I have a dreadful cold -- my second in less than a month! -- but I don't think I'm feeling as miserable as Rosie DiManno over at the Saturday Star. She really doesn't like women runners, particularly those of a certain age. Now I know Rosie is a dedicated smoker and is anti-puffing of the exercise variety; she's also a hard worker and has a keen sense of justice. Still, that didn't explain why her tirade against the JeansMarines cheaters included ALL women marathoners. Then I read, "Spending time in the company of lay marathoners -- which is the price I pay for having two running fiends as close friends who are all the time yammering about it..." Ahhh, it's personal. As she writes, "Rosie don't run." And there's nothing worse for a non-runner than having to listen to sermons on the virtues of running from an enthusiast.
My father wasn't one when he looked in the mirror and decided he needed to put some firmness back in his shape. He started with weights, and they nearly toppled him over. But he persevered. Soon he was strong enough to start walking ("walkers -- because just putting one foot in front of the other is now apparently a sport" so huffs Rosie) with a little bit of running. More and more of the walking became running, and he increased his time too, until he was eventually pounding the pavement for 45 minutes every night. It was the early seventies, and runners were looked at askance back then. But he had felt the runner's high. He had seen the light. He wanted to share it. He became a running evangelist, and we his family became his first mission. We were a tough crowd. Like Rosie, we didn't run. But I became a lay rower.
Tags: Running, Toronto Star
My father wasn't one when he looked in the mirror and decided he needed to put some firmness back in his shape. He started with weights, and they nearly toppled him over. But he persevered. Soon he was strong enough to start walking ("walkers -- because just putting one foot in front of the other is now apparently a sport" so huffs Rosie) with a little bit of running. More and more of the walking became running, and he increased his time too, until he was eventually pounding the pavement for 45 minutes every night. It was the early seventies, and runners were looked at askance back then. But he had felt the runner's high. He had seen the light. He wanted to share it. He became a running evangelist, and we his family became his first mission. We were a tough crowd. Like Rosie, we didn't run. But I became a lay rower.
Tags: Running, Toronto Star
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