I have a new sense of empathy for my little house wolf, a fluffy but sturdy cockapoo approaching 3 years and 30 pounds.
We run together, sometimes, for half an hour, an hour depending on the weather. She would follow me anywhere, and pretty much has. She doesn’t speak English. Just accepts the collar, the leash, and trots on hunting for good smells and markers to pee on. She doesn’t get to decide where we go, how far, how fast. She doesn’t get to decide how long her little pit stops last, either, beyond what I allow for her biological necessity.
My fast friend and I have been running together a couple times a week for half a year. We do two speed workouts a week. My fast friend and I are well-matched: I don’t quit and she doesn’t slow down.
Here’s where the inter-species empathy comes in.
Mondays are hill days. On hill days, I run like a dog. We have a route set that goes up gradually more challenging hills. Probably too many of them. I’m breathing heavy. My heart is pounding, my lungs are burning and if I am lucky my knees don’t buckle.
But I am not going to stop. Maybe I am two paces behind my friend. We crest a hill, pick a landmark and turn around. I catch my breath on the downhill only to go through the whole process again. And again. We live in a very hilly neighborhood.
The workout takes about 40 minutes. After our warmup, I cannot distinguish where my will stops and my friend's starts. Unlike my dog and I, there’s no leash. Just commingled intent to chase up and down hills repeatedly until we have completed the route. By the time we’re cooling down, a combination of exhaustion and the animal instinct to get home usually prevent me from holding a conversation in English or any other language.
Like my loyal dog who runs with me, I relinquish control over the route, the time, the pace. I tether my will to my friend’s pace and she probably tethers her pace to my endurance. Together we run farther and faster than we would have alone.
Tellingly, neither of us has tried the hill route solo.
On Tuesdays, to make sure Monday’s run did no lasting harm, I click my dog into her collar, leash and head out for a nice easy run. On Tuesdays I am back in charge of the pace, the route, the distance -- quite mindful of the creature tethered running next to me unable to express anything but the run and occasional need to relieve herself. And the ancient domesticated dedication that wakes her when I do, ambling downstairs with a stretch and a hope that this day is not Monday, that I will bring her along so she can run like a dog.
Lovely to read! Reminds me of my Glory Dog who went to the mysteries nearly a year ago now. Glory was not like your loyal cockapoo. Glory, when she figured out that I liked to run laps around a certain field where we lived in north Jersey, discovered that it was much nicer to sit at the edge/corner of the field where she knew she'd catch me on the way home. She'd enjoy her spot in the breezy sun, watch me run by 3, 4, maybe 6 times, and join me when the senseless laps were done and we'd head home. Some of my friends called her lazy. I think not. She was brilliant, energy-conservative, and truly as sweet as they come.
ReplyDelete