I was reminded that I am not really a member of the team. As I arrived for what was supposed to be a 10 am start, the guys were getting started. Turns out, the coach had decided to start at 9:30. So with only a short warm-up, I gave chase. It wasn’t even close. I kept up for ¾ of a mile and then, given the choice of dying from over-exertion or stopping, I (wisely?) chose the latter. As luck would have it, there were two runners who were going at a slower pace, having worked hard the day before. I fell in line with them.
After a while, Patrick, whose heart doesn’t seem to be quite in it, dropped back, and I was left with one other runner. For a while we ran in silence, and then, silence not really being my forte, I introduced myself. He introduced himself as Gerav. Having never heard that name, I asked what type of name that was and he told me he was Indian. Up until that moment, I had assumed that all the runners on the team were Hispanic. Thinking about it, I realized how little I know about the community around me, outside of my own. It hadn’t been my reason for running with the team, but I started thinking about what else I would gain from running with the team.
We ran on some more, with Gerav leading the way. We trudged our way up a hill and then…he turned onto my street. I was about to point out my house, but I stopped. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it seemed too personal for someone I just met, maybe it was about maintaining my privacy, possibly something a little more insidious was holding me back, but I remained silent.
Was it a missed opportunity? I suspect I will have the chance again. For now I am curious to get to know the boys a little better and in the process, get to know myself a little more, warts and all.