Why I loved Running

I loved to run. I wish I could write something that could express the feeling running gave me (before my knees rebelled). Running on a warm day especially – maybe even a hot one. Running in an old t-shirt and a pair of little shorts that say Dolphin on them. I never had “Dolphin” shorts but I did once have a pair of red “Sub 4” shorts until I had to dispose of them after they were contaminated with PCBs.
Here’s a story of a particularly eventful run:
Once I ran twenty-eight and three quarter miles, from Carson Pass to Ebbits Pass in Northern California. That was a beautiful run (much of which I walked). There is a lot of up and down as you might expect in the Sierra Nevada. At the top of every hill we overlooked a beautiful valley filled with wildflowers. It could have been every other hill. After a couple hours we stopped for lunch and a swim in one of the cold, alpine lakes. Toward the end of the run, which we started to anticipate about ten miles too soon, every hill we were sure was the last before reaching Ebbits pass. Only one hill turned out to be the last. Highway 4, where Ebbits pass was, looked more like a country lane than a highway. It wass a narrow, winding, two-lane road lined with forest. My running partner, Matt, and mostly I, were exhausted as we prepared to hitch hike on the edge of the road. Before any cars came, a cyclist sped by on his way down the pass. As he passed, he spat on Matt. I was immediately refreshed and my hand searched the ground for a rock to throw as I started to sprint after him. He was going 40, maybe 50 miles an hour and I hit a top speed of less than thirty – probably about 20 mph less than thirty. He got away. I vowed that the next SUV (I predicted that the first car to come would be an SUV) that came would give us a ride. The next care was a Ford Expedition, which came to a quick stop. I told the couple what happened and the driver said, “Get in.” We pursued the cyclist down the hill for maybe 15 miles and caught him. As we pulled up to him and I rolled down my window and calmly asked, “Did you spit on my friend on purpose?” to which he replied, “I sure did.” To which I replied, “Well, then fuck you, you fuckin’ cocksucker!” And then I apologized to the people in the front seat for my foul language. The cyclist said that Matt had threatened his life by “standing in the road.” My argument was that Matt’s life was equally in danger if cyclist/spitter had him. And what about wildlife - does he spit on deer crossing the road? And it is not as if there were sidewalks on these little mountain roads. The Man driving wanted to get out of the car and “have a talk” with the spitter. I wanted to disconnect (cut) his brakes so he would have to walk home. Matt advised leaving - turning the other cheek. The driver’s wife said, “Honey, let’s go. Forget about it.” We left but we did not forget about it. When the nice couple dropped us off Matt was singing a different tune. He said that if we find the guy he was going to stick his broom’s handle, which he really did have in his car, in his spokes. Fortunately, we never saw him again. And that’s why I love running - up until the spitting part.