Yesterday, a friend and I ran the Gold Country 5K. It was my second 5K so far this Spring, which is the first year I have run any timed race since 1986. I ran 29:04 in my first race a little over a month ago, and improved my time to 28:35 in yesterday's race. It's still a far cry from my high school pace, but a twenty year break will do that to you.
I have had ambigous feelings about running as a fitness activity over the years. My dad was an avid runner when I was a kid. This was during the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Jim Fixx and his book popularized jogging for the masses. I remember going out with my dad. We would start out together, then he would take a longer route, while I'd take a shortcut and we'd meet back at the house around the same time. Even then, I didn't exactly like running. I found those outings rather tortuous, to tell the truth, but I did it because I liked doing stuff with my dad and it made him proud of me.
I was generally pegged as a brainy nerd type as a kid, but I had a few dsitinctively non-nerdlike personality traits and the dogged , though mostly fruitless pursuit of athleticism was one of them. Over the years I tried a lot of sports -- softball, basketball, diving, downhill and cross-country skiing, gymnastics -- at which my performance ranged from poor to mediocre at best. I stuck with running longer than any of the other sports I tried. I'm not sure why, because I never did actually enjoy it. The fabled "runner's high" has remained entirely theoretical and mythological for me. The best part of going for a run is how good it feels when you stop! So how can I explain what kept me joining the cross-country running team from 7th grade all the way through my senior year in high school?
Obviously, my dad was a major factor. I loved cheering him on in the many races he entered, including three marathons. If there was a one or two-mile "fun run," as there often was for the kids, I would frequently participate in that. It was something I could share with my dad, and it was cool getting an official race t-shirt. Inspired and encouraged by my dad, I joined the cross-country team in 7th grade with my best friend Kara. After a year or two, she lost interest, but some masochistic urge kept me coming back for more. Of course it helped that the boy I had a crush on was on the team as well, but I like to think it was my own persistence that was the main factor. I actually put in some pretty serious effort. In high school, the season started before the school year began, and one year, I even attended grueling week of "running camp" the team organized. We stayed in a big cabin somewhere in Monticello (just outside the Twin Cities) and ran two or three times a day. Although I was never varsity standard, I did eventually work my way to a respectable "middle-of-the-pack" rank. One of my proudest high school moments came at the end of the season my junior year, when I earned a letter for cross country running. Our coach, a nerdy (but extremely fit!) math teacher known to one and all as "Kleyman," paid attention to everyone, not just the varsity runners, and took care to keep a lot of fun and variety in our practices. It's to his credit that the team usually had over 100 members every year.
I finally dropped out of cross-country halfway through the season my senior year. I had always wanted to be in the school musical, but rehearsals conflicted with the cross-country team's practices. For some reason, a lot of the kids who went out for cross-country were music and drama types, so Kleyman was frequently battling to keep from losing his best runners to the lure of the stage. He didn't like to lose anyone for any reason, but everyone knew he harbored a special disdain for those who chose the musical over the team. That's why I didn't tell him when I decided to audition. I didn't want to miss my last chance to be in the show, I didn't think I'd really be missed much, but I underestimated Kleyman. I got a part, but before I could break the news to Kleyman, he found out somehow. I'll never forget the evening he called me up at home to tell me how disappointed he was that I would drop out of the team. Although I loved being in the musical and have never regretted my decision to take that opportunity, I felt horrible to think I had let him down.
That was 1986, and I didn't run again for almost 20 years. Well, I did try to get started again several years ago, but gave up when I developed knee problems a few weeks later. Then this Spring, for reasons unknown, I was suddenly taken with the desire to hit the pavement once again. I was getting bored with the elliptical machine at the gym, and the balmy Spring weather and proximity of the idyllic paths around Minneapolis's Chain of Lakes lulled me into thinking that this time would be different. In some ways, I was right: things are different this time. Recent improvements in shoe technology seem to be holding the knee problems at bay for the time being, and weighing thirty pounds less than I did at the time of my last attempt makes a difference, too. I know now, too, that running is no longer something I will be able to share with my Dad, and that makes me sad. I'm pretty sure he's still proud of me, though. One thing hasn't changed, however: the best part of running is still stopping. Guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.
Posted by ldfs at June 4, 2006 1:23 PM | TrackBack