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A baby sits on the track and watches his mom run in circles. To the infant it’s nothing more than splotches of color, the reds and greens, the lights and darks, the shadows growing longer as the sun sets.

As a three year old, this child now plays in the long jump pit while his mom runs in circles. This time though he is more concentrated on the shovel in hand and the sandcastle he’s building in the ‘sandbox.’

As a nine year old this boy waits eagerly for his mom to finish up running those fast circles, the part she calls her ‘hard running.’ He watches her cross the line of her last interval, her slender form bends forward for just a moment before she again stands upright. He rushes towards her, she looks to him and smiles, “Ready?” He merely nods the approval and then they both take off running a few circles together.

Now a twelve year old, this boy has his first pair of ‘real’ running shoes. He’s even been able to run a whole mile…which seems like an epic distance in his mind. He now looks to the track not just as a blur or reds set to green, but with dreams and goals stamped between those lanes. He likes to look at the big number ONE in lane one; he likes to think that number is meant for him alone.

At fourteen he’s learned that this running in circles is hard business. There is much more to it than merely wanting to win, and to carry out those ‘secret messages’ calling to him from lane one he’s got to be willing to run even when he maybe doesn’t feel like it all the time.

By seventeen he’s had tastes of success, they’ve made him only hungrier for more. The victories are sweet, the PR’s even more-so but his eyes are focused ahead on what lane one has in store for him.

At twenty this man has moved through the usual levels of running; college has treated him well. He’s not the fastest on the team, but he’s not the slowest either. He is unsure of what the future has in store for him, but with running he is sure. The tracks are always the same regardless of where he is, what he is, and whatever ‘life’ has him doing. Track and running are nice constants.

By thirty this man has been world traveled; though he’s always had his running shoes packed as carry-on. Yet his favorite place to run is the very same track he used to sit and watch his mom run circles around; his home track. When he can he goes there and can still watch his mom run circles, though now at a slower pace. He joins her and does his own ‘hard running’ but they always convene for a few circles together at the end.

Now forty-three this man runs circles around a track; there is the beginning of a paunch on his stomach. When that actually appeared is still a bit lost on him, it seemed like it wasn’t there last year; though he knows this is in ‘runner’ comparison and he still gets called string bean by his work friends. He pants his way through the last interval, crosses the line, bends forward slightly for just a moment, rises and casts a glance at his baby girl sitting on the track.

He is now 80. He runs in circles around this home track of his; he doesn’t run with a watch on, he doesn’t care about the time, just the action. He is drifting far into the outer lanes, it seems over the years he’s felt more comfortable in lanes five through eight, he reserves lane one for the faster runners. The young bucks with dreams in their eyes and heck bent fury in their legs; he likes to watch them and remember what it feels like to be chasing. But he’s the only one at the track tonight. He closes his eyes and then he’s not alone; his mom is running circles around the track, his daughter is zealously chasing after him with shovel in hand, and they are all home.

1) Do any of your parents run, or anyone else in your family?

2) How old were you when you were able to run a full mile without stopping, and did you think it was a distance of epic length?
I was probably in Junior High before I could cover a full mile, and I honestly thought that if a person ran a WHOLE mile a few times a week they could win the Olympics. 😛

3) Today’s Olympic Trials related fodder…so it sounds like the tie-breaker for third place in the 100 meters is coming down to a coin toss. What say you, and how would you be feeling if your Olympic Team dreams were dependent on the flip of a coin?
Seriously, a coin toss? In my mind this seems pretty wonky, one of the things I really love about running is that usually you can’t ‘luck’ your way into something like a win, a PR or the Olympics…but dang if you were waiting for a heads or tails in that position you better HOPE you’d have luck!

There once was a little runner out for some mischief one night. She waited in the dark until the last three workerbees at the running store locked up and left before she crept out of the shadows. She tiptoed to the back door of the shop and carefully worked the doorknob.

Success!! “Bwahaha…that little tape on the doorthingy she learned back at running camp years ago still worked! So much for trespassing staying current with the latest decade.”

A runner getting into some mischief!

Inside, there were odd shadows cast on the walls; she could make out the ones that looked like prison bars, but she knew they were just the racks and racks of clothes. All the shadows were gone though when she flipped on the lights and headed over to the shoe racks to get down to business.

“Alright, gotta get a new pair of shoes,” she thought. She picked up the first one, “Whoa, way too heavy for this girl…this shoe is a clunker, I’d sound like a Clydesdale tromping down the street!” She laughed inside and put that Beast back on the wall.

The next one she picked up was much lighter, “I wish I could run in these Pegasus ones but alas I’m too much of a pronater.” With a little sigh of remiss she put the shoe back.

“Aha!” she finally delighted, “these are perfect! I’ve been waiting for them to finally bring back the Structure Triax of many years past, before they did all those wonky changes, and here’s a pair!” She nearly squealed but didn’t want to make too much noise; instead she grinned and slipped on the shoes.

“Watches, watches, watches,” she hummed as she did a few lunge walks over to the watch case. Opening the door she picked up the first one she saw, “My word, this thing would barely fit on my bicep, and look how many thing-a-ma-jiggys there are on here! GPS, current pace, overall pace, projected pace, calories burned, heart rate, target heart rate zone…sheesh, talk about information overload.” She shook her head and put it back in the case.

“This one looks like fun!” the next watch she pulled out was in fact just that, “But, I’d probably get some odd looks wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles watch.” She put that one back in the case as well.

“This one should do me just fine,” she picked up the third watch and put it on her wrist. “Not too big, gives me time and distance, that’s all I really need to know, perfect!”

She did a quick dash over to the racks of clothing, “Well, I will treat myself to one new outfit as well, why not?” She picked up a brightly colored article and stuck her tongue out, “I will never be caught dead in one of these running skirts, I don’t care what everyone else thinks about them.” She put the pink, frilly skirt back on the rack; actually she buried it in the back.

“This thing looks like a tent!” she exclaimed in her head at the second piece she picked up. Indeed the shirt was an XXXXL, “Hey, you gotta give the runner donning one of these some credit though, power to you, Sumoman!” Back on the rack the mondo shirt went.

“I love this color!” was the first thought that came to her mind when she picked up the lime green tank. “My size, and oooh, here we have some Tempo shorts to match.” She scooped up the set and had just wriggled into them when a noise made her stop.

“Holy crap!” she looked at the front door and could see that the three workerbees had returned to the store.

Afraid she’d get caught, she flicked off the lights and relied on that one half of a fast twitch muscle fiber she had in her body and high tailed it towards the back door. The last thing she saw as she slipped out the back was one of those fuel belts with eight fuel holsters and four water bottles attached; the sight of this gave her one last grin as she recalled the runner she had seen just the other dear donning just such an accessory. There were so many things on that guy’s belt it was a wonder his shorts didn’t fall down.

Once out the door she tore off running down the street. As she disappeared off in the distance the three workerbees had made it out behind the store in hopes of catching her, but to no avail. All they could make out of her disappearing silhouette was a quick lime green flash as she passed under one of the streetlamps. The lime green flint got smaller and briefer and finally vanished.

***Disclaimer: The Arty Runnerchick does not condone shoplifting; this was a tale purely for childish entertainment.

Category Archives: Running Stories

A Man Finds His Home Track

Mischief Runner and the Three Running Store Workerbees