So you can kick my butt now, but that wasn't always the case.
One of the 'opportunities' of growing older is the ability to accept that what you once did fast and often you are now lucky to do at all. I had been a serious ultra-runner for ten years and with rare exceptions would finish races in the top 10% of the field. Sure, there would be bad days but they were few and far between. Topping a hill during a training run and waiting for my friends to catch up was routine... I enjoyed the opportunity to absorb the scenery, and would wait until the last runner topped before taking off again. Most of the time the last up the hill were 'girls and/or the old guys... "It ain't fair. The last person up the hill never gets a chance to rest," said Slow Fred. Fast Fred would now be one or two hills ahead - he didn't like to wait!
On one particularly fast Saturday run, the recently departed Paul Peek and I were stride for stride. Paul was never a front runner but no one in our group could stay with him on a rocky downhill. The worse the footing, the faster Paul would run. On this day I cast aside all fear for life and limb and hurtled down the hill... until my big toe hit a protruding rock and I went ass over teakettle. When I finally stopped rolling I knew I had a serious problem. The foot was throbbing and I was reduced to a sideways waddle. After I arrived home, Annie took one look and said "Broken". She's an RN which means I automatically assume I know better than she when the subject is medicine... after all I am an ultra-runner. She insisted I go to the emergency room for X-rays but as I suspected - no break - just a stubbed toe. I gloated for the next two days... On the following Monday, the radiologist called to explain that film had been misread - it was a displaced fracture... Annie gloated!
The foot never healed correctly and attempts to regain the speed and endurance I had previously taken for granted always begot further injury - my brain kept writing checks my body couldn't cash... my fitness departed faster than my waistline grew, and grow it did. I was now, as a former running companion described, two Steve Harveys.
Segue fifteen years ahead... Very few of my former peers are still running let alone running ultras... the new crop of runners are where I was in 1980, only they are faster, better equipped, and still know they are indestructible and I am now on the trail behind them... Several of them have no idea who I am. A few who do know me also recall that until a few months ago I was fat! They all know I'm old! This is my first 'long' outing with them.
I'm only now reaching the bottom of the hill and some are already milling around at the top. One of the slower 'girls' is jogging ahead of me and I'm hoping that she starts walking soon or I will be alone when I crest the hill... I'm feeling a little melancholy knowing that when I reach the top I will have little chance of resting and will fall farther behind unless the terrain is treacherous. What I may lack in speed these days I make up in sheer audacity on the downhills... that and the assist gravity affords the portly! I have discovered Paul Peeks secret. Today the trail is overgrown and rocky - I know I will be able to pass most of the others within the next mile. The melancholy is temporarily replaced by recollections of past glories... Thanks Paul!
One of the 'opportunities' of growing older is the ability to accept that what you once did fast and often you are now lucky to do at all. I had been a serious ultra-runner for ten years and with rare exceptions would finish races in the top 10% of the field. Sure, there would be bad days but they were few and far between. Topping a hill during a training run and waiting for my friends to catch up was routine... I enjoyed the opportunity to absorb the scenery, and would wait until the last runner topped before taking off again. Most of the time the last up the hill were 'girls and/or the old guys... "It ain't fair. The last person up the hill never gets a chance to rest," said Slow Fred. Fast Fred would now be one or two hills ahead - he didn't like to wait!
On one particularly fast Saturday run, the recently departed Paul Peek and I were stride for stride. Paul was never a front runner but no one in our group could stay with him on a rocky downhill. The worse the footing, the faster Paul would run. On this day I cast aside all fear for life and limb and hurtled down the hill... until my big toe hit a protruding rock and I went ass over teakettle. When I finally stopped rolling I knew I had a serious problem. The foot was throbbing and I was reduced to a sideways waddle. After I arrived home, Annie took one look and said "Broken". She's an RN which means I automatically assume I know better than she when the subject is medicine... after all I am an ultra-runner. She insisted I go to the emergency room for X-rays but as I suspected - no break - just a stubbed toe. I gloated for the next two days... On the following Monday, the radiologist called to explain that film had been misread - it was a displaced fracture... Annie gloated!
The foot never healed correctly and attempts to regain the speed and endurance I had previously taken for granted always begot further injury - my brain kept writing checks my body couldn't cash... my fitness departed faster than my waistline grew, and grow it did. I was now, as a former running companion described, two Steve Harveys.
Segue fifteen years ahead... Very few of my former peers are still running let alone running ultras... the new crop of runners are where I was in 1980, only they are faster, better equipped, and still know they are indestructible and I am now on the trail behind them... Several of them have no idea who I am. A few who do know me also recall that until a few months ago I was fat! They all know I'm old! This is my first 'long' outing with them.
I'm only now reaching the bottom of the hill and some are already milling around at the top. One of the slower 'girls' is jogging ahead of me and I'm hoping that she starts walking soon or I will be alone when I crest the hill... I'm feeling a little melancholy knowing that when I reach the top I will have little chance of resting and will fall farther behind unless the terrain is treacherous. What I may lack in speed these days I make up in sheer audacity on the downhills... that and the assist gravity affords the portly! I have discovered Paul Peeks secret. Today the trail is overgrown and rocky - I know I will be able to pass most of the others within the next mile. The melancholy is temporarily replaced by recollections of past glories... Thanks Paul!
1 comment:
Hi Steve,
In the mid 1980's I was a marine stationed at the now defunct MCAS Tustin and didn't even know there was such a thing as an ultra marathon. The longest distance I ran routinely was the 3-mile run for the PFT and once-upon-a-time (1984)I could do 16:34 at that distance.
I didn't run at all for 19 years from 1987 til 2006 and was shocked at how many "steps" I had lost in the interim. I got back into running to train for a day-hike up mt. Whitney with my church men's ministry in 2006 and have been increasing my distance, although not my judgement ever since.
I DNF'd most recently in the Running with the Devil 50 mile at mile 37 when I literally just couldn't take the heat any more. The Badwater folks were out in force there, and I saw Fred and Xy. I'm gonna throw my hat in the ring (does that date me?) for the Mt. Dissapointment 50 unless I've waited too long to register.
I will see you around I'm sure,
-Grant
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