A few days ago, after the first of year, when the annual urge to plan and improve kicked in like salmon fighting their way upstream to spawn, I sat down with the last three issues of Runners World magazine and sighed. Not because I didn’t want to read them, but because I am no longer a runner. The unfortunate truth of the matter is that I haven’t been able to run for the last year and a half, so God help me, I have to start over.
I figured that if I finally broke the spine on these recent issues, I’d somehow get my running mojo back.
I learned that Meb Keflezighi had definitely retired after the NYC Marathon. And that the Chief Running Officer of Runners World for decades, Bart Yasso, had just retired. And Kevin Hart ran the NYC Marathon; I wonder how he did…probably pretty well.
My “retirement” from running had been rather forced on me, after a mid-summer 2016 half, with a hip injury that took many months to heal. And then, just when I felt I was ready to start again, a brutal crash between an innocent toe and a cement step set me back six weeks more. And then there was work, which took my irrational exuberance about running and directed it more toward food and beverage instead. And then there were the holidays.
Sigh.
But, you know, I really don’t have anything to complain about, so don’t listen to me. I’m not trying to run through chemo or with two artificial legs or as a recovering addict.
I’m just a deeply mediocre ex-runner who is wondering if there is a way back to a half-marathon that won’t cause me injury and misery. It doesn’t seem to be a lot to ask, or does it?
But compared to when I started running, at age 50, it’s tough. It was tough at 50 too, but it’s tougher this time. I know more about what I’m heading into and know my body is a bit crankier now, at 62. My original running dog, Henry, is now 16 and gave up running two years ago. My newer running dog, Claire, is a 10-year-old border collie who would rather run than eat. She, too, has suffered as a result my physical maladies. I can hear her sigh on bad-weather days, when she sees me head upstairs to the dreadmill instead of going outside. I’ve let her down and it makes me sad.
And then, what the hell? I read in Runners World about a woman who started running at 100 YEARS OLD. Last June, Julia “Hurricane” Hawkins, broke the record for the 100-yard dash in her age group of 100+ (Who knew?) in 39.62 seconds, for crying out loud. Her advice? Find a good support system (her spry 70-something kids, track-side assistance), maintain realistic expectations ( “At this age, you don’t get any better at what you are doing; each day you are a little bit worse.”) and don’t stretch too much (just stand in place and “jiggle up and down a little.”) She beat the previous record by six seconds. SIX seconds, people.
Her classic quip to the press?
“I missed my nap for this.”
I love this woman. I want to be like her when I grow up. Most people her age won’t buy unripe bananas and here she is, spending her precious heartbeats on running the 100. You go, girl!
And then, there was an article by one of my favorite RW columnists, Marc Parent, about “The Dark Art of Sticking to It.” While probably at least ten years younger than I am and certainly stronger, of course, Marc is not an exceptional runner. He is, by his own admission, an average runner, who will never run a marathon or an ultra.
His article was timely, as he reminded me with his excellent prose that if he isn’t getting faster after nine years of running, nor ever plans to run a longer distance than a half-marathon, what’s the point?
It would be so easy for me to say no to running again. I mean, what’s the point?
On the same day as I was perusing Runners World, I wound up talking to a much younger friend, Rachael, about her recent completion of her second 5K. In a moment of great weakness a few weeks back, I forced myself to sign up for a half at the end of October, here in Boise. I flippantly suggested that she should take her new-found running mojo and train for the same half. She took the bait.
We wound up talking running for a few emails and I realized how fun it was to be talking about training plans, running shoes, and sore feet again! It’s been ages since I’ve done that. I didn’t realize how much I had missed it.
Afterward, I decided to look at the same books I had suggested to Rachael, for potential training plans, having not done so for myself in more than two years. So, I opened up a blank Excel spreadsheet and started filling in the weekly holes with John Bingham’s and Jenny Hadfield’s half-marathon run/walk training schedule for the October race. It quickly became apparent that I had enough time to train up for running/walking a late-May half to lay a base, and then train more seriously through the summer for the October Onward Shay half.
And then I realized: Once I had a plan, I felt much better. All irrational exuberance aside, this plan actually looks doable and even leaves several weeks for screwing up, traveling, or getting a cold.
Like Marc Parent, every run I go on is a “rise from the ashes.” I think I’ve felt three “runner’s highs” since starting in 2006, so I’m not in this for the endorphins. I have to talk myself into every run and spend most of my road time trying to ignore the fact that I look absolutely pathetic and that will never change.
I’ll never be sinewy and tan, runner-gaunt, and light as a feather. I’ll never look like a runner; I’ll always look like a lumbering woman who is more naturally made for perching on a bar stool than taking on a long-distance run. But, hell, who cares?
After a few runs on the dreadmill, I finally grabbed Claire and went for a run outdoors the other day, on a particularly nice, 42-degree and sunny winter day, here in Idaho. I ran the first week’s run/walk “distance run,” but had no idea how far I had gone. So, later on, I jumped in the car with Claire to measure the distance we had gone: 3.1 miles.
Just two years ago, I never went for a run (and with no walking at all, mind you) of less than 3 miles, and now running/walking 3.1 miles seems like a bit of a miracle.
It’s all relative.
Back to Marc Parent’s question: “What’s the point?” I found that I came to the same conclusions that he did. I’m not good at this sport and never will be. I’m much more like John Bingham and his famous quote:
And so I start again. I crossed off the three training runs for Week One with satisfaction. I got my mojo back. Like Marc, I don’t have to be good at this sport to justify doing it. It has its own rewards.
And then I remembered why I run half-marathons. It’s not for the medal, the post-race beer, or the bagels.
It’s because it feels SO damned good when I stop.
Thanks for reading. I know how busy you are.
Advertisements Share this:
- More
