The Pleasure of Running With Your Mom

Get out there and do stuff, stay alive, stay strong.

I began running when my wife got pregnant with the teenager who now lives in my house. I’d been trying to quit smoking for a few years, with limited success; I was a dedicated two-packs-of-Marlboro-Reds-a-day guy, I’m ashamed to say. But even this addict wasn’t going to smoke next to the pregnant lady. I ended up cheating by taking the now-discontinued Chantix, and it worked; within two weeks, I’d tossed my cigarettes out, bought some running clothes and was ready to throw myself into a replacement habit. My wife was already a runner, so I went on my first jog with her. I finished third.

I’ve since become obsessed with running, to the point that I’ve run dozens of half-marathons and competed — well, the word “competed” is probably doing a lot of work there — in the New York City Marathon last year. (I’ll be doing it again this year.) But I think the most exciting thing that has happened since I started running is that it has inspired my mom to start doing it.

My parents moved to Georgia after retirement, around 2017, 2018, to be nearer their two grandchildren and, theoretically anyway, to travel. (They got here just in time for them to be locked in their home for about six months.) My mom was running before that, starting with a route through…