That is what running ultimately boils down to, if  you really love it.  On this Far Side of 50, that more than a handful of you readers inhabit, clarity comes in the form of aged wisdom.  We understand that while fleet may exit the picture, our running will never be fleeting.  And that we can still flirt and flit with speed.  Whew!

You get a pass then when you get old.  No one expects you to be fast anymore, with very few exceptions.  If you are still running, spiting if not defying gravity, most folks are going to say, “good for that old man.”  Still out there, running for who knows how many miles in a lifetime.

The flirt and flit comes like this.  At some point in almost every single run I gift myself, if even for a few strides, some Real Running.  Developed over 30 years as a long meditative process, I now enjoy it in only brief moments.  The near religious state washing over as blood courses to familiar callings.  And then, just as quickly, with some afterglow to be sure, back to the here and now, old bones and bag of flesh, exhilarated.