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Show HK3S8 li iOIliltGP By JANET LOWE Copley News Service We start out together, running run-ning on the sidewalk. Soon we move over to the grass, and my daughter's beginning to get ahead of me. "HURRY up, mother," she calls. "Hurry up, mother," echoes a chorus of male voices, as a group of men jogs past us. SHE'S loyal though, and turns and runs backward for a time, just to keep me company. com-pany. "It's not how fast you go, but how far you go," I justify. "LOOSEN up your hands, keep your head straight. Lift those knees, she instructs. I'm already sorry to have given her that book on running. run-ning. FINALLY she gives up, takes off and leaves me. A second group of men passes by. They're my age or older but I notice how solid and firm their muscles are. Yet I'll probably outlive them. If being in shape is important, I why are we flabby women living longer, I wonder? i Soon my daughter runs I back and jogs with me awhile ' longer. "BOY you're slow," she says. "I'm three inches taller, fifteen pounds heavier, and 22 : years older than you are. Now , stop nagging me." SHE stops, though she as- , sumes that I was only trying ' to help look. 1 "My mother the jock," she ' snorts, shaking her head in infinite teenage wisdom, and takes off again in a spurt of enthusiasm. Her energy always al-ways peaks after school, when she needs it the least. So she runs with me now to work off the tension and get rid of the zest that would otherwise be spent opening and closing the refrigerator door. AT FIRST we argued about the best time to jog, but finally that worked out. We've become sunset addicts, and run along the beach as the sun slips below the waves. Afterwards After-wards we sometimes sit and watch the vanishing rays of red and gold on the sea. "The girl joggers always smile and say hello," she says. THIS makes her feel better. At first she was afraid we'd be the only two females out there, but soon she learned that many women jog with us. Some are exceptional runners. Others are heavy to slow or do more walking than running. At least they're out. A father and daughter run together here, and they are incredible muscle machines, loping along in unison. They even talk to each other Without getting winded. WE TALK too, but my daughter does most of it, and I simply nod or grunt or make appropriate faces. Still, we've had some good discussions. She tells me about the cheating that goes on at school, and how hard it is to compete for good grades, when others are doing well without really learning anything. I OFFER the appropriate solace, and add, "They're really cheating themselves of knowledge." It sounds trite, -though I know it's true. She tells me of her friend whose parents are talking about divorce. It will be the third for this girl's father, and she's worried about breaking in a new stepmother. step-mother. "THAT must be rough," I say, "feeling genuinely sorry. "How tar do you want to go today?' she asks. "WE have to touch the lifeguard stand," I insist, in a gush of athletic fervor. 'That's corny," she replies and speeds away, leaping out to tap the metal post and circling back. I PLOD along, touch the post, then clutch it, panting. "You're not tired already are you?' she asks, bewildered. bewil-dered. "You've got to run until un-til it hurts ... push yourself." "IT started hurting after the first 15 minutes, and I am pushing myself," I defend. "At least I'm out here, trying." try-ing." Clucking in disgust, she heads back the way we came, galloping as if she just started. start-ed. "See you back there." WOULD anyone notice if I crawled back? |