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Illustration by Catherine Chan
Recently, my 15-year-old daughter asked me if I’d go for a run with her. On the surface, this is handy because I did want to run and it was a grey, drizzly day, so some company and motivation to get out the door was helpful.
I started running right around the time I was my daughter’s age. At 50, I have been doing this for over 35 years and am a consistent and sometimes competitive runner. I’m lucky to have a built in training buddy in my daughter – we both run at a similar pace and distance.
We headed out as soon as we both felt ready, we wanted to get going some time in the morning but were not in a rush. We started out slowly (as per agreed upon declarations to each other), we stopped at washrooms when we (read: I) needed them, without any stress or annoyance from either, and we fell into a rhythm, gradually picking up the pace in a comfortable manner coming home – no one pushing the pace and no one having to ask the other to slow down. We’re both happy to run in silence side by side, but we’ll comment on things we notice or anything that comes to mind. Sometimes it’s a detail from her evening out with friends (to which the answer to my previous inquiries directly after the event was: “it was fine, nothing happened”), sometimes it’s more matter of fact – “I like these new tights,” and often we simply share idle chit chat that is not markedly memorable.
After this recent run, however, I felt more than just lucky to have a convenient and congenial running buddy. I felt deeply grateful to have a daughter who wants to hang out with me, loves doing the same things as me and whose company I truly enjoy. Maybe that is luck. Or maybe I’ve subtly and consistently steered things this way. Over the pandemic we got in the habit of walking miles and miles almost every day. We explored our city – wandering ravines, railroad tracks and bridge underpasses together. It started as a way to get out of the house and do something, but became an enjoyable routine. We walked so much that a year ago we figured we could hike a trail marathon together on Catalina Island in California, which we did successfully. We have learned how to do hard but enjoyable things side by side, and how to have rough patches and get through them. Most of our excursions were not led by me – they were both of us deciding together how far and where we wanted to go. Compromises were often made, breaks when someone needed the washroom or a snack or a coffee, or even just to sit down on a bench (one time I said yes to a walk after a long run and really thought my legs might fall off halfway through, so I just sat on a bench while she patiently waited).
We’re used to each others’ rhythms and quirks and energies. Falling into step side by side is comfortable. But I never imagined that these walks would turn into runs at any point. My daughter did lots of different sports, none too seriously. She figured she should do cross country in order to prop up her fitness for the longer track races she had her eye on. She started to go for runs – and would ask me to join her. At first I would do my own run and tack on a few extra kilometres with her. But pretty soon I realized I couldn’t keep up with her pace or distance if I was already exhausted. Now I’m expecting the day where she drops me off and finishes her run with more and faster kilometres than I can manage. But at this moment we’re in the sweet spot: We are matched perfectly fitness wise and we enjoy each others’ company.
I can’t even imagine when I was 15, asking my mum to go for a run with me. Both physically and in our relationship – it just wasn’t where we were. So I do not take this for granted. And I don’t expect it to last forever. She will leave for university, I won’t be able to keep up, she will likely find some more exciting running buddies … But right now, running with my daughter makes me so happy on so many levels – even the grey, drizzly, windy runs are good. I know we will transition past this sweet spot at some point, but I am so grateful to be in the centre of it now.
Seanna Robinson lives in Toronto.
