My eyes scanned the ground, poised to dodge pits, puddles, dog-shite. I was concentrating on an almost sharp pain in my right ankle, caused, I guessed, by a tight or weak achilles tendon. Feeling my feet seemed to help, and the pain receded to a dull ache.

heel-arch-ball-toe
flex-reach-aim-land

I needed to get beyond 8 km. But didn’t want to push it if my ankle continued to hurt. I pulled up in my lower abs to lift some body weight off my ankle. Several weeks of beer drinking and butter jiggled between my waist and hips.

Running metaphors always resonate with me: moving toward a goal, a steady pace, an extra push at times, not stopping when tired, diligence; passing others along the way and sometime interacting; knowing where I am going.

With this last thought I lifted my eyes and looked much further down the path. There were many people ahead, moving at different speeds, colourful shirts dotted the grey path darkened by the recent rain. They were on bikes, children zig-zagging, walking, running, with dogs, with lovers, alone, laughing with friends.

A tan, grey-haired man followed a terrier and looked alternately at a small GPS and the road. A young woman wearing a headscarf texted on a smartphone as she cycled past. Three boys rode bikes expertly with their trailing father, laughing and calling back to him. And two white-haired women, in smart, boat-necked sweaters and the breeze in their faces rode together through the park, maybe as they had for decades.

I raised my attention past all of them to the trees lining the path far ahead, to dancing greenery and bits of pale blue peeking through billowing clouds. I rose, and rising, a lightness filled me and carried me forward.