It's hard to adequately describe a really good run
Sometimes a run turns into a surprisingly good run with no warning. You glide along effortlessly with all systems in working order - nothing aches, no stomach cramps, no having to stop and pee or squeeze the sphincters tight so you don't pee your pants - or worse. The planets are all aligned and life is good and the running is good even if it is a race where you don't feel like you trained enough. It's like a good dream where you are running and your feet barely touch the ground and you are passing all of the people who in some way, have done you wrong or so it seems. I have plenty of dreams where I can't get my legs to run, but a few great ones where I am just passing everyone.
Such was the case in the Moab Half Marathon this year. It was one of those rare runs that, while hard to describe, you know it when it happens. I had trained pretty well but had been sick the week before with a cold that left me feeling pretty crappy for an entire week and a headache still lingered along with a cough at night. And then there's this thing about my redefining my purpose of being AKA retirement. But every year for the past 15 years or so, I have been going to Moab with many of my good friends and Bruce (earlier on the kids went with me). I missed a few years - one year my mom had a stroke and another year she died....she seemed to go to great extremes there for a while to keep me from running in Moab. And then last year I broke my leg - I didn't run but went down to be an athletic supporter for my friends. The Moab trip with friends is a great tradition and I hope we can all do it for many more years.
This year we headed down despite poor Bruce having a lingering cold - worse than mine was. We went to bed early and on the day of the race, I got up feeling crappy but took a shower, and against my better judgment, a few ibuprofen and a few Sudafed. The race started at 10 so I figured the ibuprofen had a few hours to leave my gut instead of eating a hole in it when my GI tract became immobile because all attention would be directed to my flying legs. I ate a muffin with peanut butter and banana and a few cups of coffee and we headed for the bus - dressed warmly anticipating the cold canyon wait at the start.
Surprisingly it wasn't so cold at the start. We headed to the outside bathroom (not one of the standard porta potties) that not many people knew about and got in the short line. This is what is typically done - you get in a potty line, do your business, and then get back in line. There's the usual groups of people - everyone excited about the run, talking training, IPOD play lists, and comparing shoe types. The cool thing about this race is that it is everyone's race - all shapes and sizes. It isn't just the tiny athletic people - there's chubby people, short and tall people and even some with only one appendage. There's a guy dressed in dress pants, white shirt and a tie and a man in a kilt (oh how I love men in kilts). There's also two girls in pink ballet tutus. There's a young guy with a large head of blond unruly curls without a shirt bragging about how he once ran naked somewhere. And there's our group with sweatshirts brought at the thrift store so we can throw them off by the side of the road when we get hot. Our group consists of nurses, a cardiologist, a lawyer, two pharmacists, an engineer, school teachers and one junior high student. We range from 16 to....me! From the picture, I bet you can't guess the occupations and for this weekend we are just runners and moms and dads. The wind blows out Ruth the lawyer's contact lens and Trip, one of the pharmacists finds it after we have looked for ten minutes.
Finally we are ready to start. I drink some Gatorade and eat a small power bar that promises to have 20 grams of protein, and we all get in line in various places - ready to go. Some of us run together but usually everyone runs their own race. I have my supply of sports beans ready - my favorites are the grape colored ones and I also have some caffeine ones.
I can never run this race with an IPOD. The scenery is way to beautiful to block out. I want to take it all in. We start at a slow pace till everyone gets over the start and then it becomes easier to pass people and move around. One rule I have is to never decide how good or bad I feel until I have run for 30 minutes or three miles, whichever comes first. But I feel great at the start - right from the start. I listen to the conversation around me and it is all happy chat. Everyone around me seems to just want to have fun.
There's a water stop at mile three and I swallow some beans and some water and then some Gatorade. I walk through the water stops and then get going. I try to keep the same pace as long as it feels comfortable and I can breath OK. There's a pink ipod body lying on the road but I don't stop to pick it up. Like everyone else, I think someone else will.
At mile 6, the engineer catches up with me and says, "We aren't going to make it under two hours. There's no way we can keep up this pace".
"I don't care", I reply. "I just want to feel good. There's a hill ahead and I head up it still feeling surprisingly light on my sock wadded feet. The hardware in my left ankle (Screws and plates) is not detectable at all. The sock wad I can ignore for now.
At mile 9 my legs got a little weary but not enough to make me walk. I had no trouble keeping my thoughts positive...they just seemed to naturally appear in no order but it wasn't a struggle to keep my mind on what I was doing. I just did it. I could hear the drums in the distance...there would be some drummers at mile 11 and I already was anticipating that primal sound of those drums booming off the red cliffs. The Colorado river was on my right side.
