Runners have a tendency to be a bit eccentric, and I find myself no exception to that fact. When I began running during my sophomore year of college I had not yet embraced the joy that could come from braving the elements, so whenever the winter weather in upstate New York turned harsh, I often found myself on the indoor track that encircled our school's hockey arena. On one particular venture to the track, I found a tiny toy dog lying near the entrance. Based on where I found him it was obvious that he enjoyed running, so I named him Flash and took him along for my workout.
From there, Flash accompanied me on every single one of my runs for the next six years. Safely harbored in my pocket, he was there for countless training runs and every race I had ever participated in. He was there for my first run in actual running shoes, and he was there when I completed my first marathon. That small little pooch had run with me in every state I've ever lived: New York, Mississippi, and Virginia. But at the beginning of this past summer, Flash somehow got away from me. I searched everywhere for him, but ultimately came up empty handed.
I know Flash was just a toy, but when you spend nearly every day carrying something, regardless of what it is, you tend to get fairly attached. My wife spent hours searching in secret for a suitable replacement, but the figurines she came across were either too large or they lacked the personality that Flash had possessed. It was only when she finally conceded defeat that she told me about her search, and how she had wanted to surprise me with a new running friend for Christmas. But there comes a time to move on from any lose, whether it be small or large, and now I am about to embark on a new tradition.
I know Flash was just a toy, but when you spend nearly every day carrying something, regardless of what it is, you tend to get fairly attached. My wife spent hours searching in secret for a suitable replacement, but the figurines she came across were either too large or they lacked the personality that Flash had possessed. It was only when she finally conceded defeat that she told me about her search, and how she had wanted to surprise me with a new running friend for Christmas. But there comes a time to move on from any lose, whether it be small or large, and now I am about to embark on a new tradition.
Tomorrow I will open up a small package containing a Lego minifigure, and I will meet my new running buddy. I'll keep him with me, just as I had kept Flash, but when next December draws to a close, I'll retire him in exchange for a new one. I know the whole thing probably seems pretty strange, but I've always liked Legos and my time with Flash has shown me the significance of small items with sentimental value. At the end of the day there's nothing wrong with a little whimsy and imagination.
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