A Run Down Memory Lane

A Run Down Memory Lane

I’ve been running and racing since way back in 1982.  During those nearly 40 years, the act of running hasn’t changed at all.  It’s still just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other as fast as you can while you open up your stride as far as possible.  Of course, a mile used to be 5,280 feet, but I am sure they are making them much longer now.  There is no other explanation why it takes so much longer to run one than it used to way back then.

And a lot of other things about running have changed too.  Cotton was the best product to run in, from top to bottom.Cotton T-shirts were the best, and short cotton shorts were the only choice.  Running socks were also cotton, and always had rings at the top. 

My very first watch was a Casio, and it looked like this.

Casio dominated the running market back in the early 80’s.  The watches were ok for the era, but there wasn’t GPS technology back then, so watches didn’t measure distance.  What they did have, however, was an ability to set a cadence with audible beeps, so if you wanted to set a stride of 180 steps per minute, you could program it into the watch, and it would actually constantly beep 180 times every….single….minute.  It was so fun to race and be surrounded by the avalanche of beeps from every surrounding runner.

So, if a watch didn’t measure distance, how did you know how far you were going each time you ran.  Well, if you didn't own a calibrated wheel, you’d have to hop in your car and drive the course to get an estimate of the distance.  Car odometers were different back then too.  They only went to 99,999 miles, and measured to the 10^th of a mile.  So when you hit 100,000 miles, the odometer actually went back to zero.  That was always a “call the neighbors” event.

Sure, you could drive 3.1 miles, and call it a 5K, but the downside to this, other than the fact that it wasn’t all that accurate, was that once you mapped out a course, you never wanted to deviate from it, lest you run extra distance that you didn’t quite know how to document in your trusty paperback Jim Fixx running log. So once you had a course measured, you were stuck running the same course over and over and over again.  Otherwise, you’d have to hop back in your car and drive the new course.  Nobody had personal computers back then, and the thought of an on-line running log could not even be fathomed. 

The way we dressed for races was a little different than it is today, too.  I’ll just post a couple of pictures from my early races, and leave it at that.  But it wasn’t just me.  It was everyone. (OK, I’ll admit, I only threw the picture on the right to prove that at one time, many years ago, I could actually run with both feet off the ground at the same time.

 

 The demographics of racing has changed as much as anything.  In 1982, I would guess that most races longer than 10K were 90% male, and even shorter distances were probably split 80/20.  And the age demographics was a lot different as well.  Most racers were in their teens and 20’s, and the 30-39 year age group was considered old.  Most races stopped awards at 50 and over.  That wouldn’t fly in today’s running world.  Median race times were a lot faster, too.  In a typical 5K race, if you ran a 30 minute race, the sweep vehicle was impatiently on your heels honking at you to hurry up and finish.  You’d be finishing dead last.  In most races, close to half of a typical 5K field was under 20 minutes.  I usually ran between 20 and 21 minutes back in the 80s, and was always middle of the pack.  I certainly never won an age group award, or even came close.

I laugh when I think of some of the popular and revolutionary products that were going to change the running world.  See if you remember any of them.

Sorbothane Insoles- We used to put 8 ounce Sorbothane Insoles in our shoes to absorb the shock incurred during running.  Forget about the negative energy.

DMSO- (or Dimethyl sulfoxide) is commonly used in veterinary medicine as a liniment for horses, but became very popular with runners in the early 80s as an anti-inflammatory topical solution and an anti-oxidant, without any clinical proof.  You would rub it in, and it would actually penetrate through the skin to the underlying muscles, dragging any dirt or other contaminants with it, so it also came with a lot of warnings. I used it for a short time, and it made my breath stink for several days after.  That was enough to scare me off, but there are people who still swear by it.

Shoe Goo- This was another catchy one that people would put on the worn wear on their shoes to extend their life for another 500 miles or so.  Forget about the fact that midsoles are already broken down before tread wear even starts to show.

Gore-Tex Running Suits- They were a fairly new innovation when I first started running, but admittedly, they have come a long way since then.  The one I bought was an original Moss Brown 10-Miler and it looked and felt like a Moon Suit.  It was shiny and stiff, and didn’t really work as advertised.  I was very proud at the time to have gotten it for a steal at only $269.00 right in the original store in Georgetown.  They sell on eBay for $10.00 today.

