13 Miles in My Own Running Shoes

It was not the race I wanted. That event began fifteen minutes earlier, and I watched with a mix of envy and disappointment as its runners passed the starting line. Now, as the loud speaker blared, “Runners, on your mark,” I had the sinking feeling that even my second choice race may end in defeat.

Setbacks provide a painful reminder of our frailty. They discourage us because they prevent us from achieving our goals on our timetable. And surrendering, accepting the setback as fatal, can embitter us and even cause us to quit. These are the choices I have wrestled with lately.

I signed up for my first full marathon back in the spring. I gave myself plenty of time to train, dedicated myself to a tested training program, and enjoyed the highs of new distance records. Then a confluence of events and their ramifications caused a setback in the last six weeks of training—too little time to regain what had been lost, but too much time to think about what might have been.

So, this morning, I watched the full marathon runners rather than being one of them. While that was disappointing, I started my day and my half-marathon run anticipating defeat.

Note to self: salad bars may seem like a healthy eating option, but the perception only holds true if no food-borne illnesses lurk among the leafy greens and vibrant toppings. This note to self is brought to you by my lunch a day before the race. And it explains why I woke up sick to my stomach. This is not the way you hope to feel on the morning of a long run (or any morning, for that matter!). As I considered the hand I had been dealt, the temptation to fold grew.

The beginning of the race was awesome. The event was so well organized and the woman handling the PA system had the right mix of information, enthusiasm, and humor. (Thanks, Rochester, NY!) My first mile flew by, and that feeling of freedom and confidence remained until the third mile. At that point, the route began about a two-mile incline—not a hill, exactly, but a subtle incline. By the fourth mile, I was seriously considering stopping and asking the next police officer to call my wife.

As I argued with myself, some commotion ahead fought for my attention. A man with a bullhorn was calling out the time and pace at the five-mile mark. I decided to see where I was at that point, expecting to be so far behind my normal pace that quitting would seem logical. But, to my amazement, I was slightly ahead of my normal pace. How then, I thought, could I quit? Yes, my stomach was empty, but my hunger turned its focus on the finish line.

Long story short, I finished the 13.1 miles. I did not have the energy to sprint to the finish line, and hearing my name over loud speakers never sounded so good. Still, I ran the race that the day (and the days preceding it) had set before me.

Setbacks suck (pardon my language!), but for us mere mortals who run, the challenges we overcome are often individual. Yes, we run in a competition surrounded by other runners and even an occasional well-wisher, but we overcome our own limitations of time, of fitness, and of emotional roadblocks.

My first marathon is still out there. Yes, I’m disappointed that I did not meet it today, but I’m satisfied to have overcome the physical and emotional challenges that tried to sideline me. 26.2, your time is coming. Setbacks do not force forfeit; they merely change the arena of victory.

Image: 'Running Shoes' http://www.flickr.com/photos/36531501@N00/3414064391

Shoelaces, Connections, and Running

First, the title.

I’m a runner. Running is supposedly an “easy” sport. You put on sneakers (aka. “running shoes”) and do what you’ve been doing ever since you mastered walking. Sure, you can make more of it—and when you truly train for something, you do—but at its essence, it supposed to stay simple.

However, the step between deciding to run and actually running, tying my laces, creates a challenge for me. If I don’t get the tension just right, running just feels wrong. Tied too tightly my laces restrict blood flow to and from my feet. Tied too loosely my laces allow my foot to flop like a single sock in a clothes dryer. Only when the connections are correct can my run feel anything close to comfortable.

That idea, connections, has always intrigued me. As a result, connections often consume my thinking when I’m logging miles.

That’s what this blog will be about: running, thoughts I have while doing it, and anything else that seems connected, no matter how remotely, to it. Postings here will be mentally drafted during my runs, and, as time allows, crafted to communicate to any interested readers.

Don’t expect deep insights (though I’ll try) or just another runner logging his mileage and weather conditions. Most posts will fall somewhere between the profound and mundane—at least that’s the goal. You can let me know via comments how close I come to either end of the spectrum.

[And if you are a runner who wants to know my mileage and other mundane details, find me at dailymile.com (kdwashburn) or at nikeplus.com (kdwashburn). Those are the my sites of the mundane.]

Until next time, may your laces allow you to keep moving forward.