Honest Running

The night before running the Chicago Hot Chocolate 15k, my wife, family, and I got into a debate about the surge of marathon participation in the United States. Without disclosing who said what, the familiar points and counter points came up about the glut of runners who either do not train or who take an inordinate amount of time to finish. Now, personally, I think more, smart, participation is healthy for the sport of running in the United States. I understand that many marathon runners are not connected to the truly competitive world of running, and some run the marathon without regard to the very real risks that they are presenting themselves with (not the least of which includes nip destruction and shorts shitting). But is people sign up for a marathon and it takes them 7 hours to finish this, in no way, inhibits faster runners' ability to race and compete.

But what does irk me- very seriously- are people who don't consider that there are runners faster than they are- who take racing more seriously- and they clog up the race by either disregarding race organization and treating the event like a social hour.

Two examples from the 15k. Because I have been traveling so much the last two months, I was unable to submit my half marathon time in order to be placed in the first corrals (A and B). As such I was relegated to corral C. Fine. My fault, I'll take responsibility. Besides, the corrals aren't very densely packed, so I can just juke my way through the crowd once it thins out. I stood at the front of my corral, trying to keep warm, and eyeballing the next corral to make sure my plans were still on track. Lo and behold, there were a number of people in corral C with corral K bib numbers. They were standing around in groups with other runners, who did have corral B bibs, socializing and prepping their iPods for the race. These were runners who were going to be going well over 10 minute per mile pace or slower running in a corral reserved for runners who had submitted a race time that was substantially faster than that. This blatant disregard for the race organization meant I would have more runners to try to work around than originally planned. And this was not just true for me, but for everyone else who was in their respective corrals and following instructions (you know, that thing we are taught to do in kindergarten). Fine. Whatever. The volume of these runners cannot possibly be high enough to warrant my outrage. Just run.

Corral C started 8 minutes behind corral A and 4 minutes behind corral B. I started out the race at six minute pace along with a host of other runners. We approached corral B at Lower Wacker drive just before mile 1. I did not anticipate coming up on the next corral so soon, but that was fine. Where things got tricky. See, the back of corral B was made up of runners who had clearly decided that their starting position was an acceptable one to run with their buddies in lines 4 abreast. And the decided to do this at a pace well below the recommended pace for their corral. So that meant I was greeted with a line of runners who, admittedly, were playing better defense than the Chicago Bears this season. I was hemmed in and unable to push ahead easily. Instead I was required to jump side to side and slip through any available gap in their foosball formation. While I was able to escape this clusterfuck that was this grouping, I came to sympathize, slightly, with people who complain about the surge in clientele for road races.

Now, let me say I sympathize in a very limited fashion. For one, I think anyone who wants to run a race that is open to the public should be allowed to run. This is America, after all. By the same token, when people sign up for a race I think they should be able to do two very simple things. First, they should be honest about their abilities in relation to others in the race. Lying to get a better starting position is something that should never be done. By lying to get a better start position under either the delusion of grandeur or the hope of getting out of the mid-pack congestion people cause problems for runners further up the line. And I'm not talking about people like me who get placed in the wrong corral. I mean everyone who honestly assess themselves and place themselves in the appropriate positions commensurate with their abilities. And second, people should carefully consider their reasons for racing. If the reason is to set a new personal best, great. Get in a good position to do that that doesn't put you in over your head. If you want to race, make sure you're in a corral with your desired competition so long as you have the credentials to warrant such placement. If your reason is to run with your book club and try out for NFL defensive line positions, then please get back in the pack.

"When You Become a Stranger Again"

At some point or another I think most of us experience moments when we feel like a stranger to ourselves. Some of us wake up and realize that we have gone down a path we never thought we would chose. Others feel as though the words they speak are not their own. But for me, the moment when I felt like I could no longer recognize myself was when I started running again. On that first run back I felt like this body was not mine, that it no longer submitted to my desires.

To contextualize this moment of existential (non)crisis, let me just say that running has been critical in my life for the better part of a decade now. I started running Cross Country in Middle School as an alternative to competitive swimming (and to get some social time with my friends at the time). Those early years of running were nothing spectacular, and I regularly lost to girls. But I stuck with it for some reason or another. By my freshman year of high school I had a break out year and I became a fairly competitive high school athlete. I was never a top competitor, but I was also pretty serious about what I was doing. I'd stand on the starting line and empty my body of everything but the shuddering of my heart and that cold burst of anticipation before the sound of the gun. My summers were 6 am runs and a feeling of accomplishment.

The summer before college was one of the best summers for running I had ever had. I finally started logging miles, my training runs were rejuvenated by a new sense of purpose. Now, I had never had high hopes for running beyond college, but I had always thought that I could be a competitive DIII runner. There was no career in it for me. Just the joy of competition. But college didn't pan out that way. After a promising start to my college career, I languished. And with each disappointing month, perhaps interrupted by an occasional PR, I found myself laden with a growing sense of anxiety. By my second year I found myself filled not with the shudder of a heart or the rush of cold anticipation, but a tied knot where my stomach should be. I would lose sleep wondering if the next race would finally bring me out of mediocrity and elevate me to the level I had always thought I should be. But it never happened. Running lost its innocence and it became, instead, a new stressor in my life. Though I'm glad I ran in college as it added tremendously to my life in many, many ways, I can't help but feel that by the last year competitive running had finally siphoned off the joy. The only problem with that thinking is that it was competing that made running fun for me. I didn't want to head out the door without a purpose. What good was a 9 mile run if not to improve and to test myself continuously?

After my last (and most disappointing) collegiate race I promised myself that I'd begin competing for myself. I purchased a new jersey top to serve as a new uniform for my next phase. And yet the motivation was gone. I just couldnt bring myself to get up and out the door. I watched all summer as my girlfriend rekindled her love for running and improved with each passing week. And inside I stayed. By the time grad school started up I just didn't care about running. It brought me no pleasure and I saw no reason to do it. The jersey and the shoes remained empty in the back of my closet and I just stayed still.

Then, in the last few months I began to miss that post-run feeling. That sensation of being completely awake and light. So I started to run. And that's when I felt like a stranger.

My rhythm was off. My arm swing felt awkward and my strides felt like plodding. Everything seemed completely out of sync. That unity of mind and body I had grown so accustomed to was gone. For the past month I have struggled to put together more than 2 days of running in a row. And while my motivation has gotten better, I think what's keeping me back most right now is the fear that I'll never come back to the way it used to feel. While I had never been a top athlete, I always knew I could run well when I needed to. If I lost a race, it was because the other guys were just better than me at that moment, and I had faith that I could improve through training. But after four years of languishing in the middle of the pack, and now a year of gradual decay, I have to find my way back to running again. I want nothing more than to be able to turn back out sub-5 minute miles on runs when I feel like it. I want that turn over to come back. I want to feel like I own my body again.

The title of this blog is taken from a Jet's to Brazil Song entitled "You're Having the Time of my Life." This post was originally published on another one of my blogs, but has been reused to open this blog.