by Lori Hammeras

I slip on my comfortable running shoes and look forward to the next hour that I have to myself. Heading out the door and turning up the street, I begin to think about what all of these solitary miles in my life have meant to me. Running has been with me for almost as long as I can remember. I've run thousands of miles in my twenty-seven years as a runner, and I would say that ninety percent of them have been run by myself. People ask me, "Don't you get bored or sick of it?" My answer is, "Not at all." What these people don't realize is that I have company with me on my runs. I always have.

I first became interested in running when a young girl who couldn't have been more than thirteen flashed across my television screen. Her name was Mary Decker. I watched her pull away from the pack of other young women, her pigtails whipping back and forth triumphantly. I was entranced, and being about the same age as Mary I decided to run on my own. But it was not on the roads that I first started to run. Instead it was in the privacy of my backyard. Back and forth across the lawn I would go, laying down the long spring grass. I wore a path from one end of the yard to the other, a shiny silvery green track to mark my first steps. And as I ran, the image of Mary's pigtails continued to dance in my mind.

Never having done anything remotely athletic before, I enjoyed the feel of the running, the sound of my breathing; I felt free! All through junior high and high school I would make my way around my block (for I had graduated from my backyard), and I'd complete a mile at a time. Always alone, but never lonely.

By the time I reached college, I was ready to participate on a women's track team. I ran the 1500 meter and 3000 meter races. Although never better than a middle of the pack finisher, I enjoyed the camaraderie and the laughter of the team. Yet even then most of my long weekend runs I ran alone. I would picture my friends and family that I had left at home, and their faces would accompany me during the miles I would run through the hills around the campus.

Shortly after college my mother passed away from cancer. My running served to ease the grief I felt. I would run long and hard. Sometimes on these runs my mother's face would come to me. I would see her happy and healthy, the way I wanted to remember her. And as I would push into a warm wind I would feel her running silently beside me.

Now, years later with two children of my own and a career as a fifth grade teacher, I run alone to sort out problems and figure out solutions to the difficulties one encounters in the day to day grind of motherhood and work. But despite all this, I often hear the footsteps of students from years gone by. I may hear as many as thirty-one pairs of sneakers scuffing along beside me, for you see, I am a teacher who makes her students run.

My students are gently introduced to running in September by only running or walking about a quarter of a mile each day. Gradually the students work up to longer distances, interval work, and the dreaded mile time trials which I fondly nicknamed "Torture." The sounds of those thirty-one pairs of shoes echo in my own runs when I recall some of those early morning physical exercise periods, and the faces of some of those ten year olds float in and out of my thoughts.

It is not the classroom's fastest runners who generally come to mind for me, but the faces of those students who doubted they would ever be able to run. I see the faces of those who may have been pushed academically, but never physically. I see the way they may have looked at me when I have asked them to be patient and to give the running a chance. Many of my students were dead certain that my goal for them to complete a mile was a ridiculous and impossible one.

And even though they doubted, they all gave the running their best shot. They were all brave enough to try. I remember most fondly the flushed and excited faces of those students who never thought they could run a single lap, joyfully completing their first mile. I see and hear the voices of others as they proudly cross the finish line in the June mile time trial, all bettering their thirteen minute September mile time by bringing it down to a mere eight and a half minutes.

So many faces, so many people who have come into my life and have been a companion to me on one of my many runs. These solitary runs are my chance to visit with them again.

Seven miles have passed, and it is time for me to head home. As I do, one last thought crosses my mind. Perhaps somewhere, as I finish my run, one of those former fifth grade students is lacing up her running shoes. Maybe she is taking a break between studying at her university. And maybe as she glides out of her dormitory her mind will drift back to elementary school, and she will invite me along to accompany her. I am now her silent companion as she remembers her own first steps as a runner years ago.

Mary Decker, At 14 Years Old, Was One of America's Greatest Middle-Distance Runners And Is Pictured Here Just As She Looked When She Inspired Lori Hammeras To Become A Runner.