Running Stories

She heard their footfalls behind her before she fully turned to address them. She knew she was being followed, after all her pursuers were not exactly light of foot, but now they were catching up, gaining on her with each heavy foot fall, each kick, each yell. She knew that once she turned, once they saw each others’ eyes, the game would change.

They were right behind her now, growing quiet as they approached. She saw the soccer ball pass her first. It was soon followed by the unsure face of a boy not yet ten, and then the faces of his four friends, all younger. They smiled at her in a guarded way as they paced along side her, kicking the ball with them. She assessed and then without a word slowed to see if they would pass. They slowed with her, she grinned at them. Their unsure grins grew into those of mirth, she was playing their game. 

She took out her headphones and let them dangle around her neck.

“¿Como te llamas?” the oldest boy asked.

“Rebecca,” she replied. The boys laughed, though at her accent, her name, or the adrenaline she couldn’t be sure. Looking ahead they all saw a car approaching and the boys skittered to the side of the road while Becca continued on the far shoulder. They didn’t follow her for a little while and she found herself running with only the company of the wind and the sand once more. 

Sure enough after only a few minutes, she heard their impending footfalls again and turned her head just enough to see their grinning face reappear. They stayed with her again as the afternoon wind picked up. She smiled widely, even though she felt the sand of the dunes dotting her teeth in the process.

“Vamos pues,” she said (let’s go then) and they looked at her cautiously. Without another word she pushed forward, sprinting door the road and forcing them to follow her. They laughed loudly as they sped up too, running so hard she thought their little legs might detach from their bodies. They passed her after under a minute and she dropped back to her original pace, watching them yell and laugh together.

They all turned and waved at her as they continued on into the coming sunset. The biggest boy turning the yell, “Chao Señorita Rebecca” over the wind.

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She awoke on a chilly Saturday morning to post-rain wind streaming through her open window. She tossed one way and pulled the blanket tighter over her body, tossed the other and curling into a ball, but nothing would let her sleep in the frosty morning. After rising to close the window, she turned to the wooden beam above her bed and saw her running clothes hanging there. 

It was cold enough for a sweatshirt but she didn’t take one, instead she strapped on her running shoes and her fanny pack and headed toward the dunes. There were people out but not many, she waved to the ones she saw and reveled in the quiet of the early morning. 

They are two houses on her usual trail that house a large group of dogs, unfortunately they are within the same half mile and the first set’s barking usually starts the second set’s. In the recent weeks, the dogs had stopped seeing her as a threat and rarely even considered her as she puffed past them. She no longer carried rocks.

But a cold Saturday morning does something strange to a canine brain and though she passed the first house without a peep (for a peep from a dog would have been strange indeed), the second proved significantly more challenging. 

Becca heard the barks from far off but didn’t think to reach for a weapon as these dogs rarely approached farther than the edge of the road. She felt the normal panic as they rounded toward the edge of their yard but continued breathing and running past them. This time, however, they didn’t stop at the road; two large dogs crossed into the road and ran at her, teeth bared. Of course, on three miles of rock road, this was the only part of the path with dirt and no a single rock. Acting entirely out of a toxic blend of terror and anger, she reach for a fallen tree branch as long as she was tall and turned to the dogs, now only a couple of feet away. 

“I am so tired of you **********ing **********ers constantly barking at me! Back the **** up you ****faces or I swear to **** I will beat the ******** and the ******* out of you until you’re nothing but a *******ing pile of *****! *******!” she screamed at them, waving the branch wildly around. Their barking had calmed somewhat though a few growls escaped them, sounding oddly confused. She stood staring at them, and they at her. “AND you threw off my *******ing time! Ah!” she yelled, swung hard at the air one last time and took off again.

To her dismay, they following, growling at her again and she turned, now furious, and swung the branch at both of them. They stopped in their tracks and turned back toward the house. She heard only the small yips of large dogs as she ran toward victory.

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The big curve in the road marked halfway to the halfway point. It was a quarter-way marker kind of day: the sun was too hot, the sand too sandy and the moto-taxis too prevalent. This was exactly why she preferred morning running to afternoon running. The big curve also marked the last uphill of her run because everything flattened out from there and her return would be downhills; she tried to keep this in mind as she climbed the last hill.

She was at the crest when a moto-taxi approached from behind her and moved to her left to pass her, which it would have successfully done if that section of road was not also the sandiest part of the trail. It sank, the wheel spun, it sank further and the wheels spun faster. Becca considered running past it but seeing the panicked look on the young driver’s face, she stopped. 

Simply pointing to the back of the moto, she moved toward the back. Placing her hands on the metal bar at the back, she started to push as the driver put on the gas. The wheels spun, the moto sunk deeper, she pushed and the wheels spun, the moto moved ever so slightly forward and she pushed harder. In less than a minute they’d moved past the sandy part and the moto kept moving down the road. The driver threw an arm out to wave at her as they sped off and Becca found herself running again, just a bit faster though she was covered in sweat and sand. 

A few minutes later she passed the same moto, parked on the side of the road near a large plot of cotton; the driver and an older woman, his mother, stood hand planting in the field and waved at her as she passed yelling “fuerte” and “mujer incredible!” (Strong, incredible woman).

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The road to Las Pampas was flatter than the other trail, though it was also longer and held more traffic from all manner of vehicles, people, and animals. On a trail still somewhat unknown to her, Becca passed neighbors planting corns and cotton, unfriendly but timid dogs, and horse drawn wagons full up with people who waved, grinned, yelled, or sometimes simply stared at her.

She had rounded the first mile faster than usual and found herself just around the corner from the second corner and the turn around point when she heard the thundering of hooves behind her. Careful where she placed her feet, on a road she’d taken a harsh tumble on before, she turned to see at least thirty sheep of all shapes and sizes exiting a gate to her right and moving out onto the round. The very last was not a sheep at all, but a young boy, probably twelve; the herder.

Normally they would have walked along with him in the back, watching for strays and keeping them together, but seeing Becca, the sheep broke into a panicked run and passed her as a giant group, leaving the boys to chase after them down the road. Becca smiled apologetically at him as he passed and he only waved. She watched him catch up to them and calm them to a walk not far in front of her. Seconds later she caught up again, startled them and they all broke again into a run until the boy caught up to them, calmed them and they walked once more. Until Becca caught up to them again...the cycle continued for another half mile.

Certain that the boy was annoyed with this silly running gringa, Becca stopped at her turn around point and watched for the boy, who had run into the field to chase one of the babies. He emerged from the field, jumping across on irrigation ditch, chasing a small sheep and laughing wildly. The sound was like music as he passed her to catch his sheep, only waving and shaking with a laughter she thought might just knock him over.