Many people come up to me and comment that they have seen me
running around town. Their stories are always very similar; they used to run in
high school and over the years they've attempted to start back up, but it never
goes anywhere, and they could never run with me, because I’m a runner. I usually
laugh when they say this. They see me as…a runner? Me?
I never ran when I was younger. I was never in track or
cross country, and for those of you who know me you’ll remember that I was a
skateboarder. I even quit that as soon as I got a car near the end of my junior
year in high school. Beyond that I never did anything athletic beyond the
physical demands of residential construction. I started getting in shape after my
divorce in the fall of 2009, but running just wasn't on my to-do list. I did
attempt to run on a treadmill at one place I lived, but I never could quite
last for much over a mile. It didn't really bother me –I wasn't a runner.
In early March 2012 I threw my back out. I have always had a
recurring problem with a bulging disc, and the simple act of doing burpees
during a core workout brought about that all too familiar smoosh in my lower
back. I couldn't get out of bed for three days. Forget about turning on my
side, moving around, or sitting up –when this happened I could barely readjust
how I was lying in bed. After about two weeks I was able to walk enough that I
went back to work. On the day that I started back, my good friend Dustin told
me that I was going to run a race with him in seven weeks time.
That’s right. With a smug smile he just told me that I was going to run it.
I laughed at him.
I could barely walk while suppressing hints of still
recovering from my injury, and he was telling me that I was going to run a
race. A RACE! I wasn't a runner! He then told me that it wasn't just a race,
but an obstacle course race called the Spartan. How wonderful. I was a fan of
the movie 300 –this wasn't getting any better. He said it would be about three
miles with around twenty or so obstacles. I laughed at him again, his smug
smile remained unchanged, and I simply said, “Okay.”
The next day I put on my beat up Target cross-trainers and
took off running out my front door. I had no idea what I was doing. I ran two
miles and was pretty excited. I made a calendar of the days counting down to
the 2012 Spartan Founder’s Race in Indiana, and hoped to be at four miles by the
time of the race. Two days later I ran two and a half miles. For my third run
Dustin asked to go along. Deep inside I think I trusted that he trusted my
abilities, so I just kept up with no objections. Five miles later, he agreed to
stop running at our town square. Several days later, I joined him again for my
fourth run.
Ten miles.
All the while, I never thought that I couldn't do it. If
Dustin could do it, so could I. I could have said to myself that he was well
over ten years younger than me and had the physique of a chiseled Olympian, but
I didn't. I could have stopped every time he pulled away in a sudden sprint,
only to turn around and rejoin me at my beleaguered paced, but I didn't. I just
kept running. Afterward I started to believe that I could do anything. Dustin
was honestly just looking for a running partner, someone who was adventurous
enough to run this and other races with him. Little did both of us realize that
he had created a monster.
A few weeks later, on a late April Saturday morning in
unseasonably cold weather the two of us along with another good friend ran in
our first Spartan race. It ended up being five miles, not three, along with
swimming, climbing, crawling, and carrying logs; a lot of logs. It seemed as
though every time we crawled out of a mud pit and under twenty meters of barbed
wire, there was another mud pit and another stretch of barbed wire, followed by
yet another pit and more barbed wire. In the bitter cold and wet clothes my
muscles were beginning to cramp, and it seemed like it would never end when
suddenly… it did. That was that. I had completed the first foot race of my
life.
Soon after I went out and bought some real running shoes and
a copy of Runner’s World magazine. I decided that I might as well have some
proper kicks and start educating myself if I was going to try and do this
running thing. Upon a suggestion from a friend, I ran my first 5K with her and
another friend a few weeks after the Spartan. Any time I set was to be my 5K
PR, so I was thrilled with 22:59. Several weeks later I completed my first 13.1
mile run at 2:10, and was completely happy, especially because it was on a whim
to let off some steam. A few weeks later I ran my one and only trail
half-marathon to date with Dustin and another friend. Dustin ran the full trail
marathon while we settled for the half. At some point I got lost, so I tallied
a little over 14.5 miles in 2:54. For the rest of the summer of 2012, I
maintained running regularly, but had no idea what I was going to do next. I
didn't dare stop running, because of the fear that I would lose my edge. But
then, for no apparent reason in November, I did just that: I stopped.
I’m sure that I went a couple days without a run, and then
justified an even longer hiatus because of some seemingly reasonable excuses.
Then before I knew it cold weather had set in; just the thing that I had
secretly told myself would eventually stop my running. It was going to be my solid
excuse to go on a vacation from having to be so disciplined, except I had
already stopped, and for some reason the cold weather started to do something I
had not expected: it made me hungry again. It was an obstacle that seemed to
loom in front of me that was begging to be conquered. So, one day I put on my
some flannel pajama pants under some workout pants, a cheap compression shirt, and
a sock toboggan, and I just ran out the door, just like I had on that March
afternoon when I was clueless as to what I was doing. I felt new again; reborn
in a cold winter mix. Once again, I felt like I could do anything.
I didn't stop running throughout the winter months, and
finally ran another race in early March of this year. It was a 5K trail run that
had great elevation changes that really challenged the quads. I ran it with
several friends and did it in around 32:00 if I remember correctly. Not exactly
something to write home about, but I was happy to be in the middle of the pack.
More importantly though, there was a milestone set that day: I was proud to watch
my eight year old daughter who had never ran a race compete in the 1K children’s
trail run in which she took first for girls in her age group. All of this running
was starting to grow beyond just me. A few weeks later I ran in my second 5K,
and I blew away my PR from the previous year. I placed fourth overall with a
time of 21:01.
Since then I have ran two more Spartan races; once again the
Indiana Spartan Sprint, and then the Super Spartan in Joliet, IL. In several
more weeks, I will run the Spartan Beast in South Carolina with some very good
friends, where I along with one of my best friends will hopefully complete the
race, thus reaching a goal that we set for ourselves earlier in the year of
completing our Spartan Trifecta.
In all of this, I still don’t see myself as anything but an
everyday person who chases a daily workout. Every other day that includes
running. I have friends that I've watched on facebook for many years that are “runners.”
Whereas before, I didn't really get what they were doing, now I am inspired by
every short and long run that they do. In the past year and a half I have also
met many athletes who inspire me as well with their struggles and
accomplishments. Some of my friends are chasing their first non-stop one mile
run, while others are training for their first 50 mile ultra. For me it doesn't
matter what the distance is, it’s the desire and dedication that make the
athlete. Of course I’m in awe of the ultra, but I’m no less touched and
inspired by the sweat and determination of the friend who wants nothing more
than to run a mile without walking.
Maybe I am more than just a guy trying to squeeze in a
workout. Maybe I am what they say I am –a runner. I've never ran a marathon, and technically I've only ran in a handful of actual races. And, if I’m a runner then
anyone can be a runner. A person needs to believe
that they can do anything in the face of everyone including the person in the
mirror that is telling them that they can't do it. When people comment that they could never do what I’m doing, I
can see the hunger in their eyes. It’s as though the only reason they are even
talking to me is that they are sending out a distress call to rescue them from the fog of mediocrity that has settled over them
for countless years. In most cases these people never act upon their bold
wishes to get out and do something about it. However, I have a few friends that
have actually gotten out and hit the roads and trails with me. Even better,
they've started doing it on their own. To me they are runners. They’re out
there doing it, day after day, fighting a battle with the belief that nothing
can stop them, even if the battle is never-ending. That’s the way I feel. Maybe
it’s time I start to consider myself as one of their ranks. Maybe it’s time I start
to consider myself a runner.
No comments:
Post a Comment