After several months of training, we participated in a local 5K together. The experience was enjoyable, particularly because spectators handed out water to runners, allowing for a refreshing splash over the head. I was only 9 at the time, so the novelty was thrilling. However, my journey did not lead me to become a track star or a marathon runner; in fact, I don’t recall us running together after that event. Despite my mother’s enthusiasm, I never truly embraced the passion for running.
My mother, on the other hand, was deeply immersed in the running culture of the 1970s. Influenced by Jim Fixx’s influential book, The Complete Book of Running, which occupied a prominent spot on my parents’ dresser, she was well-acquainted with the names of Boston Marathon champions like Bill Rodgers and Joan Benoit by the time I was six or seven. In her quest for proper footwear, she often found it challenging to locate women’s running shoes in the Boston area, leading her to purchase size 4.5 boys’ shoes at the New Balance outlet. Sundays were reserved for races, where my father and I would cheer her on at the finish line, capturing moments with his camera as I waved enthusiastically.
In the early days of competitive racing, women’s participation was so limited that my mother, though not particularly fast, often returned home with oversized trophies simply for finishing in the top spots among a small group of female competitors in her age category.
As I reflect on aging, I find myself surprised that it is a reality I now face. My mother rarely discusses it—she doesn’t lament over wrinkles or gray hairs. Meanwhile, I experience the familiar aches of aging, especially in my knees, and I am nearing the need for reading glasses. A few years ago, she took me to Ireland for my 40th birthday, where we walked several miles each day. I was relieved to find that I could easily keep pace with her, despite the 32-year age difference.
Having spent time around older relatives, I am cautious about discussing health and appearance. As I write this, I’m instinctively knocking on wood and performing rituals to ward off any bad luck. I recognize that health is ultimately beyond our control, yet I am beginning to believe the scientists who claim that regular exercise contributes to longevity and youthful appearance. My mother has been running since before women’s running shoes existed, and she looks remarkable—often carded when seeking senior discounts.
Now in her 70s, she continues to participate in the popular all-women’s Tufts 10K in Boston. The race, once called the Bonne Bell race, even offered goodie bags with Lip Smackers. As she approaches 74, she rarely questions whether she is “too old” to participate; when the thought crosses her mind, her answer is invariably a confident “No.”
The landscape of racing has changed significantly over the years. No longer does my dad capture photographs at the finish line; professional companies now provide that service, allowing runners to purchase framed images or merchandise featuring their race-day photos. My mother occasionally buys a mug with her own likeness on it after races, which I enjoy using when I visit, sipping coffee from a cup adorned with her determined, sweaty smile as she completes the 10K.
Reflecting on the lessons my mother imparted about running and endurance, I am starting to understand: perhaps the key to aging gracefully is to focus less on the passage of time and more on embracing the journey.
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Summary
Clara Jennings reflects on the life lessons imparted by her mother, particularly regarding endurance and aging. While the author did not become an avid runner, she appreciates her mother’s dedication to the sport and how it has contributed to her vitality. The narrative underscores the importance of embracing activity and the journey of life, regardless of age.