Paying it Forward

The other day I started mapping out my running plan for the next year. Culminating at the 2012 Chicago Marathon, I strategically placed other, shorter events on the calendar. Some are old friends dating back to when I was a real runner almost thirty years ago.

One of those old friends is the Cherry Blossom 10-Miler, competed each April in Washington, DC. Framed by the budding trees at their peak, It’s a beautiful setting and one I conquered a few times back in the mid 80’s. Amazingly, I once finished in seventy minutes—a pace I can only dream of now.

To get in the race, you have to enter a December lottery for a coveted spot. On the web site I noticed that you can also get automatic entry if you are a “streaker,” which is defined by completing the course at least ten times in the last forty years and not by the absence of clothing… You might have to be as old as me to get why that’s funny.

Since I couldn’t remember how many times I had actually finished I sent an email to the race “information desk” requesting my times. Expecting to hear back in a few days (or not at all), I was pleasantly surprised by an immediate response from the race director himself. My three repeats didn’t get me an automatic entry, but in thanking him I gave him a little more information about myself.

For several 10-Miler iterations, also in the 80’s, I had volunteered on the pre-race set-up crew—with a bunch of guys I saw exactly once annually—in exchange for a guaranteed entry for the following year. Our job was to secure the start and finish areas so that they were safe for the runners. I probably can no longer lift the bales of storm fence that we carried and then pounded into place for the first and last miles of the course.

Usually, our work was done on Saturday (before the race on Sunday), but the last few times we had to get started in the early spring darkness on Sunday morning. Early—like just after midnight—Sunday morning. It was a tough, physical job, but also satisfying beyond the race entry reward. We felt like we were doing something good for others. Something that most would never realize or acknowledge. And we didn’t need or expect anything more.

About an hour after his first response, I got another email from the race director. He was involved in the race even back then and he did remember our hard work. “Let me know if you don’t get in through the lottery,” he said, “I’ll have a guaranteed entry waiting for you.”

Pretty cool. I guess sometimes, when you least expect it, you get paid back for your good work. Even if I don’t have to take advantage of the offer it was sure nice to get..

Why

A friend recently asked my wife why I run marathons. She responded by saying that I do it “mostly for the fitness.” Sally’s right, of course, but while it is true that fitness is important to me—and I don’t think I could keep doing this without the fitness gain—I think that’s only part of the answer.

I have on my iPod a song by Melissa Ethridge entitled, “I Run for Life.” It’s her ode to those who have suffered from breast cancer, and I believe it’s a regular theme of the various Susan Komen charity walks and runs. Her lyrics capture the other part of Why better than I know how to express it myself.

The chorus of the song goes like this:

I run for hope
I run to feel
I run for the truth for all that is real
I run for your mother, your sister, your wife
I run for you and me my friend
I run for life

When faced with the long term challenge of incurable disease in my family I chose to do the only thing that I thought might help. I raised money, and lots of it, for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society—over $100,000 over time thanks to the undying support of my friends and relations. And I have done that by pushing my body close to its limits for sixteen years of endurance cycling and now two years of marathoning.

But those tangible results are not what it’s all about either. There is more to the words and phrasing above. Somehow I feel that exercising my spirit can raise the spirits of others to a higher place if even only in a very small way. Perhaps if I can get the most out of the gifts I have been given I can make a tiny dent in the world for others. Others who maybe can’t run a mile any longer, but look to find hope and strength in what I can do. When there is no cure, maybe there is hope and maybe I can be a beacon.

I don’t really know if I can or will or have made a difference to anyone, but if there is just a remote chance of achieving that goal I want to be able to say that I did the best I could.

So if you ask me why I am still running I will say that I run for us all.

I run for life.

A Plastic Potato and a Purple Pony

My nephew, Grant, will graduate from high school in a few weeks. When he was a toddler we used our fancy new 8mm video camera to capture some of the key moments of his childhood. A Christmas; some birthdays; an Easter visit at our house.

After a few years of watching (and taping) as all seven of our nieces and nephews grew up, we stopped using that camera. It either broke or we gave it away so we still have the tapes, but no mechanism to watch them. And that technology has long since come and gone.

But, then, there’s eBay. A week ago, I “won” an old camera that will not only play the 8mm tapes, but lets me import them to my computer and convert them to a digital format.

Anyway, two nights ago (and sixteen years later) there on our Mac was two-year old Grant carefully opening packages, singing “Rudolph,” and gleefully enjoying Christmas Day, 1995. The big moment, though, came when he opened one of the gifts that Sally and I had for him. “Tata-head,” he shouted, “Tata-head, Tata-heeeaaad! Tata-head, Dad. Tata-head, Annie!” He stood on the couch on his tip-toes and with all his heart, “Tata-heeeaaaadddd!”

It’s a plastic potato, after all.

