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| Me, sprinting to the finish of the 1980 Mount Marathon race in Seward, Alaska. |
AFTER
32
I should have written about this weeks ago, when it was
still fresh on my mind.
Of course, there are many things I should have done sooner
than I did.
For instance, I should have never waited 32 years from the
time of my first running race as an adult until the time of my second.
But that’s what I did. After running my first race on July
4, 1980, I waited until June 9, 2012, to run my second race.
Then a week later I raced for a third time.
Now it’s possible that I’ll race again soon, and in the fall,
if my body holds up, I may even attempt to run a relay leg in a marathon.
We’ll see.
The possibilities boggle my mind, whereas the reality of it
all seemed like an impossibility only a year ago.
Let me explain, starting with a brief history lesson—a
personal history:
·
I grew up liking to run. I was good at it.
However, although I exhibited good endurance, I rarely ran long distances or
for long periods of time. I made lots of one-, 1.5- and two-mile forays, but
rarely anything more. I ran track in ninth grade; in my only meet, I finished
second in the 440-yard dash, a gut-sucking torture event I was pleased to never
run again. In high school, I ran in P.E. and exercise classes, but that was
about it. If I remember correctly, I was timed in under 9 minutes for the mile
and a half.
·
Mainly, I enjoyed other forms of exercise—playing
football or basketball with friends, mountain bike riding, and hiking—lots and
lots of hiking, especially in the mountains—and that’s still my favorite.
·
Then in 1980, during my first summer as a
journalism intern for the Peninsula
Clarion, my editor, Ronnie Chappell, asked me if I’d like to run the Mount
Marathon race and then write about it. I said I’d do it, and proceeded to
participate, despite almost zero training prior to the race, and despite having
never even been on the mountain before—in fact, without even knowing how to GET
to the mountain. On a 71-degree Fourth of July, I survived, and even
out-sprinted another runner to the finish line to capture 139th
place in 1:28:58. That race remains for me one of the most difficult things I
have ever done. It hurt, and it took a lot out of me.
·
But I never thought it’d be 32 years before I
raced again.
·
In the early 1990s—only 3-4 years into my
teaching career—I signed up to complete the biking leg in a local triathlon. Two
miles from completing the big loop that comprised my leg, my bike got a flat
tire; I had to push it up a long hill to finish. Other than that, however, I
did not compete in a single biking, skiing, paddling or running race from 1980
until 2012.
·
To begin with, I professed not to enjoy running.
But that was only partly true. Running, I began to think, really didn’t like
me. I had back problems, and running exacerbated them. My teaching job kept me
sedentary, and I did little to fight the inertia, so my physical limitations
grew. I still hiked every summer, but each spring I had to endure a painful
transformation from desk-bound slug to peak-bound mountain goat. And each
autumn I allowed the process to reverse, binding me once again to my seat and
bad habits.
·
In 2010—the year I got divorced after nearly two
years of separation—I joined the Kenai Peninsula Outdoor Club and began working
out with a personal trainer, Darin
Hagen. I was not fully committed to either, but I didn’t give up. Starting
midway through 2011, I ramped up my participation and dedication, strengthening
my core and losing 35 pounds and half my body fat in the process. And late in
that year I met Yvonne, a member of the KPOC and an endurance athlete who
enjoyed my company enough to keep walking and snowshoeing and skiing and, eventually,
running with me throughout the winter and right up to the present time.
·
Actually, the “running” part of our relationship
originated when I said I wanted to try the adventure-racing event called
“Bushwhack This!” In order to participate, she said, I’d need to do some running—and
that included some training runs. She took it easy on me at first, I think,
running with me slowly on Ski Hill Road and at Tsalteshi Trails, and then, at
higher speeds, down the Skyline Trail, the Slaughter Gulch Trail, the Fuller
Lakes Trail, the Red Shirt Lake Trail.
·
Just before “Bushwhack This!” I decided to run
my first five-kilometer race—the June 9 “Run for the River,” part of last
month’s Kenai River Festival. I set a goal for myself of running under 30
minutes, and I finished in 26:13.
·
A week later, on June 16, Yvonne, Mike Crawford
and I competed in the 12-hour adventure race. There was very little running—mostly
biking, trekking and paddling—but there was certainly exertion, and it was
definitely a race. We finished fourth overall.
·
Now I’m looking at another couple of local 5-K
races, and I’m considering committing (and maybe, in fact, I already have
committed) to running the middle leg in the Equinox Marathon in Fairbanks in
September. Times have certainly changed….
So what was my first race—after 32 years—like?
I was nervous, gathering with a herd of milling real runners just before the race began.
I remember needing to pee. I remember wondering how I would do compared to
people I knew who ran all the time. I remember hoping that I wouldn’t embarrass
myself, that I wouldn’t have to walk part of the course, that I wouldn’t get
hurt, that I would have enough reserves at the end to finish strong. I also remember
that first stretch of sidewalk running before the big right turn onto East
Redoubt Avenue: I found myself moving more swiftly than several of the people
I’d been worried about—some older, some younger, some male, some female—and wondering
whether I was starting too swiftly.
By about the mid-point of the race, I’d passed numerous
other runners and had not been passed a single time. Again, I was concerned
about my pacing. I knew nothing about race strategy. Would I flame out and find
a flood of other runners zipping by me in the final few hundred meters? I tried
not to look back, only forward.
Then my calves grew tight, and my shins began to ache, and I
thought about walking but was too stubborn to allow myself to do it. So I
continued to focus on runners ahead of me and try to reel them in, passing one
after another.
Far up ahead was Liz Cristiano, the very fit mother of a
friend of mine and only a year older than me. I pushed myself to catch her.
With a half-mile to go, I had her within 50 yards, and at about that same time
I came up on small thin girl of perhaps 10 or 12 who was dressed in pink and
white and was walking with her head down as if dejected or upset. After I
lumbered by her, she looked up and began to run again, easily passing me—only
to suddenly stop a few seconds later and resume walking, allowing me to go her again.
She was the only person to pass me during the entire race. And about a minute
later I passed Liz, and then I made the big left turn back onto the sidewalk
where we’d begun and accelerated. As best I could, I sprinted to the finish
line from about a hundred yards out.
I knew that things had changed for me. I knew I could do
more and do better.
And I will. Barring an unanticipated disaster, I will.
It just seems like a shame that I waited 32 years.
Maybe old dogs can
learn new tricks.
