walk, jog, run for justice
When I can't run or jog, I walk. This is true in these runs and also the wider wisdom of life. There is no stasis. We are either abiding or we're not. Even rest, is active requiring participating, even if just to delight in the exquisite joy of true rest.
We all have something to do. We are constantly getting invitations to participate, but often we check out and step back. Why? Why do we do this? Why are we afraid of the intensity of life?
I'm thankful for these runs - what they spark in me as I go left foot, right foot, left foot at whatever pace I can muster at that moment. Today my pace required an average of over 13 minutes to cover a mile. But over the 7 miles on the urban trails of Los Angeles on this gorgeous day, I encountered so many people was inspired by each interaction in their own way.
Seeing young children reading the sign while out on a family excursion gives me joy. I am heartened knowing they will ask their parents why that woman was carrying that sign while running through the park. They may look up as a family who Maud was, the parents might look up by themselves after the question, and parents looking for opportunities to talk to their children about racism and protest are given the opportunity.
Frequently, I wonder why I don't see more white people taking actions in their own unique varietal. Yes, more people out running with protest signs because they run, but also those knitting and walking and dancing and riding horses. You get the point. (I, for one, need their inspiration and encouragement).
A sense of peace and gratitude comes over me when the young black woman cheerfully chirps that she likes my sign.
I have a sadness, frustration, and rage in me sometimes for all the people that avert their eyes from the sign and from me. I feel surprise and then confusion when asked again by a Black man who Maud is and I briefly relay the tragedy Maud enduted on that afternoon in Georgia, nearly one year ago. Then I again consider letting go of any thoughts of influencing people's experience of my silent running protest.
I feel even greater surprise as the White Boomer-aged man followed his pleasant "good morning" greeting with a light and airy "Say hi to Maud for me." Feeling shock, I reflexively replied, "I can't. He's dead!," and then immediately I wondered if that was a retort and as well as what I would say in the future such shocking exchanges, providing only a second to react.
As always, I enjoyed running with you today Maud. Thank you for all you're teaching me. I am grateful. I felt sad today saying I couldn't say "hi" to you today. I wish I could.
-Elle