And that episode reminded me of the time a few years prior when we gave Bridget, our oldest niece, a miniature (also plastic) “My Little Pony” of an unnatural, bold, dark purple shade, a shiny light purple mane, eyes two big for its head, and stars and sequins on its back. That gift, quite literally, forced the breath to escape from Bridget’s little body. She was speechless (unlike Grant) and momentarily unable to breathe as she held her precious friend tight to her chest.

Would that we could carry that unabashed joy throughout our lives. It’s hard to celebrate so easily and so simply when combined with our happiness we face challenges, and sickness, and sadness, and pain. My sweet young loved ones had not yet witnessed those things so their pleasure was uncomplicated by anything other than the moment itself. It’s a shame that they have and will experience times of sorrow, but such is life for all of us.

I’m pretty good at seeing light through darkness, but today (thanks to Grant and Bridget) I am going to try a new mantra when the clouds roll in. It goes like this:

Tata-heeeaaadddd!

The First Few Weeks

I coach a girls travel soccer team. They are high school freshmen, and many of them now play for their school teams (yay!). Unfortunately, a few that tried out did not make it.

After their initial disappointment we collaborated and came up with a plan to get them more ready for next year’s opportunity. The plan includes running for fitness five times per week (among other soccer-specific activities).

Fifteen-year old people, typically, do not do that. In fact, when I first suggested the idea to Ash, Dana, and Jenny the concept was met without much excitement or any belief that it was a good idea. But, to their credit, they are mostly sticking with the plan, and they are finding out what I already knew.

1. The first few weeks are the toughest.

Whether you’re training for your first 10k or marathon or just trying to get more fit, the first first two weeks of your running program kind of, well, suck. You don’t feel the gains, but you feel the pain. The miles seem long and tedious—even when you only have one or two to do. You feel like you’ve accomplished something when you finish each run, but when you start the next one you still dread it. You have to trust that they payoff will be there, but you aren’t quite sure.

2. But it will pay off (I promise).

Unprompted, all three girls have come to me recently and said they are starting to feel a real difference now. Their stamina is increasing; their confidence is growing. Their bodies have adjusted to the new demands, and are beginning to thrive.

And, in our first game of the spring season, all three had excellent showings. One of their goals was to keep up with their teammates who are playing and practicing five days per week at school, and in some ways the three were even better than I had envisioned.

3. Once you get through this part, you want to keep going.

Yesterday was one of the first beautiful/warm evenings of the season. I texted the girls and said, “what a great night to get out for a run.” Since they have many competing priorities, the girls can easily be distracted from the plan so a little motivation/reminder from me doesn’t hurt. Within seconds of my text, here’s what I got back from Ash:

“Dana and I are already done.”

We have transitioned from the coach saying this is a good idea to the girls knowing that it is.

The first few weeks are over.

A Small and Needed Breakthrough

For the past few weeks running has been a chore. After almost two full years of jumping out of bed early each day, the bed started winning. The pull of those warm covers became just too great to resist, and I gave in.

On some days I was still able to get a workout done by going in late to work or running afterwards. But, on other days, well, I just didn't go at all. This failure worked on my conscience every day. As I've said before, my life always goes better with exercise. The reverse also seems to be true.

I was starting to think that I was just getting too old for this, but when I went to bed last night I made a resolution for this morning. Run 6 miles. No matter what.

When the time to go came around, of course, it was cold and foggy. Perfect. Not. The same covers were tugging at me, the same stiff joints were calling out. The Today Show looked interesting.

I had to be somewhere at 9:30. The time I had to get it done was ticking away. It was now or maybe later or maybe not.

Tights. Two layers of warmth up top. Shoes tied. iPod on. Gloves on. Garage door up. Garage door down. No turning back. Watch starts. I'm off.

For the first three miles I felt old and tired and slow, but then things started to change. I started to feel loose and fast. Okay, maybe not fast, but certainly loose. Not young, but not terribly old either. I got lost in the fresh air and the cool mist and some favorite music. And the next three miles went by in no time at all.

I made it. One step at a time. It has been a good day since then, too.

This afternoon I let the sheets pull me back in for some nap time together. We're on good terms again. This may be a nice compromise.

Location:Ashburn, VA

127 Hours

I’m always looking for a good, inspirational story, but I’m not sure I was ready for this one. After sampling the first couple of chapters—thank you Kindle for the nice feature of “sample ebooks before you buy”—of Aron Ralston’s, “Between a Rock and a Hard Place,” I took the plunge into an amazing tale of life and death and survival.

For those of you who don’t know, Ralston is a young man who became trapped in one of Utah’s “slot canyons,” and had to make the decision to amputate his own arm in order to save his life.

Slot canyons are other-worldly and beautiful places to hike and climb. They can also be very narrow, and that explains how Ralston became trapped by a huge boulder. Accidentally dislodged, the rock crashed onto Ralston’s arm, pinning it against the canyon wall, and isolating him in a place where no one knew he was or could be.

After five days of gradually starving and dehydrating—and exhausting all other possibilities to extricate his arm—Ralston freed himself using only his body weight, materials from his climbing gear and backpack, and a somewhat worn down utility knife (think LeatherMan).

