2014: Year Of The Runner

You won't find evidence of it on any officially recognized calendar, be it Chinese, Zodiac, Mayan or Lunar but 2014 was the Year Of The Runner.

It was the year You became a Runner

Of course you had run before that, many times, as exercise and for distances you once thought improbable if not impossible and for events in which you never believed you would compete.  You could even say you were in love with running long before the year of the runner began.  But somehow, this year was different.  This year you ran, all the time, everywhere...

You ran in the winter, in the frigid pre-dawn, a light strapped to your forehead illuminating your billowing, frozen breath, your nose and toes tingling, but your legs and arms warm and willing.

You ran in flurries of snow, the world blanketed in white as if dusted with icing sugar by a Master Baker and you, a Canadian in her element running to fully enjoy the gift:  "It's snow.  We have to run in it."

You ran at daybreak and the reward for battling the demon voice in your head that told you your bed was a better place to be that morning was the sunrise that painted your run a thousand colours

from a vermilion so deep you wondered if you were imagining it

 to a tangerine so brilliant you almost stopped moving so you could admire it.

Almost.

You ran on oval tracks.  You ran intervals.  

You did speed work and the only prize offered for the tedium of the task and pain of its performance was the sweat pouring off your face, the lactic acid burn in your calves and quads and the calamitously pure knowledge of threshold that leaves you feeling at once completely bereft and utterly refined.

You ran to be leaner, stronger, faster. You ran a personal best time for 5k, then for 10.




You ran a longest distance and then ran further still.




You ran up hills and down the back side and then you did it again (and again and again).









You ran in the sweltering, summer east coast humidity on tree lined country roads,  drinking in the heavy oxygen rich air, your lungs giddy at the prospect operating at sea level, your legs recognizing the bump in the grade of fuel from regular to premium.














You ran in foreign lands, world capitals and National Parks .










You ran on lonely mountain paths with only the craggy granite peaks and dusty scrub oak to witness your efforts.




You ran on the shores of lakes and rivers on dams, over bridges, beside canals and through hard wood forests.

You ran cuz: Peach Cobbler is irresistible

You ran cuz: Apple Pie is a religious rite 

You did a 1/2 Ironman cuz Indian cuisine is so delicious

You ran a marathon cuz bacon, cheese and fried potatoes 

(I have more words but are they really necessary?)

  

In the Year Of The Runner you indulged less, far less.  You made sugar a weekend friend, then a Holiday friend, then only Holidays with a religious component.  Soon you and sugar will no longer be on speaking terms at all.  But in the year of the runner when you were weak you made sure you paid for you peccadillos in advance and then performed your penance on footpaths until all evidence of your indiscretions was completely washed away.

You ran with friends, because of friends and for friends.  

You found that running friends are the truest friends.  

You made a thousand new running friends in one day.  You felt a lifelong bond with each new runner friend based on one fleeting interaction that came to you in the very moment you needed to hear it: From the marathoner you leap-frogged all day in Ogden at mile 23.1, five kilometers left and the Boston qualifier math tipping against you for the first time that morning:  "You've been running strong all day, you can't give up now."

From the tri-athlete you passed at mile seven of the half marathon in the Bear Lake Brawl, you still running with power and purpose, a good four minutes ahead of last year's split: "That's a strong pace you've got.  Keep it up!"

And finally from the anonymous runner on the MVC when he caught you at the Daybreak intersection, just as you slowed your pace after sprinting for an entire mile and thinking to yourself "that was fast, too bad nobody was around to see it": "You. Are. (expletive deleted) Fly-ing!"  

That last one made you smile and the took all the pain out of the seven mile return run home.




You ran to find God, to talk to him.  You ran because some of your most sincere prayers come amid the mental and physical concentration required to maintain a sub nine minute/mile pace.  You ran in the solitude of a deserted, sagebrush lined bike path and thought of it as your cathedral, your temple among the tumbleweeds and your communication was pure, uncluttered by extraneous stimuli.






You ran in races, marathons, 1/2 marathons,10Ks.  You ran after you swam and biked.  You volunteered at races so others could run and race too.





You ran to wring stress from your sinews to empty your head of thoughts that vex, to sweat out your frustrations rather than give them voice: "that mile was me not scolding Elaine for not caring, that mile was me not being bothered by Steven for not rinsing the hand mixer when he makes his protein shakes in the morning, that mile was me not telling Raechel what I think about her recent purchases of (... ! ), that mile was the dried apple cores nathan is collecting under the couch and the clean clothes he stuffed under a pile of dirty clothes in the closet instead of putting them away, that mile was for overdue book fines, late fees and kids' school projects I found out about the night before they were due."  You ran until all the jumbled ideas in your brain were placed in order and addressed. You ran until your mind could focus only on the run, the sublime satisfaction of performing the act and the peace it provides.

You ran simply because you could.  You ran because you have lungs that breathe air and transfer it to blood cells, a heart that beats in rhythm, pumping the oxygen in those cells to muscles that convert that fuel into kinetic energy, contracting and moving levers, forming fulcrums that bend and lift resulting in forward motion; the entire process of producing one stride an unspeakable miracle that you perform 10,000 times an hour. Because you can.




You ran because it left you feeling lean and energetic, your toned muscles taught with the promise of potential like a loaded spring anticipating release or a crouching feline waiting to pounce.