So that about wraps up my thoughts on this topic.  For those of you who were running that long ago, what else do you remember that we just couldn’t live without back then?  What else from that era would stand out like a sore thumb today?

Standing on Common Ground

You are a speck in the midst of thousands of people standing somewhere just behind a starting line. Each individual, though the goal is the same, is here for their own personal reason. Each has his or her own story leading up to this moment. Some are there representing themselves. Many are there in support of other people, or other causes. A few have amazing tales of extraordinary human spirit. Just standing where they are now, they have already defied the odds. What they are about to attempt is a true representation of what can be accomplished with hope, desire, and effort.

A surprising few are actually there for the same reasons you are. But standing on common ground, at this moment, everyone has the same two goals. One is to start, and the other is to finish. In a short time, all will accomplish the first. Within the next 2 1/2 to 8 hours, most will realize the second. Only 26.2 miles away from a lifetime achievement and a ton of memories all wrapped into a medallion hanging loosely around your neck.

The marathon. It's so much more than a race, as many already know, and many more are soon to find out. The marathon. The term is used by the layperson to represent an unimaginable, monumental, virtually impossible task. And in a way it is. Once completed, even the runner says never again, while the seasoned veteran can't help but give a knowing smirk upon hearing it. But for one who believes, and trains well, for one who asks "why not" instead of saying "if only", it is within one's grasp.

The whole feel of the starting line, and the people around you is so much different in a marathon than at the shorter distances. The air reeks of Ben Gay and respect for your fellow runner. Standing on common ground, you know that running royalty surrounds you, because you know what you have had to do just to get here. You understand your own motivation, and your own desire, and you somehow wonder what stories surround you. And you wonder if anyone has the self-doubt that still nags in the background. You can sometimes see it in their faces, but you somehow know it is always there.

They say that the marathon is actually two different races. From my point of view, the first 20 miles is a result of perspiration. These go fairly easily due to the months of physical preparation, the long runs, and the lifestyle changes you have been willing to make to be in top form. The final 10K is mostly inspiration. Once the legs give out, the mind must take over, and reminders of why you started keep you moving towards the finish.

A marathon not yet run is an uncertain future, and for some of us, that's why we do it. Anything can happen when you push your body beyond its stipulated limits. And sometimes, it does. If you're lucky, it's nothing more than a couple of blisters and blackened toenails, which you can carry to the finish line. At its ugliest, it keeps the medal from being draped around your neck, and it can turn your dream into a nightmare. It's the common ground of the marathon runner.

If success was a given, the thrill of the marathon might not be. Many of us do it simply to defy those who say we can't. Others do it as a process of changing our own tapes, which for years said we couldn't. But marathon success is never guaranteed. So much can happen in those 26.2 miles of common ground. Those miles can encompass a runners greatest accomplishments, as well as their most bitter disappointments. Knowing that, after all that training, you could but something went awry and you didn't, is a tough pill to swallow. But it burns a desire to return and defeat the beast. It's not a DNF. It's a UFB.  Unfinished business. You know you will return. It is the common ground of the uncommon person. The marathon runner.

George Sheehan comes to Lawrenceville (January 7, 1996)

Non runners look at us and shake their heads in amusement, puzzlement, bewilderment, wondering what this pull is that attracts us to pound the pavement week after week, month after month, year after year. When asked, the answer is not so easily phrased. Runners, by and large, are private people who use their running to be alone with their thoughts, to daydream in an appropriate manner, in an acceptable forum. We use this time for problem resolution, as well as stress release. Sometimes, we use running to race faster. As a competitive runner, although mainly with myself, I am often "guilty" of this. But the run I am writing about today was special, and I knew in the midst of it that I finally had to start sharing my thoughts with other runners.

I woke up early today to find a beautiful white blanket of unbroken snow covering the ground, and it was still falling rather heavily. It has been a few years since I had last run in the snow, which is one of my favorite things to do. I quickly pulled on my special black running tights which had printed snowflakes running up the sides. I had been saving these tights for just such an occasion. Today was the day. A few more pieces of foul weather gear and I was out the door.

