Ready To Run

The radiant sun shone proudly, looking pleased with itself for bringing such pleasure to us Oregonians below, deprived of its cheery presence for so many sodden winter months. My sister and I were enjoying the shops in Hood River, the change of scenery, and the simple delights of touristing. Exiting a store, I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and an intense wave of pain took my body hostage. For the weekend, I had placed my back pain on the shelf, daring it to disrupt my brief respite. Shuffling to a nearby bunch, most likely strategically placed for the elderly, I gratefully took a seat on the varnished wooden slats and watched my sister's back as she headed toward our rental home, in search of rescue. Meanwhile, I dusted off my sunglasses preparing to steal some joy, to reap the benefits of the grinning sun.Taking a deep breath I leaned back, trying to get comfortable, trying to accept the reality of my current limitations. Interrupting my reflection, a man asked if he could sit down on the bench. "Certainly," I said. A throng of teen-aged girls passed by, dressed in tank tops, flip-flops and shorts that said, I am wearing these just because I can. "Getting old stinks," the man beside me announced. Swiveling my head his way, I took a look at this old person. He had long jet-black hair tied in a pony-tail, a dark-colored scarf knotted in the back covered his head and he wore leather pants, the kind bikers wear. His sunglasses looked very expensive. He appeared in his early fifties. Unsure of how to answer, my defensive inner voice shouted, I ran a marathon! I work out and pump weights! I have three brand new grand babies! I nodded my head in silence."I had my knee replaced," he said, rubbing the offending limb." Stepping closer into my sanctuary, he continued, "And I had my hip replaced, both surgeries were done within nine months of each other." I winced. My hand reflectively moved towards my back. Breathe, breathe, you are not old! "I hate bikers! They make so much noise." His tone reflected a definite angst. Surreptitiously, I glanced at his pants. Deciding not to be rude, I queried this gentleman about his profession, his interests. After sharing his vocational pursuits, he told me in an emphatic tone that he liked older women, that younger women just don't have it together. "Uh-huh," I answered. Jesus told me not to be scared, but I rummaged into my purse, retrieved my cell phone and quickly punched in my husbands number. "Calling my husband," I said, maybe a little too loud. Flipping my phone shut, I mentally calculated the distance to our rental home. A resigned sigh escaped into the spring atmosphere and I couldn't help but notice more young girls stroll by, texting, chatting, giggling. Definitely not sitting. "I was a professional athlete. A windsurfer. Until a bad injury. Then it was all over," he said."I took 562 pain pills." He tapped his open left palm for emphasis. An image of my carefully halved one white  Vicodin nestled among my colorful vitamins popped into mind. Gesturing across the street, toward a pizza restaurant, he voiced,"I made that sign over there, all by myself. I'm a one man operation." I assured him it was great and he must be proud. My husband called my cell phone, signaling his impending arrival, and like a child lining up at the door for recess, eager and antsy, I stood, turned toward the man and thanked him for chatting. My mind raced to the car, yet my body shuffled, lest a tidal wave of pain wash over me again. Later that evening while resting, I thanked God for my metal-free body, for the sunshine, even for the stranger. I think that my God is getting oh so creative in helping me pass the time, filling the void, and offering unique surprises during this season. Even though my heart is ready to run, to race  after my new grandchildren, my God is telling me, rest, rest, I'll surprise you along the way, but don't ever give up, ever. You will run again, it might look a little different, but remember how wide my arms can stretch.