InnerTeub

I lived in DC for 12 years, and was a runner for (quick math quick math) 11ish of them. DC is basically 6 square miles, so for 11 years I more or less ran the same paths, the same roads, the same views. It’s my favorite place in the world to run, and the thing both Mike and I agree we miss most about leaving. (Except you, DC friends. We miss you the most, of course, the running routes second. Of course.)

I just read an article by Kristin Armstrong where she talked of nostalgia running, and ooof, it hit my heart.

From Kristin:

I went on a nostalgia run today, unplanned until I realized what I was doing. I ran past the house we used to live in when the kids were small. I ran past their sweet little preschool, remembering when I used to drop off the girls back when all they would wear were frilly costume princess dresses and frog rain boots… I ran my old running route, the one that used to be so familiar to me that I could run it without a watch and be home on time to the minute. I ran the trail where we used to hunt tadpoles, make forts, and slap mosquitoes. I passed the park where I spent endless hours in the gravel and pushing swings. I remembered how I just had to take Luke there one more time as an only child, despite the fact that I was 6cm dilated and really needed to go to the hospital. I ran the hill that used to seem gigantic to me back when I pushed a triple jogger with a bottom full of books, sippy cups, snacks, and a small white Maltese named Boone (we had to put him down last year). The hill was just a tiny incline today, now that I am weightless and my hands are free.

When I think of nostalgia running, I think of DC and how the backdrop of my entire 20s includes the running routes in that city. My running friends from that time period are all parents now, and I’m about to be; time, it seems, has moved on. Reading this post today I find myself, if it is at all possible, nostalgic for the future, for the running routes that have yet to come. I wonder where they’ll take me.