I have a nice rolling loop in my neighborhood which covers about 1.25 miles. As I started today's 7 1/2 mile run, I observed that the snow lay pure on the road ahead of me. The only disturbance was left in my wake. My mind started to wander to thoughts of Dr. George Sheehan, who in my opinion, was the most insightful author of running psychology and running philosophy I have ever read. He had an uncanny ability to allow a single run to have a profound effect on his entire life from that point forward. Not only that, but he would then write about his experience and share it with the rest of the world, so that whoever wanted to could actually benefit from his experience.

What a wonderful, caring, and giving man he was, I thought. He lived his life to benefit other people, both through his profession and his writing, and he has ensured that his legacy will live on throughout my lifetime and beyond. We all have intimate thoughts while on the run. Why not share them with the rest of the world? I'll bet he could have written something wonderful about today's run. Here is a man in whose footsteps I would be honored to follow.

At about this time, I noticed that the snow that lay ahead was no longer unbroken. There was a single trail of footsteps ahead of me, already carved in the snow. I hit the split timer on my watch to mark the completion of my first loop. Whose footsteps were those that lay ahead of me? Was I just repeating my own footsteps, running around in circles, or were these actually someone else's footsteps, beckoning me to follow? As I continued my run, I felt a strange presence, as if I were not alone. It was as if George Sheehan had come to Lawrenceville, GA, and was with me, stride for stride. I quickly started recalling the few brief times I met him.

When I still lived in New York, I used to see him at races in Prospect Park in Brooklyn and Central Park in New York, where he was basically just another good age group runner. People didn't make a fuss about him there, as this was his home running ground. He wasn't a guest there; he was competition for other people in his age group.

Then there was the year he was a guest speaker at the Salisbury Winter Flight run in North Carolina. Everyone clamored to see him there, but he was just as friendly and approachable as you could imagine. The last time I saw him in person was at the Old Reliable Run in Raleigh the next year. I remember passing him at about the two mile mark of that race, which I had never done before, and noticed him wheezing heavily. I asked him if he was all right and he just smiled and kept on going. He announced to the world two days later that he had cancer.

As I ran my sixth and final loop, the road behind me left the impression that a marathon had just been run along the left hand shoulder. I had just run the last six miles of my wonderfully snowy run with Dr. George Sheehan. Not only is he still alive, but he taught me a most valuable lesson today. It's okay to walk, (or run) in someone else's footsteps, but never, ever forget that, each step of the way, you are also forging your own path, which others may then chose to follow. Have no regrets about the trail you leave.

Why do I run? Sometimes a run can make a day a little bit better than it otherwise would have been. But once in a blue moon, as George Sheehan so consistently pointed out, your whole reason for being, the way you look at life can be changed by a single run. For me, it was once upon a snowy morning in Lawrenceville, GA, where I experienced first hand what it's like to create my own footsteps, as well as follow in the footsteps of someone I have the greatest admiration for. I also got to the experience sharing a run with the immortal George Sheehan. I have wanted to write about my own running thoughts for years. January 7th, 1996, Dr. Sheehan told me, was a great day to start.

If you are not familiar with Dr. Sheehan, please do yourself a favor and get acquainted with him. You will be amazed by his insights and observations. And who knows, you may even want to follow in his footsteps.

The Mirror Lies, The Runner Dreams

I swear, I have not aged a day since I started long distance running back in 1982, at least according to both my mirror and my imagination. I look in the mirror, and the image that stares back has the exact same youthful appearance it did all those years ago. Anyone who knows me will readily agree that I don't act any more mature than I did in my 20's. Most would even say I've regressed. I delight in that intentional lack of progress. 

I look in my runners logs from years gone by, and know that I can still beat those fast times of prior years if I just train right, eat right, sleep right, and have the right course with the right tail wind on the right day. I just know in my 42 beat per minute heart that my breakthrough year as a runner is still out there, in my future. And if you tell me to grow up and start thinking my age, I'll tell you to get lost. I like believing this way.

Every new year, I wipe the statistical slate clean, and I start entering my runs in a new log. And shortly before the new year, I get to add another increment to the number they call my age. It just so happens that the augmentation I added late last year makes my age end with a five, and that means I get to compete against a new group of runners with higher numbers in their age than those I was racing with before. I don't think that age determines much more than who you are competing against. It certainly is no excuse for slowing down.

