Runner's High

Last week, I hired a dog runner.
I put my angry joints and injured ego aside, and handed Bela's leash to someone who could properly tire her out.

The owner of the company said he had his fastest runner already working in my neighborhood, and though they were fairly booked, there was a small possibility that we could piggyback onto a current run. Bela would have to be fast, however -- there was a 6-minute per mile Vizsla named Maggie who had the 9:30am slot on Mondays and Thursdays, and if Bela wanted in on that, she'd need to keep up. He let me know he wasn't bluffing when he told me of the neighborhood dog they'd tried out recently that -- no joke -- didn't 'make the cut'.

He took my name down, noted that I deem Bela very fast, and told me the dog and runner would be by in the morning.

Excitement was in the air. I live in a near-constant state of anxiety and longing to prove worth. I went into a zone, in an attempt to put Bela into one.

I talked about the impending trial run to all those who would listen. I thought there may be some karma or something of the sort in that. I put it out there in the universe -- Bela and her impending victory -- so that it was there to taste, feel and touch.

I took her out on an extra walk that morning, to make sure she would empty the tank, so as to avoid slowing up the trial run with potty breaks.

I tried to create an environment of calm, while a storm swirled about within me.

I decided to be straight with her. "We need this slot, Bela. We. need. this. This is your chance to run with the bold and the beautfiul. Now stand here with me and picture it: you and a Viszla, side by side, running with a long, lanky marathoner. You see it? Now go live it."

As their arrival approached, I swear I could her 'The Final Countdown' in my ears...and yet she was acting so cool. She was just chiiiilling on her little brown stool. I, on the other hand, was looking at her with a wild eyes - I needed to convey to her, 'It's GO time!' but I didn't know how.

In preparation, I tended to her paws and appendages like a boxer's corner man, ringside. I lowered my forehead to hers and locked eyes. I grabbed her leash and headed for the door. We would await fate outside.

I saw them the moment they rounded the corner. I threw my hand up as if to say, 'Here we are! Here we are!' My wave appeared confident and did not give way to the nervousness in my arm. I felt like a housewife in the 50's, waving as her husband comes home with a new car. The possibility in that car. The changes that will occur with its coming. The promise of a better life.

The time that she was out was glorious. I practically skipped to Starbucks, and then ate my lemon loaf without her salivating in front of me.

Upon return, she flopped on the sidewalk immediately, winded and wondrous and tired. He filled me in on their water stops, and general course taken. He did note that outside of a nail salon,  she had showcased some serious innovation. She had stopped at a water bowl, and instead of drinking from it, she put her paw in, and started sloshing the water about until it formed a pool on the ground, then beached herself in it.

Later that day, Jimmy's WATCH emailed me the route/pace/time of her run. They will all be logged and sent home. Her report card. When I spoke to the owner later, to solidify our placement in the rotation (and make a noteable payment, yes) - he told me that Jimmy's email to Maggie's mom had included the words 'lightning fast'. I'm pretty sure my voice got choked up, as I tried to swallow a fast-swelling pride.