You ran because you craved that sensation of being locked and loaded, primed and prepped, the knowledge you had of your untapped capacity and ability.

You ran and because you ran you felt alive, alert and maybe just a little bit dangerous, not a person to be taken lightly or trifled* with.

(mmm trifle)







You ran because you loved the way it made your clothes fit and how it changed the face that you saw in the mirror and for the way the face looking back at you made you feel more confident, more capable, more accomplished.










You ran for Namaste, because this Universe is a Divinely given gift and the best way to thank the Giver is to fill your lungs with its atmosphere and coat your skin with its dust, to immerse yourself in the clay of creation, to feel the Earth under your feet and recognize the light in it by sharing yours.


You ran to experience that strange euphoric calm, that state of Grace that's sure to follow a full-measure running effort.  It's a sensation atheists will tell you is merely a chemical response, a vestigial evolutionary reward from the central nervous system, a remnant gift from our hunter gatherer ancestors whose survival depended on the heightened physical condition required to accrue their daily calories. But believers recognize it as your soul speaking to you and what it's saying is "Good job, here's your pat on the bum.  Thank you for feeding me today."





You ran  because at the base of your identity, when you strip away all the things you do adequately or excel at but only with great effort and concentration, you are an Athlete.


It's your divinely given Talent of Silver and how can you bury that in the earth?














You are  a runner because it makes your heart happy, because running is one of the Spiritual Gifts with which God blessed you and you feel wise to have recognized this fact and embraced it.

You ran and you ran and you ran...

You ran so much that you made me, a cycling agnostic run.  I ran because you ran, because it was so clearly something you loved, so much that it's become not so much what you do, but who you are .  And because of that I wanted to experience it, not out of jealousy or because I felt left out.  And not because it's something that you're better, stronger and more proficient at than than I could hope to be. I love that you have interests that don't necessarily involve me, that you have a profound inner strength that comes from nobody and nothing else.  That core strength (not talking about your belly here, but that's kinda nice too) and independence is one of your most attractive qualities, I actually find it quite sexy, but this is not the time nor venue to discuss that.  I wanted to do it because I love you and anything you care about this deeply I want to experience, even if I'll never quite understand it.

So I ran and I was clearly an outsider in my Costco shoes, billowing gym shorts and hoodie.  I wore sweat bands and used words like 'jogging' to describe what I was doing and you somehow managed not only to not roll your eyes at me but to encourage me.  You deftly walked the tight rope of giving helpful hints without sounding critical, of sharing insights and pro tips without making me feel resentful and picked on.

So I ran, and it hurt me, multiple times.  There was the initial 'my muscles don't know how to do this' pain and I got past that, but then there were the injuries, torn calf muscles (yes plural), a pulled hamstring, shin splints.  Each time I tried to embrace this activity my body told me in less than subtle ways that running wasn't for me.  My scoliotic spine, mismatched leg length and general lack of anything resembling running form probably didn't help matters a bit.  But you kept loving it so I kept trying to love it too and finally, after many a failure to launch I began to... not enjoy it per se, but to respect it, to appreciate what is required to do it well, how running involves your entire body and how you feel every step, how unlike cycling there's no coasting, no tucking for a descent, no cashing in on a negative grade with a helpful tailwind.  When you run you earn every kilometer and you pay for every mile.

So I bought my first pair of real running shoes:

Strava told me they require a nickname so I call these: 'Saucony', which is Navajo for: 

'Runs with a limp'

I ditched the cotton hoodie that weighs ~5 lbs for some more appropriate outerwear and I began correcting people who used the J-word.  My runs got longer and more intense until I was waking up an hour earlier than normal so I could put in eight miles before work, then ten, then a half marathon... the farthest I'd run in almost twenty years.  And the more I ran, the more I understood and the more I looked forward to next chance I had to strap on my shoes and pound the pavement.

I grew to enjoy the way that running forced me to pay attention to my body to learn to distinguish between discomfort that is a natural result of physical effort and pain that means an injury is imminent, how it forced me to listen and to respond to what my muscles, joints and tendons were telling me.  I was reminded of when I first started cycling and how on descents I would ride my brakes, sit upright in the saddle, white knuckling my handle bars and generally surviving the experience rather than celebrating it.  Then a friend (Rodney) told me "Trust your equipment."  I read the same thing in bicycling magazines and heard it more than once on rides with other amateur cyclists.  When I finally took the advice it completely changed the way I rode and opened entirely new avenues.  I enjoyed myself more, felt more confident more proficient. The more I ran the more I learned to trust my equipment, to listen to the mechanics of my machine and respond accordingly.  The result felt like the purest kind of communication, a one person conversation of a thousand voices all speaking at once but being understood completely.  I felt deeply connected and, I realize this sounds hokey but just because it sounds hokey doesn't make any less true, in touch with something deep inside myself, something intangible but very real, my soul I guess would be the most accurate way to describe it.

Running felt Spiritual to me, like Religion in its elemental form.

So I guess what I'm saying is I hope your Tribe has room for one more member and that my place at the table doesn't make you feel crowded because I've been running.

And I kinda love it.

                                                                                2014
                                                     Year
                                                     Of
                                                     The
                                                     Runner

xo -S (me)