For some reason, baseball and distance running attract romantic writers who rhapsodize about the spiritual purity of these two athletic endevours. Maybe because both are so inherently boring that watching or doing them inspires a lot of inner dialogue?
Anyway, I’m not one of those. I see running as a tool, a means to an end, not an end in itself. I came to running with a life long belief that it can’t be good for you, as everyone I knew who did it was always getting injuries or sorenesses, in their back, their knees, their feet. They all looked emaciated – “Mr. Aerobic”, I called them. When I was 12, I set out to get the Boy Scout merit badge for running; run 1.5 miles in 12 minutes or something like that. I did no training for it, just went with my dad to a measured track and ran around 6 times. What I mainly got from that experience was a strong desire to never do it again. I was breathing heavy, sweating, uncomfortable – not fun in any way.
I had conveniently forgotten that, when I was about 8 or 9, and had been suddenly thrust from third into fourth grade in the middle of the school year, I had demonstrated a fair bit of speed and jumping ability. There was a city-wide track meet for elementary schools. Each school sent a “track team”, membership on which was best on performance in various gym activities, like the 50 yard dash and the triple jump (stand and jump forward on two feet three times in succession.) Qualification was based on set standards, which were age, not grade based. So being younger than everyone, I got on the team for my 50 yd time and triple jump distance, which surprised me no end – I’d always thought I was a brain, and certainly not a speedster, like Tommy Zafaras, in my grade but two years older then me. He went 6.4 seconds to my 7.2. But there I was on track meet day, at Central High School, competing with the rest of the jocks.
Apparently, that made no impression on me, as I made zero effort in junior or senior high to do any running. I swam instead. Swimming you could do lying down. Any sweating you did was quickly diluted in the water, which also kept you nice and cool no matter how hard you worked. Skiing also attracted me; gravity did most of the work, and you got to wear cool looking clothes and obsess about equipment.
But here I am, 15 years into a triathlon career which requires running. My dream of doing triathlons eventually overpowered my disdain for running, and one day in March 2000, I found myself running 13 miles one Sunday while training for a half ironman. I realised I was still standing after two hours, and not feeling too bad about it – maybe doing an Ironman (26 miles) was (just) possible. So I signed up for Ironman Florida that November.
Since then, I’ve done a fair amount of running, maybe 14,000 miles or so, but I still have to cajole myself to get out the door every single time I go. I have never found any epiphanies while on the road, just work. But I like racing, and I like racing fast, and I’ve come to like racing Ironman, so I’ve had to do a few long runs (which I define as anything over 11 miles) here and there to get ready.
I also did a few “stand alone” marathons back in the early-mid ‘00s. Since my competitive gene is so strong, I had to prepare myself well enough to master that distance, which meant even more on longer runs. 2.5-3 hours, 15-20 miles, week after week. After my fifth marathon, I vowed, “Never again. I just don’t like running that much to do the amount and intensity of work required to perform well at that distance.”
And now I find myself with another marathon facing me in 8 weeks, the post-bombing running at Boston. Even though I have resigned myself to running slower than I know I;m capable of (if I were to train fully), I am still going to have to do a few long runs just to survive and appear respectable out there.
So, today, I trudged out the door looking at 16 miles, 2 hours and 15-20 minutes, with some hard miles stuck in the middle, as that’s the way my coach says to do it. But I’ve clarified the process enough to make it at least manageable, even if not enjoyable. I do a route where I can stop at a water fountain every 2-3 miles, so I don’t have to lug fluids with me. And I carry about 400 calories of gel with me, so I don’t starve out on the road. I’ll only run this distance in dry conditions, and mostly off the roads, on a bike trail or the backside of a parking lot.
But still … it’s a long run, and I’ve got three more even longer runs facing me when I get back from skiing, 18, 18, then 21 miles. I’m going to do them all, then run in Boston, and then … Never Again.