The Dogs We Run For

Posted by jesuslewis on August 11th, 2017

Two days after I hired him, my dog died.

Of course I expected to keep running. I’d used it in the past to grind down feelings of hopelessness and frustration and loss. Running got me through bad breakups, being self-employed during the Great Recession, even the death of a grandparent.

But this was different. This was a flattening. This was losing my companion, one who had been by my side for 11 years.

Emily, a Jack Russell terrier with a persnickety temper but a heart of gold, didn’t run with me — she couldn’t because of a heart murmur. But I adopted her before I ran my first 5K, so she was part of my routine: pet her goodbye before I left, let her lick my legs when I was done, and often, after a hard workout, tuck her little 12-pound body next to me under a big maroon blanket so we could both take a snooze and be refreshed for the rest of the day.

I tried to stick to the schedule my coach made for me. I’d tell myself that this time it would click, this time the run would be a reboot, that this time, it would be worth it to get out of bed and put on the clothes and run myself better. I’d try, struggle through easy workouts, then open my front door and reflexively look to where my dog would be waiting for me, cocooned in blankets on the corner of the couch, and then I’d crumple because of course she wasn’t there.

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