Along with every new year, there is, for me, a renewed determination to run more miles, and to best my race times from the previous year. In 2000, I actually succeeded in that goal for every distance I raced, with the exception of the ½ marathon. Part of that is because 1999 was not a particularly stellar running year. My goal for 2001 will be the same, and again, I have a chance, because this past year, although an improvement over 1999, I still fell short of my fullest potential. I figure if I can succeed again, and continue the upward spiral for each of the next 20 years, those lifetime PR's will be within my reach by the time I retire. There are 60-year-old men running sub 20 5K's all the time. I want to be like them. The fact that I've run one sub 20 in my life, years and years ago, and that these speedsters were running 16 minute 5K's at my age shouldn't make a difference, right?

Mirrors don't tell the future, or the past, but with a vivid imagination, they tell lies about the present. They only capture the moment of your gaze, in reverse. The mirror is who you are at any given moment. We age so gradually that, from one day to the next, we can't place our finger on when exactly getting older happens. As runners, some of us are guilty of believing we can buck the trend, and stop the process altogether: maybe even reverse it. Somehow, even among fellow runners, I sometimes think that I am the one will stay speedy while all my age group competition slows to a crawl. Aging and its effects might be for some people, but not for me.

I have raced through the entire 40-44 year age group here in Georgia. I have followed my own progress, as well as that of many others in my age group, with a great deal of interest over the last five years. Very few veteran runners my age have gotten any faster during that time. Most have gotten slower, and some have totally dropped out of the picture. Yet others have disappeared for a while, and then returned, significantly slower than before. It seems so ironic how the years seem to fly by so much quicker, but our race times get slower. I look at my peers' times and think to myself that I could be beating most of them in races by now, except for one minor detail. I've gotten slower too. But in my case, I've got a series of excuses as to why I've slowed, and the justifications as to why some day in the future, I will be faster than all of them.

I know, I know. This way of thinking is probably something I have in common with many other runners. Maybe, some day, I'll have to accept the fact that I can't stop getting older, and I can't stop the reminders my body and the finish line clock keep giving me. Some day, I may settle for being content in just holding steady from one year to the next. In the big picture, even that is a virtual improvement. But although I may be getting closer to that point, I'm not quite there yet. I still plan to break 22 minutes for 5K this year, even though I didn't do it once last year, or the year before that, or the year before that.

What is it that my mind refuses to process when the mirror stares back? I must be how old I am. After all, when I was born, Eisenhower was president, and he was re-elected to another term after that. I must look how old I am. Surely people don't think my daughter is my sister when we are seen together. I didn't learn about the John Kennedy assassination in history class like she did. I was sent home from school early that day, during history class. My teacher could work no more.

So, here I am, 45 years old, and feeling like I'm still 26, as I was when I started long distance running. And I continue to imagine I still look the same, too. I just refuse to accept my aging age quite yet. If I was a coin my age, I would be worth many time my face value today. But I am me, and can't even gauge my own face value. My face looks the same to me as it did way back then.

If all goes according to plan, the mirror will continue to lie, and I will continue to dream. This year may be my breakthrough year, when I suddenly run effortlessly to age group victories, and I finally realize my potential. And if it doesn't happen this year, that's okay too, because I still have my whole lifetime ahead of me. 

Just don't wake me up.

Getting Better

Getting Better

The other day, Dad asked me "So, when are you going to start writing again."  Now, I can finally answer "Today Dad.  Today."

April 16th, 2015 marked the end of my 33rd year since I first started running.  Most years, I commemorate each new running anniversary with a run.  But on April 16, 2015, my anniversary passed without a run, or a celebration. Instead, it passed with prohibitive pain in my left foot which made even getting out of bed in the morning a formidable challenge.  The lack of acknowledgement of the day was not such a big disappointment, but the fact that I encountered this injury while rounding into the best shape in several years hurt a lot more than the foot itself.  As a result of this injury, my focus on Big Sur at the end of that month turned to forfeiture of the race for the second year in a row.

