running
oh my goodness, no! not now! on a good day I walk, on a normal day I barely walk, on a bad day I shuffle. running is quite outside my capability with this infernal bilateral sinus tarsi syndrome. but I remember running. once upon a time I was little and lived in Brasil. in my "memories" of those days, I ran as much as I stopped to investigate. I must have brought with me some idea of what the outdoors was supposed to be like, what it had been like in Albuquerque or Texas or Baton Rouge before we went down to Brasil, because I remember so much being "new" down there. I cannot tell you clearly what a happy difference it was: I found things "new" and the grownups around me found them "different". apparently "different" brought along "inferior" and "awful" with it, while "new" brought along "exciting" and "intriguing" instead. grownups were forever sighing about how different Brasil was from "the States". I think I decided early on that they were crazy. we had new flowers, absolutely new vines, new ferns, new animals, new beetles, new trees. I don't think the grass was new, but I just may not have noticed that it was. and we had new people. nothing in my experience before Brasil was like Brasilians. Brasilians were happy, they sang. when Brasilian women walked, their whole bodies walked. they talked excitedly, not morosely. yes, they understood why a new grasshopper, that sat like *that* out at the end of a stalk was exciting, especially when it jumped! goddam, the world was wonderful, and Brasilians knew that! but I was telling you about running. oh my! when I could get away from my parents, or the Brasilian woman who was supposed to tend me, I ran everywhere! there was so much to see, to hear, to smell, to touch, to taste if I dared! my poor mother! one evening I tried to tell her how different the dirt tasted in Brasil from in New Mexico. poor, poor, proper, unsuspecting, grownup woman! oh, you may not remember: the grownups I knew were missionaries, Protestant missionaries, Southern Baptist missionaries. nothing was charming or delightful to them! nothing! no wonder I ran from them, and talked with Brasilians, and learned Portuguese the only way you can learn it, by talking with people who speak it natively. I ran and ran and ran. even in "the States" that dreadful year-plus of first grade and starting second grade, I ran. I ran completely around Dufroq School, I ran from the slides to the seesaws to the monkey bars to the carousel. in Texas, I ran through the fields. back in Brasil I ran while we played soccer, or ran alongside the river that flowed out past our yard. even after I got yanked out of Brasil and dumped into this country, I ran and ran and ran, until something happened. mid-adolescence? I don't know. suddenly it wasn't cool to run, and I desperately wanted to be cool. sigh. years and years later, I dated and loved a young woman who ran, so I did. well, sorta. I made running motions, for a few steps. goddam, learning to run again is hard when you're an adult! but I strove valiantly, and sorta did it. I ran about three miles every other day for a while. and then one day I didn't run, I put it off til tomorrow, and tomorrow never showed up. I couldn't run now to save my life, and it might. <grin> but I appreciate running, and I appreciate my many memories of running.
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