Poetry Friday: While I Was Running, This Happened

So, I decided to try running. Again.

Is it any wonder I did not continue running after this?

Since last year's Warrior Dash, my exercise has been limited to yoga class a couple of times a week. I was mighty flexible, but I put on a few pounds. Which led me to try a TV infomercial exercise program. I ended up with sciatica in my flabby, flexible glutes.

When my 13-year-old wanted to continue running after her track camp (so she'd keep her stamina up for field hockey season), I was all like, "Sure, I'll run with you."

It has taken us the entire summer to work up to a series of eight-minute runs.  I signed us up for a 5K (or 3.1 miles, September 15) to keep us motivated. 

I like running well enough for exercise, though I prefer yoga. What I love about running is the conversations I have with my daughter. Yes, we are now in shape enough to talk while running.

While we were out last weekend, this happened:

It was a lovely morning. I was singing show tunes while running through our neighborhood. My daughter was threatening to run back to the house without me if I did not stop singing.

"Mom, you are so weird," she said.

"Be honest," I said. "Do you really mind? Am I seriously that strange?"

I have frequent Weird Mom moments, such as
last Saturday's fangirl freak-out when I met author
Peter S. Beagle (The Last Unicorn) at Otakon.

She had to give this some thought before she answered. "It's just that my friends' moms are down to earth," she said. Meaning, they tend to talk about practical things like school, work and home. "I like it that you're so different." Where different = singing show tunes at inappropriate moments, talking about poetry, and occasionally having purple hair.

At age 44, it's nice to have some confirmation -- especially from a middle schooler -- that it's cool to be yourself. And I have running to thank for it.

Here is a running poem, also on the theme of parent-child relationships, from the Poetry Foundation.

The Runner
By Allen Grossman

The man was thinking about his mother
And about the moon.

                             It was a mild night.
He was running under the stars. The moon
Had not risen,

                             but he did not doubt it would
Rise as he ran.

                             Small things crossed the road
Or turned uneasily on it. His mother
Was far away, like a cloud on a mountain

Read the rest at the Poetry Foundation.

A few years ago Runner's World magazine ran an entire article on "The Poetry of Running."

My mother always says that she has her best conversations with my brother in the car. What activity or place brought out the deep talk in you and your parent when you were a child? Or in you and your children now?

Think about it while you visit this week's Poetry Friday offerings. The poetry party is at Tumblr this week. Thanks to Lisa at Steps and Staircases for prompting us all to try something new. Dare to be different, Lisa!