To say Ralston exhausted all possibilities is a bit of an understatement because he has immense experience in both climbing and rescue climbing. The ingenuity he demonstrated to craft a pulley system to potentially move the boulder is not something most of us would be prepared to do in the same situation. For virtually the entire time he was trapped he pounded away at the boulder hoping to break enough off to allow him to pull himself free.

Yes, I was inspired, but not by the central story. Ralston is a man who sets lofty goals and then pursues them relentlessly—even after his accident. At the time he became trapped he was most of the way through his plan to climb all of the 53 Colorado mountain peaks that are over 14,000 feet in elevation. Yes, lots of people have done that. I’ve even climbed one of the easier ones (Pikes Peak). What made Ralston different? He went after all of them during the winter. Alone. He is the only one.

As Ralston videotaped (he always carries video and still cameras with him) his goodbyes to his friends and families there was sadness, but very few regrets. That’s because he has lived his life to the fullest extent possible. A life of abundant living, fully lived, fully experienced. That’s what I hope for.

The movie, “127 Hours,” is in theaters now.

All I Want for Christmas

All I want for Christmas is a little more energy every morning. Just a little. I’m not asking for much, just enough to get me up out of bed when the alarm goes off the first time, which is just slightly more than the amount needed to hit the snooze button four times in thirty minutes.

Once I get up I’m perfectly ready to go. Okay, well, maybe not perfectly. Once I’ve done about eight minutes on the treadmill I’m perfectly ready to go. Okay, well, maybe not perfectly.

Most days in the winter go like this:

Hear alarm at 5:45. Hit the snooze button at 5:45:01. Repeat every ten minutes until 6:15. Get up. Finally. Get dressed to run. Finally. Walk down the steps sideways because your ankle hurts going front-ways. Avoid the lumpy carpet at the bottom of the steps because twisting it there is why your ankle hurts in the first place.

Walk down the basement steps to get to the treadmill. Your ankle already feels better. Turn off the back light so you can’t see your annoying shadow when you’re running. [This is no joke. The only thing more annoying/scary would be a mirror in front of you…] Turn on the front light to further diminish the shadow and to ensure that you don’t break your shin on the spinning bike or the weight bench (to be discussed in another post).

Turn on the TV, start the the DVD, and put on the wireless headphones. Turn the treadmill on at just more than a walking pace. Gradually speed up to a decent running pace--just more than a walk but too fast to actually walk.

Hang on to the bar tight until you’re sure that you’re not dreaming. Think the first tenth of a mile is way too long. Think how much longer four miles will be. Realize that making the treadmill go faster won’t get you there any sooner because your GPS watch only counts steps indoors. In other words, the faster you run on the treadmill the less distance your watch thinks you’re running. [This is also annoying but too hard to solve so early in the morning.]

Finish a mile and feel awake. Grab a hand towel to wipe the sweat away. Watch the hand towel go under your feet when it falls off the treadmill display. Think that looking down to follow/save that hand towel is never a good idea. Realize that you have a whole stack of hand towels and only one face.

Keep running because now you’re in a rhythm. Two miles. Increase pace. Three miles. increase pace. Four miles. Add a quarter mile--and go faster than you really should--so that your watch will tell you that you’ve run four miles and not 3.98.

Done.

Slow it down. Cool it down. Turn your watch off. Turn the treadmill off. Turn the TV off. Turn the DVD off. Put the headphones in the charger. Find the hand towel. Turn the front light off . Turn the back light on.

Drink (water).

Treadmill Tip #1: When stepping off a treadmill to change the DVD remember to actually pause the treadmill so that when you step back on it you won’t end up flat on your face wondering how you got there. Trust me on this one.

Know that you just enjoyed what you did and be convinced, for sure, that tomorrow it will be easier to get out of bed.

Well, it will be if I get what I want for Christmas.

Cold Start

When I go to bed at night, my body is warm and loose and it’s telling me that it can get up and run in the dark and cold the next day. I agree. I am 100% sure I can do it. I have the right clothes for it, after all, and I really enjoy running in cold weather. Really, I do.

But, oh, those first few minutes are tough. At 52, it’s always a little tough to get started, but when it’s cold, well, it’s more than just a little bit tougher. It’s even kind of hard to get up and on the treadmill that’s situated in a comfortable basement with a TV and central heating. Rolling those covers off is way harder than rolling them on.

But I can only run in place for so long without going anywhere so I’m looking for motivation. I find it in my most basic principle: live a life of abundance. Fundamentally, that means do everything I am capable of doing today.
I’m pretty sure that I don’t have another 52 years, and maybe only just another 15 or so to run, bike, and remain as physically active as I am now. So I want to explore my limits and try new things as often as possible.

I always hope that I can look back on my life and know that I made the most of it. And not just by exercising, but learning, growing, feeling, and doing as much as I can.

The forecast is calling for about 35 degrees tomorrow morning at 6:00. I think I’ll have a cold start—and a warm shower afterwards.

I’ll let you know how it goes.