"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."
~John Bingham
Running is a lot like life. You run at your own pace. You are prepared, but nervous and cautious about the road ahead. It has a beginning and an end. In running, you know the course set out before you, but the course is different every time; there are different people around you each race and you may also have different weather conditions. You could have a new pair of shoes or a new playlist on your mp3 player. But the goal always remains: to reach the finish line.
I did not start out as a runner. I arrived kicking and screaming (or more like walking). When I lost around 55 pounds in 2008, I did it by cutting my food intake in half and walking about 3 miles a day. Walking is easy. It is what nearly every human does every day. You just put one foot in front of the other, and to go faster you move your feet faster. It's not rocket science. And, even though I was a fairly slow walker, I still completed a number of races: about six 5K's, 2 10K's, and even a half marathon. But I came to learn one very important fact about walking: no matter how fast you walk, there is a top speed that is easily reached by a normal, albeit quick, stride. (I am not including power walking or race walking, a sport at which it is very difficult to not look silly). So I came to realize that I had to join the ranks of the runners.
I started out running with more of a slow jog. I used the track at a local school and ran the straight areas and walked the curves. It was painful at first. My shins, ankles, and calves resisted this new motion. It seemed unnatural to my linebacker-shaped body (and it still does). But I persisted. No matter how quickly I ran, I could not pass my 17-year old son, who seemed to take amusement at watching me crawl along behind him. But like the tortoise in the great fable, I persisted. I am still slow; the physics of rate and speed are not sympathetic to me. Along the way, I found out there is a name for people my size who run: Clydesdales. I am not sure whether I should be offended at this title, as it denotes a huge, slow, prancing horse. Upon further analysis, I realized they are large, yet proud creatures that get the job done. So the name is fitting for me.
In 2012 I did my first run/walk 5K. My time was slow (although I would like to blame it on the fact that I missed the turn-around "cone"). I kept training and did another run/walk with my son a few weeks later and finished quicker than I thought. Since then, I had hoped to beat the time I set on that race. I have yet to beat it, but I went ahead and scheduled another race: The Leprechaun 5K. I trained hard and ran timed trials for myself every two weeks or so, but always along the trip I stopped a few times and walked to catch my breath. In my first run/walk 5K, I had run the whole first mile, a feat in itself and a first for me. I seriously thought that was my threshold, a mark I would never pass. I never dreamed that I could run a whole 5K. But a week or so before my last race, I put it in my mind that I could run the whole race, at whatever pace I could muster.
From the first gun, I knew I had to try. I set a pace and kept chipping away, bringing up the rear along with a 70-year old man and a number of walkers and women pushing strollers. Around the half-way point, I started to doubt myself. Fortunately, pain in my shins and legs was masked by adrenaline and self-will. Approaching the last half-mile, I was encouraged because I had kept up with the 70-year old and I passed him in slow motion right before the last downhill stretch, the theme to Chariots of Fire running through my mind. Then it was all downhill...literally... the road sloped downward to the finish line for the last quarter mile. As I moved across the finish line, I felt like I had run a marathon. And maybe it was a marathon for me.
The severe pain in my back, legs, and shins persisted for a number of days. But it was worth every step. Training for a run is hard and the pain on this 45-year old body makes me wonder why I do it. But the challenge of the next race, and the hope of beating my own time in the process, keeps me going. I guess I am hooked. I still enjoy lifting weights because it comes easy to me and it seems safer; my comfort zone of an exercise plan. But the draw of the next race keeps my fitness on track, my weight in check, and my sense of adventure on high alert. I love the results of running as it matches my goal-setting personality and strokes my sense of self-achievement, but I hate the pain it causes on my body. However, nothing can take away the great sense of completion you feel after a race. Crossing the finish line is a thrill that I cherish and will always enjoy.
And even if I finish every race in last place, I am still ahead of those watching on the sideline or resting in their easy chair. So to paraphrase the weightlifting adage, when it comes to running, my mantra reads "Some pain, much gain."
See you on the road...I'll be the tall guy running at the speed of a proud tortoise....
Feel free to leave a comment or email me directly at mcdsparks@gmail.com.
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