Simple freedom

Istarted typing this on Monday. That’s a run day for me because I like to have the morning roads to myself thanks to my idiot dog who has to inspect every single jogger who gets close. He pulls so hard it feels as if I’m holding back a freight train. Nobody runs on Mondays because they do their long runs on the weekends and Monday is a good day to rest. Unless, of course, you have an idiot dog.

But I didn’t run. I didn’t run because I’m nursing a bad back.

“Maybe don’t type that,” my wife says. “That’s about the old man-est thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

“But it’s true,” I tell her. “My back hurts. It’s out of alignment or something.”

She shakes her head. “It’s OK that it happens, just don’t feel like you have to share it with the world.”

I didn’t run and I felt a certain loss of freedom. I wondered if I’d be ready to enjoy the Little Rock Marathon races this weekend.

Freedom is a wonderful thing. I feel it when I drive beyond the city’s boundaries. I feel it when I look at my calendar and see a day devoid of meetings. I feel it when I run.

Those feelings of freedom are vital to feeling alive.

Last week, I watched my daughter pedal through figure-eights in the parking lot near my house. That little girl took to riding a bike like an eagle takes to air. I remembered that the first few times a dad tries to teach a child to ride a bike are exercises in faith. The child trusts the dad to not let go too soon. The dad trusts the child to lean into confidence and allow the laws of physics to unfurl in rapid motion. Then, the running father slowly releases his grip on the child’s seat and the wind of possibilities flows freely through the child’s hair.

There will be a few crashes. There will be the skinned knee. But the child knows that her dad’s greatest wish is that she’ll be set free far from his grip. He’ll be there when she falls. He will be there every single time.

But … the freedom.

I watched her weave in and out of parking spaces then hop a curb into the grass. Her helmet shimmered in the sunlight like a crown, and when she turned toward me, she smiled. Freedom is such an exhilarating thing.

I thought about boys turning the magic age of 16. They’re sophomores at that time, filled with the shallow confidence that comes with no longer being the new kids in high school. They also have shortsightedness rooted in the fact that graduation is still too far away to conceive. Sophomores think they know everything and they believe that their current state will never end.

How do we handle this in-between era of teenage years? We take a good, long look at these kids who are in the middle of the most transitory year of their most transitory phase and we shake our heads because sophomores are just naturally goofy and gravitate toward self-inflicted trouble. Then, we flip them keys to a car.

Blessed freedom. Parents hold their breath and cling to Life 360 and other apps as the car starts without them for the first time. I’ve had parents call to ensure their boys have made it to school. I’ve known parents who tail their kids and stomp on imaginary brakes when their sons drive too fast. But they know it’s inevitable. They know they have to let go and let their know-it-all children learn that there’s more to know. That’s the most difficult part.

But they also remember. They recall that feeling when the windows are down and the music is up and the first taste of real independence overcomes in a wave of enthusiasm. I can’t hear “Lola” by the Kinks without thinking of driving at 16. Yes, I drove a monster station wagon, but it felt like a Ferrari. Not really. But it was fun.

It’s Wednesday morning now. I tried a short run yesterday. My back aches, but I’m not telling my wife because she’ll give me one of those looks. I’m typing a few lines before deadline and thinking that if I sit up straight, walk around the school track a few times and take it easy, I’ll be ready for the marathon weekend.

You see, I’ve never been a gifted runner. I’m a slow boat leaving the harbor on a foggy morning. I do it because the physical exertion frees me from the weight of worry, the sweat a form of holy water that exorcises problems and distills solutions. I’ll listen to music or a book or a podcast while I run or, as I did in my youth and lately again, I’ll daydream the future. I take my idiot dog with me because he’s a sophomore at heart and needs it, too. The older one becomes, the simpler forms of freedom seem best.

There’s a half-marathon bib with my name on it, and I hope I pin it to my shorts Sunday morning and enjoy the tour through the race course.

I hope I do it because there’s nothing better than the sweet, simple flavor of letting go.