Today I had a good run

It was when I was going up my final big hill today that the reality of it all hit me. All those sweaty summer runs? Those blisters on blisters? The getting up and trying yet again, even though my confidence had bit the dust and headed for cooler climes?  Even though my body screamed, “What’s the point?”

It was all worth it. 

Today I had a good run, my first good run in ages. It’s been a year at least since those soothing endorphins, those microscopic harbingers of joy and fortitude and more joy, coursed through my veins. I don’t know why my runs have been off. I can’t say exactly why I’ve bothered to continue running even while it’s been so unrewarding. All I know is this. Today all is right with the world. 

No. I didn’t win a race. No. I didn’t set some incredible personal record either. 

I had a good run. That’s all.

Finally. 

I started off the day thinking I would not have a good run. I haven’t been stretching as much as I should – in other words, not at all. I woke up this morning with aches in my lower back and my hips. That’s been happening a lot lately. I’m passed the half-century mark. Things ache now that never ached before. It’s just how it is. 

My foot has been bothering me the last few days. Since pounding out a pretty fast six-miler on the rail trail Thursday, I haven’t been able to walk barefoot without feeling some discomfort. By the way, when I say I ran fast, I don’t mean Kenyan fast. I mean my heart rate got up there and my stomach was aching and my breathing was labored.  I am not, nor have I ever been,  a Kenyan type of runner. In my heyday, I was a middle of the packer. Now? I’m just hoping to finish before the sweeps bus. I am many things, but I am not fast. 

So given all the aches and pains, I wasn’t even sure that I should run.  But I’ve been hitting the road now for close to forty years, and I know that there’s only one sure way to ascertain whether or not you should run, and that’s to get out there and try. I figured I’d give it twenty minutes. If I could make it through twenty minutes, I’d keep running. 

So I got on mapmyrun.com and planned a few routes. I like to have choices just in case it gets too hot and I need to cut my run short – which is how the whole summer has gone -- or I get bored, which never really happens. Runs don’t bore me. Not running bores me. 

I’ve run  -- no, sort of jogged -- the same 10-mile route the last three weeks. It’s beginning to wear on me, especially the two-mile section along a busy urban road lined with railroad tracks and fast food joints. Just the thought of running on those cracked sidewalks, and dodging ugly drive thru traffic made me want to crawl back under the covers. 

Instead, I called my mom. I asked if she’d be able to give me a ride home if I ran to her house. She was fine with that. I picked out a hilly pretty route that I haven’t done in more than a year, told her I’d see her in  a bit, and took off.  

I knew within seconds that I was going to have a good run.  Sometimes, you just know.  The air was crisp and dry. All the pain that I’d felt that morning left as soon as my feet began pounding pavement.  I turned up the old shuffle and Lady Gaga’s “You and I” came on. It’s a song about being away for a long time and being stronger and back and ready for more.  It fit my mood. I smiled. 

About three minutes into the run, I realized I was going too fast. I put on the brakes and slowed things down a bit. Running long distances is about meting out just the right amount of energy over just the right amount of miles. That’s part of the fun of distance running. You’re constantly gauging your internal systems – heart, lungs, muscles, and adjusting your pace to maximize your effort.  

As I ran today I couldn’t stop thinking about other runs these last few months. Most have been horrible. I don’t do well in heat and humidity and this summer’s weather did a job on me. 

Before I ran today, I looked back at a post from several weeks ago. I’d set off to run eleven miles, and had ended up limping through a painful steamy seven. I thought about that run, and others, as I made my way up and over hills much bigger than any I’d attempted in the last few months. 

I thought about all the times I’d wanted to give up.  How one day, I set out to the rail trail for a six-miler and didn’t even bother trying to run. I walked the whole way because I just couldn’t cope. There were other days like that, when I ran a little and walked a lot. There were days I got outside to run, and instead drove to the gym, because the idea of living with yet another bad run was something I just couldn’t handle. 

At mile eight of my run today I came upon the mother of all hills. Even when I’m in the best of shape, this hill scares me. It’s not too long, about a tenth of a mile, but it’s almost straight up. When I saw the hill, I gasped. I’d forgotten how steep it was. For a second, I faltered and slowed. 

Then, something marvelous happened. In a rush, my body did a quick check-in: legs, good; core, strong; heart rate, on target. It wasn’t anything I purposefully set out to do, this subtle jolt. It was a muscle memory thing kicking in from ages ago, a way I’d trained myself to think as my body trained for one marathon then another and another. It was my inner compass finding me again. 

And then, because there are no coincidences, Springsteen’s “The Rising” came on my shuffle. Listening to that beautiful tribute to the selfless men and women of 9/11 crushed any lingering thoughts of weakness and self-pity. Gratitude for every slow hot step I took this summer filled my head and fueled my legs. I made my way up, lightly and quickly and joyfully. I wasn’t Kenyan fast, but really truly, I went pretty fast, almost mid-packer fast.  

I crossed the next intersection and entered my old neighborhood. I remembered running on this same road back when I was twenty-two and daring to try to train for a marathon. Unfortunately, I never managed to get past eight miles. I didn’t have what it takes. I didn’t know then what I know now. I didn’t know back then about not giving up.

 

Today, I ran a fast and lovely ten. I listened to my breathing. I dreamed of life. I remembered to hope. I had a good run.