At the end of April, 2015, Kelli and I went back to Big Sur, my bucket list race, and I had to watch it from the sidelines for the second year in a row.  We flew out to San Francisco the Wednesday before the race, and started our sightseeing right away.  Day one of the trip was awful.   After flying in early that day, we walked over 9 miles all around the hills of San Francisco, and my feet both swelled up badly, and every step became more and more painful.  I crashed in bed that night wondering how I was going to get through the next day’s Yosemite hike.  But the next morning, something odd happened.  When I got out of bed, my feet did not hurt so badly, the swelling was down, and in fact, my feet felt better than they had in a few days.  Each day after, despite averaging 5 miles of walking a day, my legs and feet felt better.   

In fact, the day before the race, Kelli and I were even talking about “walking” the Big Sur 21-mile race we had registered for the next day, but after a day of debating it in our minds, logic won out.  But we did get up Sunday morning, and I went out and ran 3 miles.  It was my first run in over two weeks, and the foot seemed to do pretty well. All the pain and heaviness was absent for that run.  But it also ended up being the last miles I would run for over a year, as my condition soon after turned south and got progressively worse.

These foot issues had arisen before.  This was the second year in a row, at about the same time both years, where my feet, and sometimes my legs hurt with every step, and just walking created excruciating pain.  In my mind, it felt like a crippling pain, and running again became the furthest thing from my mind.  I saw a podiatrist about this the first year it occurred, and one of his theories was that I was suffering from Psoriatic Arthritis, a condition that affects about 10%-30% of people who suffer from Psoriasis.  But I have never been diagnosed with Psoriasis, so I didn't give it much of a thought.  He was just a foot doctor, anyway.

Even though I was not running, my symptoms got worse.  The pains and swelling that started in one toe  advanced over the next several months from my feet to my shins, to my knee, to my hip, and finally to my neck and shoulders, to the point that I could not even turn my head.  I was having to allow extra time in the morning just to get out of bed and shower before work.

Trips to my Primary Care Physician proved futile, and a referral specialists in Ortho and Neuro did not help.  A trip to an Urgent Care Center when the pain and inflammation in my feet was so bad I could hardly walk resulted in testing, and results of a false positive for Lyme Disease.  This misdiagnosis was accompanied by massive quantities of misappropriated antibiotics over a period of several months with no positive results.  Finally, near the very end of 2015, I saw a Rheumatologist, who confirmed the podiatrist's theory after a full year of battling the affliction, and finally got me on a medication therapy that worked for me, and slowly...very slowly, I started to get better.

This entire past year has been one of caution and distractions.  I did not even attempt a run of any duration until February 2th this past year, when I ran a full mile without stopping for the first time in nearly a year.  Over the next couple of months of sporadic training, I finally ran 3 miles again without stopping, But for the rest of the year, I never really got back in the swing, and only had one month all last year where I ran over 40 miles.  I didn't yet trust my body to hold up.

But now, in the final months to wrapping up my 35^h year of running, I have started running a little more regularly, and with a little more confidence again, and though I am much slower than I could ever imagine, it feels as good as it ever has.  In fact, in some ways, it feels better.  To gain back something you though was lost forever adds a new level of appreciation you could not possibly achieve any other way.

In nearly 35 years, there is a lot of history to look back on, including many personal accomplishments which have provided a lifetime of memories. but before I go down memory lane, I have a confession to make for the first time ever.  I am actually not positive that April 16, 1982 was my very first run. But whenever it was, it was only a pathetic mile that beat me up, and it was my final attempt in a series encompassing several years before this time, when running finally stuck.  In previous writings, I have always referred to April 16th as the date I started running, but until I ran a few more times after that and it started weaving its way into my lifestyle, I had no idea that this day would be day one.  But I do believe it was pretty close to, if not the exact day I started running "for good."

I knew running was sticking when I signed up for, and ran, my first road race, which actually wasn’t my first road race.  I had run a 10K race a couple of times previously in the late 70’s, pretty much totally untrained, but it was a race my father’s company sponsored, so I basically jumped in.  But on June 26, 1982, I ran the Shelter Island 10K, and a week later, I ran the Firecracker 5K in Massapequa, and I was becoming a runner.  

