RUNNING - WAS MY PASSION

Short story - 2,762 words


RUNNING WAS MY PASSION!

A true story of a personal passion that would change my life, and is dedicated to all those who have embraced the love of running!

“I’ve got to lose some weight. These daily business lunches and stays in fancy hotels on the road are really screwing up my health! I’m almost 20 lbs overweight.”

My wife was listening to my complaint as she opened a bottle of wine for our pre-prandial refreshment. Each work day night, when I was in town, and not on the road, we would relax with a glass of wine before dinner as we discussed our day. At least we each had something to say no matter how trivial. Asking out kids about their school today, generated the standard comments: “nuthin…..it was OK.” Mom and dad, however, were willing to share even the most trivial of happenings. I had prepared my speech for announcing the ‘serious change’ that was about to commence in my life.

“A friend at work gave me this new book that is a best seller, ‘The Complete Book of Running’ by Jim Fixx. My friend is my age and is pretty fit physically. He makes me look like a fat couch potato. He suggests I start a running program. This book tells you how to start; how to train, and what diet is best. Fixx has really proven that running is the best aerobic exercise that will take the weight off.”

My wife poured my glass of wine, sat down and looked at me with a puzzled ‘your-not-serious-look’ on her face. “Running?” You’re almost 35 and not a kid anymore. Why not just join a club and get on an exercise routine? Look at all the running you did playing basketball.”

“That was almost 20 years ago in high school. The medical view now is ‘use it, or lose it.’ I’ve checked out a club membership, but I travel a lot, and don’t keep a regular schedule. I would be paying for something I was seldom around to use. No, I’m going to give this running thing a try.”

That day I made a decision to join the ‘running wave,’ and a major turning point in my life had its beginning.

“Where are my old tennis shoes? The book says it is important to have good running shoes, but what if I don’t like it? I’m not spending big bucks on running shoes.” My wife replied, “Look in your old tennis ball bag. That’s the last place I saw you put them.”

I found the old tennis shoes, laced them up and headed out the door. “I’m going over to the junior high school. They have a track. I’ll see how I do.”

A couple of older guys were shuffling around the track, arms pumping, and sweat pouring off their faces. I waved to them, and set off to “smoke” them with my blazing speed at the 440 yard distance. Half way through, I was getting seriously winded, and by the ¾ mark I was bent over with hands on my knees. “Too fast I thought.” Running is supposed to be a pleasurable and exhilarating experience I was told. I was gasping. I rested for a few minutes, and then started again at a slow jogging pace. I finished the quarter mile, and felt slightly better. I decided I would jog for a mile to see how I did. As I finished the last of the 4 laps, I thought “I’m just not made for this sport.” My heart rate was at 180 bpm, and I thought I would collapse.

“I’m not sure I have the patience necessary for this effort,” I thought.

Just as I was preparing to walk home and forget the whole idea, one of the runners came up and introduced himself. He asked if I was just starting a running exercise program. I said “Was I that obvious? Yeah I thought I would give it a try. This is my first effort.”

He said “You’ve got to give it some time and build into it gradually. I am 51 years old and I just finished my 2nd marathon last week. Starting out was pure hell.”

Crap, I thought. This old guy was running 26+ miles, and today he did not appear at all winded. He told me that after a few workouts, jogging for 1 mile would become easy. “Pretty soon you’ll be at 5 miles without a problem, and then you will naturally strive for longer distances.”

He looked at my old beat up tennis shoes. “Do yourself a favor and visit one of the many running shoe shops around here. They will ask a few questions, and want to look at your old shoes to see how they have worn on the soles. They will talk to you about running style. By the way, running and playing tennis are altogether different. Good running shoes are constructed differently.  Ask about the difference.”

“What’s that all about,” I said. He replied, “Do you have a natural stride, or do you seriously supinate, or pronate?” “What’s that?” I said. “It would be better if you visited a reputable sports shoe store, and talk to someone there who is a runner.”

We shook hands, I thanked him for the input, and I headed for home thinking I may be getting in over my head. I turned my head as he was saying, “Stretching before and after a run is critical, especially for us old farts. A good stretching routine can do a lot in protecting you from accidental injuries. You need to stretch your hamstring, quad, and Achilles.” I waved over my head, and said “Thanks, I'll do some studying.”

