barely contained energy, but the park trips helped.
One Saturday we arrived at the park, and as we pulled into the parking lot it was unusually full. There were banners, and a giant inflatable arch-not something that normally appear there. Not being able to find a parking spot, I sadly had to find somewhere else to go for Penny's usual exorcism, but not before at least seeing what the fuss was about. Some local running company had taken over the park for the morning for one of their annual races. This was a place for people to chase after dogs, not just run *for no reason at all*! After my initial indignation faded, morbid curiosity forced me to look them up. As I reviewed the website of these interlopers, I saw that they stole *our* park for their 10 kilometer race. When I dug further, I realized that their course, all TEN THOUSAND meters of it, was what Dante, Penny and I did pretty much every day. (They far more than I, since it usually involved running circles around me)
Determined not to consider myself a runner, I became a (mental) gymnast instead. I definitely wasn't running-running requires going fast. You also can't stop at the stream while dogs are drinking-that's not what runners do. And besides, I wasn't some lithe gazelle/human hybrid, bounding effortlessly over trails-I was, nay am, some kind of plodding lumbering galoot.
But the idea never let go in my head. Morbid curiosity stuck with me and I thought "but, if that's 10k, what if I ran a 10k race? Surely I would be last place, but I could at least get cool medal, right?" After each trip to the park I put a little more effort into my outings-not my runs. Definitely not runs. Jogs would be a better term, but even that's too fancy. These were definitely accelerated hikes. And I was only doing it for Penny-not for me.
And then I went back to that company's website and saw another 10k. And before I could convince myself what a terrible, stupid, not-at-all-for-me notion it was, I put in my payment information and was registered. I was finally ready. Not ready to run a real race mind you, but ready to wake up early in the morning, decide that I was sick or injured or otherwise too unwell and then roll over and pull the covers over me to ward off the embarassment of shambling around like an idiot in the woods while all these athletes passed me by shaking their heads and thinking "what is this oaf even *doing* here?"
That was my decided on plan all the way until the morning of the race, when inexplicably I did the exact opposite. I got up, and as if possessed by some demonic entity put on my shorts and my shoes and drove in the pre-dawn hours out to a remote wilderness park. All the while, I cursed whatever foul entity controlled me and begged for it would make me vomit pea soup, crawl on the ceiling and twist my head around 360 degrees like a merciful demon, but alas-this was a crueler spirit.
Waiting for the race to start, I knew no one and had no idea what to even talk about. As I feared, everyone was tall and skinny and probably could make a standing leap 10 feet horizontally--double or half that depending on the current wind's speed and direction. As I took my place at the very back when they called for runners to start, I knew I'd never see these people again. They'd likely be packed up and gone by the time I finished. And before I completed that thought, we were off.
For those who expect some great unexpected surprise here, I am pleased to tell you that I still was very slow. Not embarrassingly so, since numerous people got lost, or suffered grievous injury, or were abducted by aliens and all that led to them finishing after me. But I finished and it wasn't at all unusual. I expected people looking at their watches, waiting for a finish so they could finally go home-but it was instead cheers all the way in for the final stretch. And not even sarcastic ones!
Done with the ordeal, I reflected on how I'd fooled at least a few in the running community. I now had a medal for running, which I could then show off to say that somehow I'd run ten kilometers. When I returned home, Penny who had long known of my fraudulence expressed her disdain with a spirited escape around the neighborhood to show me what a real runner looks like.
Amazingly, the race director never sent me an email afterwards saying "We have reviewed the events of this race and decided that you must send this medal back. Please do so within 10 days lest we issue a warrant to reclaim your fraudulently obtained credentials." Despite neither I nor the dogs believing me to be a *Real Runner*, someone out there was willing to let the clumsy illusion slide. It would be years before *I* accepted it, but this first weird validation is the first time anyone considered me a runner and offered me a token to prove it.