Dad and me at the first race we ever ran together.  The Massapequa Firecracker 5K, July 3, 1982.  Note that I am wearing my T-shirt from my previous race, the Shelter Island 10K

One cool thing about running in the early days was that I got better, and I got better fast.  My first 5K was between 25 and 26 minutes, and my first 10K was over 58 minutes, but by the end of the year, my 5K was down to 20:30, and my 10K was under 44 minutes.  PR races were a possibility every time I raced and the memories of these first races are still as vivid as if I had run them yesterday.  And the night before every race, I tossed and turned due to the shear excitement and anticipation of the next morning’s race.  And there was a possibility that every race could be faster than the race before.  I was getting better, and had yet to realize my limits.

A funny thing about a PR is you never really know you have run one at the moment you run it.  All you know for sure is you have run a distance faster than you ever have previously.  The fact that you have run a PR does not really crystalize until years later, when the time still stands as first your performances, then your dreams of accomplishments, decline.  It takes a long time to let go of the dream that maybe you still have a faster time in you.

In September, 2005, Bob Cooper published an article in Runners World on-line called “The 25 Golden Rules of Running."  It had been published in the printed version of magazine several years earlier but even now, it still holds up pretty well.  Embedded right in the middle, standing at number 12 was one called “The Seven-year Rule” which basically states that no matter when you start running, you can expect seven years of improved performance.  This is true whether you start running at 25 or 55.  When I started running, I was 26, which meant I could in theory expect to get better until I was about 33.

Looking back, I think at this point, at age 61, I am confident that all my PRs are well behind me.  But when I look back at my accomplishments, my PR history spans many years.  My very first PR was at 5 miles in early November of 1982.  It was also one of my most unique accomplishments.  In a three week span, I ran 3 different 8K/5 mile races in under 34 minutes.  The fastest was my first, a strong 33:06.  Never since that three week stretch have I run another one in under 34 minutes.  In March of 1983, less than a year after I started running, I set my 5K PR at around 19:52.  It was an early goal of mine to break 20 minutes for a 5K, and in my entire history of running, this was the only time I ever did it.  Later that year, I set my 10K PR with a fairly solid 41:30 and it took many years of trying after to realize that this was as good as it gets for any of those distances.  

So where were my other 6 years of getting better?  They came in longer distances.  My 10 mile PR, perhaps my best race ever, came in 1984, at the Capital Trail 10 miler in Raleigh NC.  I believe I ran the 2^nd 5 miles in under 34 minutes, and I felt great at the end. My finish time was 1:08:20.  My half marathon PR came a few years later at Kiawah Island.  My goal that race was a sub 1:34:00, and I made it with about 10 seconds to spare.  

But the marathon was one race that I never achieved a feeling of running the best I could.  I had run about 20 of them between my late 20’s and early mid 40’s, but none of them were quality races because I had never trained properly for one.  I broke 4 hours barely a couple of times, but whenever anyone would ask me what my marathon PR was, my answer was simply “I don’t know.  I haven’t run it yet.”

Finally, a day after my 49^th birthday, 23 years after I started running, and with proper training, I ran the marathon I could call a PR, with a 3:53 at Twin Cities.  It was a special day in my running life, because it was the only time I stood at a starting line of a marathon knowing I was going to run a PR.  I regretted that I had not trained properly for a marathon when I was younger, as I probably could have run a 3:20, but I’ll never know.  But after this race, I think I knew that ALL my PRs were not in the past.  There was no longer a change to get better.  I had maxed out at every distance.

Getting better.  All this history leads me to the purpose of this essay and why I am writing it now.  The last few years, I have looked back and know I no longer have a change of getting better at any distance.  For a very long and real stretch of time, I was positive I would never even run again, and was consumed with nothing but thoughts of overall deteriorating health.      

Today, about a year after the initial correct diagnosis and treatment, I can once again run, but it has taken most of this past year to have the confidence that another relapse isn't looming in the near background.  I have dealt with this before, and it never gets easier.  In fact, every time running throws a setback in the form of injury or overall health, it takes longer and longer to trust your body again, and it is all too easy to just give up and find less challenging interests, (like drinking beer.) 