Mile 11 and the drums. My eyes fill with tears as they always do at this beautiful and fitting sound in the canyon. I thank the drummers for being there. It inspires me for the last two miles on the road into the park in Moab and the finish line.
I keep my pace. Usually the last two miles in Moab are hard and I can't keep the pace up. It is along the highway and it seems to go on forever. But now I can see the Denny's restaurant where we turn and there is only one more mile.
After we turn, someone yells "Hey Austin" (I am wearing my shirt from the Austin Marathon) I am counting on you to bring me in". Such pressure. But this helps me to keep running.
I cross the finish line. The time clock says 2:02. I am happy with that time cause it was better than I thought. Later I found out that my chip time was 1:59:57. I did beat the 2 hour time after all, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that I had one of those rare runs where life and my body were all in sync. And no matter what my time, I am always grateful that I can do this.
Such was the case in the Moab Half Marathon this year. It was one of those rare runs that, while hard to describe, you know it when it happens. I had trained pretty well but had been sick the week before with a cold that left me feeling pretty crappy for an entire week and a headache still lingered along with a cough at night. And then there's this thing about my redefining my purpose of being AKA retirement. But every year for the past 15 years or so, I have been going to Moab with many of my good friends and Bruce (earlier on the kids went with me). I missed a few years - one year my mom had a stroke and another year she died....she seemed to go to great extremes there for a while to keep me from running in Moab. And then last year I broke my leg - I didn't run but went down to be an athletic supporter for my friends. The Moab trip with friends is a great tradition and I hope we can all do it for many more years.
This year we headed down despite poor Bruce having a lingering cold - worse than mine was. We went to bed early and on the day of the race, I got up feeling crappy but took a shower, and against my better judgment, a few ibuprofen and a few Sudafed. The race started at 10 so I figured the ibuprofen had a few hours to leave my gut instead of eating a hole in it when my GI tract became immobile because all attention would be directed to my flying legs. I ate a muffin with peanut butter and banana and a few cups of coffee and we headed for the bus - dressed warmly anticipating the cold canyon wait at the start.
 |
| Our group getting ready to go to the start of the race - I think I am the oldest one there! |
Finally we are ready to start. I drink some Gatorade and eat a small power bar that promises to have 20 grams of protein, and we all get in line in various places - ready to go. Some of us run together but usually everyone runs their own race. I have my supply of sports beans ready - my favorites are the grape colored ones and I also have some caffeine ones.
I can never run this race with an IPOD. The scenery is way to beautiful to block out. I want to take it all in. We start at a slow pace till everyone gets over the start and then it becomes easier to pass people and move around. One rule I have is to never decide how good or bad I feel until I have run for 30 minutes or three miles, whichever comes first. But I feel great at the start - right from the start. I listen to the conversation around me and it is all happy chat. Everyone around me seems to just want to have fun.
There's a water stop at mile three and I swallow some beans and some water and then some Gatorade. I walk through the water stops and then get going. I try to keep the same pace as long as it feels comfortable and I can breath OK. There's a pink ipod body lying on the road but I don't stop to pick it up. Like everyone else, I think someone else will.
At mile 6, the engineer catches up with me and says, "We aren't going to make it under two hours. There's no way we can keep up this pace".
"I don't care", I reply. "I just want to feel good. There's a hill ahead and I head up it still feeling surprisingly light on my sock wadded feet. The hardware in my left ankle (Screws and plates) is not detectable at all. The sock wad I can ignore for now.
At mile 9 my legs got a little weary but not enough to make me walk. I had no trouble keeping my thoughts positive...they just seemed to naturally appear in no order but it wasn't a struggle to keep my mind on what I was doing. I just did it. I could hear the drums in the distance...there would be some drummers at mile 11 and I already was anticipating that primal sound of those drums booming off the red cliffs. The Colorado river was on my right side.
Mile 11 and the drums. My eyes fill with tears as they always do at this beautiful and fitting sound in the canyon. I thank the drummers for being there. It inspires me for the last two miles on the road into the park in Moab and the finish line.
I keep my pace. Usually the last two miles in Moab are hard and I can't keep the pace up. It is along the highway and it seems to go on forever. But now I can see the Denny's restaurant where we turn and there is only one more mile.
 |
| The last two miles - I was still feeling good. |
After we turn, someone yells "Hey Austin" (I am wearing my shirt from the Austin Marathon) I am counting on you to bring me in". Such pressure. But this helps me to keep running.
I cross the finish line. The time clock says 2:02. I am happy with that time cause it was better than I thought. Later I found out that my chip time was 1:59:57. I did beat the 2 hour time after all, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that I had one of those rare runs where life and my body were all in sync. And no matter what my time, I am always grateful that I can do this.
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