Running With a New Team
At 94, I admitted I was the oldest runner on a bus traveling to a race's starting line. I didn't expect the positive reactions that brought us together for the journey.
A recent incident on a school bus changed the way I respond to comments about my age. I had entered a three-mile race and was being driven with other runners from a middle-school parking lot to the starting line.
A runner leafing through a list of those competing suddenly exclaimed, "Wow, there's a 94-year-old guy in this race!" In the past, I would have remained silent, hoping no one would wonder if I were the old guy.
I was familiar with the reaction of younger people who encounter older adults in unexpected places. Meant as praise, their comments feel more like sympathy: "You're 94 and still running! I hope I can walk when I'm your age."
Instead of reassurances that made me feel even older, runners began calling out the personal stories that brought them onto the bus.
I don't know why, but instead of my typical silence, I found myself turning and saying "I'm the 94-year-old."
The responses to my admission were not what I expected. No one commented on my age. Instead of reassurances that made me feel even older, runners began calling out the personal stories that brought them onto the bus.
Inspired by My Age
The big yellow van echoed with the voices of a new mother running for the first time in a year, a fireman hoping a recent injury wouldn't slow him, a couple who arranged family vacations around races, ten-year-old twins running their first race. Instead of setting me apart, my age had inspired strangers to tell who they were under their running attire.
As I aged, I had become quick to decline an offered seat on a bus or subway. Flight attendants attempting to put my luggage into the overhead bin were greeted with "Thank you, but I can lift it." Cashiers about to place my groceries into a cart were told, "No, I'll do it." When informed there was an elevator nearby, I always said I was looking for the stairs. I was convinced that accepting these offers would hasten my transition into a walker.
Had I maintained my usual silence on the bus, there would have been no exchange of aspirations and concerns. We would have been thinking about our performance, not about those who would be running with us. A solitary effort was becoming a shared journey.
Exiting the bus, we began hugging each other, something usually done at the finish line, rarely at the start. The fireman thrust his callused hand into mine and said, "Let's make sure we gather our team at the finish line."
Three miles later, we began looking for each other. Young runners had been waiting for thirty minutes, others like me had just crossed the finish line. There was no boasting of running times, just embraces and congratulations. We exchanged phone numbers, suggested other races we could run together, insisted we enter this race again next year and board the bus together.
Reaching Out to Strangers
I've run dozens of races from three-miles to marathons and never before experienced the bonding that took place on that bus. I wondered if it was because I had finally acknowledged my age after years of insisting it was just a number that had nothing to do with me.
"You're just letting someone feel good because they helped you. Why not give people that opportunity?"
It occurred to me that people on the bus were very much like those who offered me their seats on other busses. Both understood something I did not; in a splintered world, people want to reach out to strangers.
I reached out on one bus, but had stood apart on others. Was that why people on one brought me close while those on others reacted to my rejection as though I had offended them? I had to think differently about how I responded to the generosity of strangers.
I told my children and grandchildren about what happened on the bus. My granddaughter said, "PopPop, accepting help isn't suddenly going to make you dependent on others. You're just letting someone feel good because they helped you. Why not give people that opportunity?"
I plan to enter other races as I press deeper into my nineties, but will not let that stop me from accepting the offered seat. I think I've finally learned we're all on the same journey and will eventually want company along the way.
