By Jack Andrish
I run because I can.
I run because there still exists a small glow of youth somewhere in my brain.
I run because of green days and black nights.
I run because I can.
I run because to not run would be to leave the last remnant of my youth,
Alone.
I run because I watch my granddaughter take her first steps,
Quickly, without fear, with a future full of opportunities.
I run because I can.
I run because of rain that blankets my face and renews my senses.
I run because to not run would be tantamount to giving up.
I run because of comrades and camaraderie.
I run because of rocky trails and pine needles; enchanting meadows and purple peaks.
I run because I can.
I run because running is my link with a time when my feet were light and my legs were strong and my balance was like the cat.
I run because I can.
I run because of the anticipation that my legs will once again be strong and my feet will be light.
I run because of hope.
I run because to not run would mean to abdicate the thrill of anticipation.
I run because I can.
Shadows don’t lie.
Shadows follow us through life with relentless accuracy.
I run.
In my mind’s eye, I run with the wind at my back on winged feet.
I run with an effortless skill and grace that only the gifted possess.
In my mind’s eye.
I run.
I spot my shadow.
Not my shadow! No!
That shadow looks old. Bent. Crooked, even!
I run.
I try not to look at my shadow.
— Jack Andrish
November, 2006