I dragged in the front door and my wife commented, “How’d it go wing foot?”

“Real funny I replied. Hey if the 51 year old guy I met can do it, then so can I.”

I relayed some of the words of wisdom I had received from my elder at the track.

The next 6 weeks I could be found on the track every day. That first Saturday I had gone to a well known running shoe outlet. After some discussion with the clerk, I ended up about $75 dollars lighter in my wallet, but I had my first pair of running shoes. They were made by Brooks. They were snazzy blue and gold leather beauties. “Geez,” I thought, it would be a shame to get them dirty and scuffed up. Little did I realize that what I viewed as expensive shoes, were a fraction of the cost of what elite running shoes would cost years from now? I found out that one could easily drop $200 for shoes that had all the ‘bells and whistles’ for the serious runner.

My physical conditioning was improving rapidly. That mile slow jog now had become easy. “Still a long way from a marathon,” I muttered to myself. I had been fairly active athletically, and I never smoked. I was 20 lbs overweight when I started, but had lost 7 pounds in 6 weeks. Each week I would increase the running time and occasionally do light intervals where I would increase my pace for short spurts. I felt better, and was reading everything I could about the art and science of running. I subscribed to Runners World magazine, and started talking to runners I would meet on the road. This publisher actually had offices near my work. One day at lunch time I visited and picked up a bunch of brochures. Most of the employees in the office were runners, so we chatted some and I picked up some more tidbits of wisdom about my new hobby.

Toward the end of my next 6 weeks of training, I had easily....(well kind of easily).... completed 3 ten mile runs. I had started a stretching routine that in itself could cause some pain I learned. “No pain, no gain,” everyone told me. I started to look at nearby trails that would get me off the paved streets, and away from traffic.

My wife commented, “My friend told me that her husband takes a 12 mile walk every Saturday. It goes up into the hills, and starts just 1 mile from our house.”

I talked to the husband of my wife's friend, and he gave me the route. “It’s a twisty, gravel and rock path for about 2 miles, but you will get in some uphill and downhill running experience.”

With a crude map in hand, I started out from the house at a slow jog pace. The beginning of the remote trail began in a protected green space in the foothills near the house. I wanted to finish the run, so started the uphill part in a slower pace. I reached the top 4 miles later, and took in the view of the valley below. I was exhilarated. I took a swig of water, and started downhill. I knew the downhill part took extra alertness, and it was much harder on the knees. Running with head down, I took care running over the larger almost golf ball-sized rocks. I was doing fine when my stride came down on a larger rock. I winced in pain and fell to my side, and rolled into the grassy edge of the trail. I stripped off my shoe and examined the bottom of my foot just behind the toes. I felt a searing, sharp pain and I could not touch the spot without feeling faint from the pain.

I hobbled down the remaining trail sucking in air as my foot throbbed. Mobile phones were not common then, so I limped to the nearest pay phone I could find in a nearby strip mall. My wife finally drove up to rescue me from my predicament. That Monday I telephoned a podiatrist I had found in the telephone book. The phone book ad noted that the doctor specialized in treating running injuries.

After being poked and prodded, accompanied by near screams from yours truly, the doc told me that I had broken a Sesamoid bone. This is a cartilaginous bone behind the big toe. He told me I was to lay off running for 2 weeks. He pulled out a syringe with a large needle. He asked me to hold on to the arms of the chair, and clench my teeth. Before I had a chance to say anything, he had inserted the needle directly into my swollen foot. If I had been a 300 pound weight lifter, I would have ripped the arms off the chair. “This is an anti-inflammatory analgesic solution that should relieve the pain, and will last for several weeks while you heal.”

After I caught my breath and apologized for screaming a swear word beginning with ‘S’, I loosely laced up my shoes and thanked the doctor for inflicting more pain than I had ever experienced in my life. I gimped out of his office on the single crutch he had loaned me.