 But I have also come to a truth that I had to go through this journey to clearly see.  Getting better is not just about improving on minutes and seconds.  Getting better is not only for the young or for the healthy.  It does not mean just going faster or going longer.  In fact, getting better is the only thing I care about right now, and it is the only direction I can go.  My running will never be any faster than it has been in years gone by.  But I can get better each time that today represents an improvement over yesterday, and I have had that a lot lately.  I have a feeling that this is how I will be measuring PRs in the future, but in a way it feels just like it did nearly 35 years ago.  In this past year, I went from hardly being able to get out of bed, to a slow deliberate walk, to a slow jog, to a full return to running  In more ways than ever before, every day, in every way, I am getting better.

Me and Dad again, almost 35 years later, after his 90th birthday.  Still walking!

Father's Day 2016

Today is the day before Father’s Day, and I wanted to have something special this year to give Dad, who is now 89 years old.  But when you are 89 years old and proclaim that you already have everything you need, then knowing what to give can become a challenge.

This morning, as I did my 3-mile run through the neighborhood, I pondered what I was going to do for Dad to honor his day.  Dad was never especially fond of “things” to begin with, and material goods really hold no value for him anymore.  I think that this comes as a result of a combination of age and wisdom, but it sure does make it hard to come up with the perfect gift.  So my focus of my run was to create an idea for a gift that I could deliver to him tomorrow.  As my body covered three short miles, my mind wandered across the universe.  These are always the best kinds of runs.

Dad only ever had a very small and select group of friends, all acquired over 60 years ago, but they were all very special friends.  At this point, he has outlived almost all of them, and the couple that remain are in very poor health.  He has no interest in acquiring new ones at this point in his life.  But he treasures family more than ever.  Family is about all he outwardly has any more, and they bring him more happiness than anything else in his life.

Dad is still as active as his 89 year old mind and body allow, which is really quite a bit.  His likes his quiet time, enjoys watching sports on TV, and he enjoys reading.  He is also still a very good bridge player, and plays most weeks at least once.  He still spends time at the gym nearly every day, walking a couple of miles three or four times a week, working with weights, and doing exercises in the pool after a nice sauna.  You would not know he is soon to be a nonagenarian if you ever met him.

Two things that Dad gets particular joy from as things relate to me is when I am running, and when I am writing.  I used to do a lot of both.  Dad knows that I am at my absolute best when running and writing are both taking place in my life, so when I am doing both, it gives him great joy.   Over the past couple of years, I have struggled with both my running and writing, either due to physical limitations, or attitude, or in some cases both.

Only very recently, my running has found a weak pulse, and though I am hardly a regular runner again quite yet, I am actively working on that as a long term goal, and am starting to at least think like a runner again.  But the writing has been the even bigger obstacle.  I have not written anything worthwhile in a year or longer, and Dad will still ask occasionally when I am going to start writing again.  When he asks, I just shrug and tell him I don’t know, and then I feel bad because I know how much joy it would bring him to see me writing again.  I have to be moved to write, and nothing moves me like when I am running.  So this morning, since I was running anyway, I concentrated on what I could come up with to write, with the hope of massaging the thoughts into the words that I will have to hand him tomorrow morning. What you are reading is what I will hand him tomorrow.

Although I am seeing Dad tomorrow for Father’s Day, I also saw him today.  Dad is a religious man, and every Saturday morning, almost without fail, he goes to synagogue.  This is another activity that gives him great joy.  I thought it would be a nice way to start the Father’s Day weekend to accompany him this morning. So after my run, I drove over and accompanied him at the morning services, and then Kelli came by after, and we all had lunch with him and Mom.  I also told him I would be over early tomorrow so we could have a nice walk together.  This is something we do far too infrequently these past few years, mainly due to my extremely busy schedule and lack of available time when we can do it.  In both of our younger day, we used to run, and race together, quite often.  It was the one special activity that the two of us had that was ours and ours alone.  Those runs were almost sacred and helped create a bond that nothing since we started running together can break.  It is one of the things in my life I am most thankful for.

In the back of my mind, I always knew that there would be a time that running would evolving into walking.  But that did not happen until dad was in his mid-70’s.  Yes, the running got slower over the years, but the meaningfulness of the runs never changed.  Even as running shifted over to walking, each time doing it together carried the same significance.

So tomorrow morning, after my 3-mile run, I will once again head over to Dad’s, hand what you are reading now to him, and then we will go on a 2-mile walk. Then I will write about that later in the day.  And his Father’s day gift will have been given.

