Pandemic Running With My Sister
We lace up our shoes, in different cities, and cheer each other on via cell phone
Editor’s note: This essay is part of Telling Our Stories: Reflections on the Pandemic. We invited readers to share their experiences of the past year, and selected 12 essays for publication on Next Avenue. Read the full collection.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Just walking out the door," my sister says. I hear the key turn in the lock, followed by the crunch of footsteps on the snowy stairs.
It is -20 degrees Celsius with the windchill as I head out for a run with my sister Anita who lives far away, in Toronto. I reside in Ottawa, Canada, the seventh coldest capital in the world. Last year, when travel was a thing, I was bikini-clad in Guadeloupe.
Today, I don top and bottom base layers under thick running pants and a Merino wool sweater — and the hot pink toque from my sister. She wears a matching one, which makes me smile.
Until recently, I was not much of a runner. Every spring, I laced up on the first glorious day. The first steps were heaven, like how a butterfly must feel after being released from her cocoon. My love affair was always short-lived. Running was boring and hard.
Yet here I am, on a freezing winter morning, plodding slowly along snow-covered pathways with my sister on the other end of my iPhone.
If it wasn't for the pandemic, I would not be running with my sister (or at all). When my gym shuttered, my world got smaller, my waist grew bigger and my anxiety soared. Without the beacon of live instructors, I became a slug.
"Where are you now?" I ask my sister, a half hour into our run.
My sister suggested we start running for exercise and sister-bonding — our cities are in lockdown and we haven't seen each other in months. Penciling running into our calendars three times a week keeps us accountable to each other in more ways than one. Running virtually means we can talk while running at different paces: the kilometers tick by faster.
"Where are you now?" I ask my sister, a half hour into our run. I hear the whiz of cars in the distance. She tells me she is running in the ravine, keeping her eyes out for coyotes that are populous this year in Toronto.
I describe my surroundings as I put one foot in front of the other on the path beside the Rideau Canal: a father pulling a child in a sled across the frozen terrain, a speed skater with her beautiful strides, the way the sun hits ice smooth as glass.
Then I surprise myself by saying: "This feels good."
I continue to run, feeling more limber and even hot. I unzip my jacket and tuck my gloves in my pocket. My sister and I arrive at our homes around the same time. I check my mileage.
"Crap," I say, wondering how it took so long to run such a short distance.
She tells me I ran farther than her. I suspect she is just trying to be encouraging.
"Let's set a goal," my sister says brightly: "Ten kilometers in under an hour by the end of summer."
Looks like I am in this for the long run.
Sue Nador is a writer based in Ottawa, Ontario. She has been published on topics ranging from business to travel, but mostly on relationships in her Boomer demographic. She has an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from the University of King’s College and a Masters in Psychology from Western University. She and her husband have been together since Madonna released her first album. They have two grown sons. Read More
