On a recent weekend, I gathered with 200 people in a field in Plymouth. I fastened glow-in-the dark bracelets around my wrists and then two more around the shoulder straps of my tank top.
Many people stretched, if intermittently. Some chatted with friends. Some sat on the prickly grass, waiting for 7 p.m.
And then, transmitted over a bullhorn, came the national anthem. We stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, hands over our hearts. I had to hold back a chuckle of irony: As top athletes stood on podiums in Beijing, this was my Olympic moment in a grassy Wisconsin field.
Then the shot rang — was it a shot or a verbal bullhorn command? I’m not sure — and we began to run.
I have a love-hate relationship with running. The reasons to hate it are obvious. It’s hard, especially when you’re tired or even thinking about dehydration. It can be monotonous, which may lead to pesky fantasies about stopping. And did I mention that it can be really hard?
The reasons to love it, though, are many. It’s a great way to maintain good cardiovascular health and theoretically helps keep runners lean and trim. (I am, however, a firm believer that you can run all you want and if you eat too much afterward, you’re not going to be thin.)
Running requires no fancy equipment, save a good pair of shoes and climate appropriate clothing; it can be done almost anywhere; and it offers a view of the world that you can’t get from a car.
One of the best benefits of running is the rhythmic foot-after-foot that slows thoughts, opens the mind and puts issues into proper perspective. Maybe it is just endorphins, but I always feel a little wiser during a run.
Race or run?
I felt that love-hate tension during the recent run from Plymouth to Sheboygan, the Full Moon Half Marathon. It was hard. I started too fast. I wanted to stop a million times.
But I kept on and, in the foot pounding and heavy breathing, my mind rolled around the ways that running teaches life lessons. Here are some of my favorites:
• Keep your own pace. Find your own rhythm. One of the most common problems with group runs/races is the impulse to start fast, to get pulled along and try to follow the speedy ones, and then to conk out.
At my first half marathon last year, I forced myself to slow down and tried to look the other way as dozens of runners sped past me. I summoned all my fortitude to take short scheduled walk breaks. During the last mile, however, I steadily trotted past many of those who previously zipped past me.
In life, as in running, I do better when I can tune into myself, read my needs and respond to them.
• There are two choices — to race or to run. To race is to focus on the end and to think about things like time and place. To run is to enjoy the steps not as a means to an end but as an end in themselves.
In long-distance running, these two perspectives are seemingly not mutually exclusive; most people enjoy the run but still focus on achievement in time, endurance or pace. But I vacillate between my competing impulses.
I aim to emulate Hajime Nishi, pioneer of the “eco-marathon,” who has been called “the world’s most accomplished runner” by the Wall Street Journal. He entered the Guinness Book of Records after becoming the first person to run seven marathons on each of seven continents in seven months in 1997.
Nishi spends races running, walking, taking pictures, making videos, talking to animals and cheering other runners and volunteers. And he aims to be the last runner to pass the finish line within the allotted time and with the biggest smile.
“I enjoy the wholeness of the marathon instead of its competitiveness,” he said, according to a 2007 press release from “Go Green” about a marathon in Dubai.
“You have to deal with yourself by overcoming your ego, which misleads you to compete against others. Some people call it an accomplishment to establish a personal record by passing other runners. I call it small, ego-oriented running for nothing.”
That sounds about right to me. But then there’s my ego shouting, “You going to let HER pass you? You can’t be the slowest or the last! Hurry up, slugbait!”
This is an ongoing struggle and I relish the chance to challenge myself over many miles, many landscapes and many years.
• You can’t avoid manure, but you can control your reaction to it. When you’re running past fields of corn, soybeans and grazing cows, there’s going to be animal waste. And the smell can last until the next county road.
We can choose to be sickened or we can embrace the smell. When the gag reflex starts, we are called to open our minds, let go of our preconceived notions of what is nice and what is foul, and accept. Just accept. Only then can we transcend the poop and keep our stride.
• Sometimes all you have is the moon to guide you. Because my recent run began at 7 p.m., I spent a good hour running in the dark. There were times when I could barely see the ground ahead. (Those glowing bracelets, by the way, were useless.)
It was magical and quiet. I hoped for firm footing and told myself, “Surrender. The illusion of control has fallen away.”
No fancy watches or GPS systems could help in the dark. It was time to trust the road, my feet and fate.
• Be a mensch. There are rotten people in the world and I’m sure that the people one finds at long distance running events do not constitute a perfect microcosm of the world’s population. But mostly, people are kind.
Never has a runner been rude to me, even when I started in front though I belonged farther back. I have perfect confidence that if I were to fall, someone would stop to help. And I want to inspire that same trust in others.
Then there are the non-runners. In addition to the cheerers (usually family members and friends) posted throughout most routes, there are usually tables set up every few miles with water, energy drinks and some kind of ingestible — energy bars or goo (a nutrition gel that is easy to digest and used by many athletes).
At the Full Moon Half Marathon, there was even a woman offering Vaseline on a large, thin wooden board, which she held out like a tray of appetizers.
When you’re thirsty or tired or chafing, those volunteers are nothing but wonderful. I often feel a tinge of guilt that they have served me (yes, there’s always a little guilt) as then I smile and thank them. The more races I run, the more pleasure I get from thanking them.
One more bit of wisdom can give me the push I need: Looks can deceive. Well-toned thighs and high-end running clothing do not guarantee a good run. And sometimes the schlub wins the day.
Loading ...