At 5 months my intense training had really shown results. I lost the 20 lbs of excess weight I had been packing around. I also began to get that feeling of euphoria and well-being that I had read about. It was called a ‘Runner’s High.’ For me it seemed to occur after about 2 miles into my run. It was a good feeling of healthiness, and definitely confirmed my earlier decision to begin my exercise program. As I now recall this feeling subsided, and went away after about 1 ½ years of serious running. I had been injury-free, kept the weight off, and always looked forward to my daily runs.

“I think I am ready to enter some of those 10K races,” I mentioned to my friend as we prepared for a lunch time run at work.

My running friend and I, over the next few months, ran several 10K organized races. I was pleased with my performance among my age group. I placed within the top 5 finishers in 2 of the races. My more experienced running friends advised that I start more interval training. The short burst of periodic speed during a regular run would exercise the heart, and if I kept at it, would improve my overall running times.

I worked at the interval training routinely over the next few weeks. Another neighbor runner friend and I signed up for a nearby Thanksgiving Day ‘Turkey Trot’ 10 K race. I felt my training had prepared me to run a PB (personal best). It was cold and foggy at the race venue, and we had wrapped our arms and torso with plastic garbage bags to keep the body heat in. I noted from the race board that there were 24 guys participating in my age group.

We shed the garbage bags at the start, and all were bouncing up and down to keep warm. The starter’s pistol fired, and we took off en masse to follow the 10 K race course markings. I was really hyped for this race, but reminded myself not to start too fast. “Save something for the final mile to the finish,” was the watchword.

I thought I had passed some runners who looked to be in my age group. I felt great and thought I could run the last 2 miles at an increased pace. I kicked into a faster pace with about 2 miles to go. Race onlookers on the other side of the course boundary ropes started cheering when my number came into view. They were holding race cards that gave the name, age, and number for each runner. “Go…..you’re winning,” shouted one onlooker.

There had been many younger runners way ahead of me, so I felt a spurt of adrenalin at the thought that I must be leading my age group. The cheering increased as I approached within site of the finish ribbon. I crossed the line, and immediately a race official wrapped me in some sort of thermal plastic blanket. “You took first place for your bracket,” he was telling me…..”Congratulations!”

I waited for my friend who finished about a minute later. We drank some orange juice together, and some other foul tasting electrolyte replacement drink. Announcements were now being made of the various 1, 2, and 3rd place winners of each age bracket, men’s and women’s. I did actually win my race, and took 3rd place in the next younger men’s age group. My friend came running up holding a piece of note paper.

“You ran a 36 minute 56 second time. Great race!” This was my personal best at this distance by more than 4 minutes. The interval training proved to be worth the training pain. I felt elated, and vowed to keep up my pledge to keep with my running program.

The winners crowded up on the makeshift wooden stage. I was handed a bottle of wine, and a 14lb Turkey as a first place finisher.

I would be a dedicated, serious runner for the next 18 years. I still traveled the world on business, and my running gear had a permanent section in my suitcase. I tried to run in every single foreign country I visited. Counted up they would number 77 at my retirement. They included runs on the Great Wall of China, a German Olympic track, racing a tug along the Rhine River, training with Olympic Pentathalete  runners in Rome, running with an ex-KGB Russian body guard during a stint in Moscow Russia, A path on the Yangtze River at the China Hong Kong border, old market squares of ancient cities in Europe, and many more memorable places. I ended up running 6 marathons, with a best time of 3 hours, 10 minutes.

As an old retired runner, unpacking boxes at our final home in the mountains of the west, I ran across my old running diaries. Plopped on our deck, under the tall pines, and enjoying a cold beer, I began to look through these ancient writings. Using a hand calculator, I figured out the miles I had run during my 20 years of dedication. The total came up just under 37,000 miles. “Yikes,” I said to myself. I had no idea.

I carefully packed away the old running logs. “For the next generation,” I said to my wife. In hindsight I suspect she was pleased that I had ended my ‘hobby.’ At times she had to suffer through a stage of being a ‘Running Widow.”

My last pair of good running shoes sat proudly on my Nordic Track tread mill. I suppose they would be unhappy at never again seeing the beauty of a remote mountain trail, or that run on the beach next to crashing waves.. We had been through a lot together, and our love was there to stay.

To all: Run well, and run safe.


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