Happy Father’s Day Dad.  I love you.

Michael

The Road Less Traveled

When the alarm went off at 4:00AM this morning, I was unaware of the current weather conditions outside. And that’s probably a good thing, for had I known, I likely would have opted for the extra hour of sleep.  But until I went downstairs, I didn’t know it was raining, and until I turned on the TV, I didn’t know it was 37 degrees outside the warmth of my house.  37 and raining.  I assure you that at 37 degrees, it is a cold rain indeed.  Why would anyone in their right mind go out in that?  Especially an old aging runner who struggles to run a mile at a 10 minute pace.

So I dallied and dawdled, hoping the rain would move out before it was time to run, and as I waited with no positive effect,  it got later and later.  And the rain kept on falling.  While I went through by pre-run motions,  I started thinking of all kinds of reasons to retreat back to the bedroom and avoid the discomfort of this cold rainy darkness.  Surely, even running in the snow would be better.  A bone chilling cold without the accompanying wetness would be better.  Crawling back into a nice warm bed with and cuddling up to my wife would be way better.  But this combination of comfort threats was looming as very unattractive.

About 55 minutes after my alarm first went off, the moment of truth arrived.  It was truly either now or not today.  Thanks to my lingering, my maximum run had already been cut to 3 miles, as I need to be back in the house by 5:30 to start my “real” day, the one I live for others.  But the morning run is my sacred time; my moment of real truth, and in reality, that, more than anything, is what drives me to do it.

Yes, I have running-related goals.  My current long term one is the Grand Rapids Marathon, and training is not just an element of success, but a requirement.  At the time I am writing this, the race is still 236 days, 21 hours, 2 minutes, and 33 seconds away (assuming it starts right on time) That’s still a long time away, so how important is a three mile run on a cold wet morning today?  I mean really?

Even as I moved towards the front door, opened it, felt the wet chill in my face, and pulled the door closed behind me, I took three steps out and as many steps back, opened the door and stepped back in for a few seconds, still arguing with myself.  That’s how close I came to nixing the run.  But something pushed me out again, and it was finally “Game On.”   In all honesty, as I started down the street, I was still wondering if I was dedicated, crazy or something else? Why the hell am I out there, doing a relatively insignificant three miles on a day I wouldn’t send a dog out in?

But as I continued the run (at a slightly quicker than usual pace) the doubt slowly melted, and the insignificance of the run changed to clarity, even in a foggy rain.  Running can be inspiring, but not every run is inspired.  Running can get routine, and sometimes, that routine needs a little shaking up. There is not much better than a cold rain in the early morning darkness to do just that.

My mind started to wander as I observed, even literally, that even a dog would not be out in predawn cold rain like this.  Most mornings, there is at least that sign of life.  I’m usually earlier than most other runners in my neighborhood, but this morning’s silence even encompassed the four legged variety.  The dog “regulars” were not being walked, most likely because their two-legged companions did not want to go there with them.  I was definitely on a road not taken by anyone else at this time on this day.  And I was feeling an overwhelming satisfaction in having this road all to myself.

Before I knew it, the run was over, and I realized that the misery that my mind had imagined before I started never developed.  In fact, it ended up being a more enjoyable run than many.  The cold rain had faded into the background, even though it never let up for the 30 minutes I was out playing in it.  But lost in thought, I had forgotten about it all together.  The main evidence that the rain continued during my run was not the perpetual discomfort, because it had been replaced by contentment.  The evidence was contained in my shoes and clothes, heavy and soaked. 

During my run, I was reminded of a poem by one of my more favorite poets growing up, Robert Frost. In his poem The Road Not Taken, he wrote

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I mused back to an hour earlier, facing that fork in the road, the one between closing the front door in front of me and going back to bed, or closing it behind me and taking the road less traveled, at least this day. Will today’s run make me a better runner in the long run?  Not likely.  Was it important for me to not skip today’s run as I prepare for a marathon nearly eight months from now.  I haven’t even started training for it yet, so again, the answer is no.   But the real question is, did this morning’s run contribute to making me a better person today?  To that question, my answer is a resounding yes!  On a gloomy, cold dark morning, I took the road less traveled by, and today, that has made all the difference.