"365 New Days, 365 New Chances"

It was Martha's turn to write something on the little blackboard in the kitchen today, and this is what she wrote.  365 Days!  How true, and how timely, as 2014 draws to a conclusion and 2015 begins!

Let's take a few chances in 2015!

The End of the Old and the Beginning of the New

Temperatures turned unseasonably warm in Highlands today - up to 55 degrees by afternoon - and the sun was shining warmly, like summer lemonade.  Turnout for the Saturday group run was smaller than usual (because of holiday obligations, I think), but those who did show up were rewarded with almost balmy conditions.

Winter Solstice is over, Christmas is over, and a New Year will shortly be upon us.  Karen, always the comedienne, noted that the day seemed a little longer already.  And it is true - we are nearly a week closer to Summer Solstice; we have circled around the marker on this long out-and-back course and are heading home.  It seemed as if all morning I was talking to one runner after another about upcoming running plans.   Fred and Paul are running races in January and February, Martha and I are looking at February and April.  With the whole morning in front of me, I completed 10 miles - my first double-digit run since my marathon in November. 

It's a time for reflection and hope, a summing up of what we did and did not accomplish this year and the roads we are looking forward to running in 2015. Are we ready for 2015?  As children's author Lemony Snicket said, "If we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives."  I'd rather get out on the road, wouldn't you?  Why wait?

Recovery

It has been thirty days since my last marathon now, and I have to confess that recovery has been slower than expected.  I fared pretty well at first, but last week, in anticipation of a rained-out Saturday, I foolishly ran three days in a row.  And as if that wasn't enough, I went to the gym on the third day and did two or three sets of plyometric jump squats after my run.  What was I thinking? 

I guess I was thinking that I was in my 50s instead of my 60s.  Because I have often recovered so well from running a marathon back in my early 50s that I followed it up with a 5-K only a month or two later.  There is no way I could have done that this time, or if I tried I would have been reduced to 12-minutes miles.

But there is always hope, and progress, if a runner perseveres, and today I had a very nice 3-mile run, averaging 10-minute miles.  These days, that is progress.

Paul Weiss one said, "The distance race is a struggle that results in self-discovery.  It is an adventure involving the limits of self."  So I ask myself, in these weeks before Christmas as I stave off the familiar post-marathon blues, what did I discover during those long miles, crossing that big bridge to Manteo?  I suppose one thing I discovered is that I am an older runner, and so I must be a wiser runner. I also discovered that the deadline for early sign-up for the Flying Pirate Half Marathon in April was fast approaching!  So I signed up - we both signed up.  Because I have discovered that I must continue to have goals.  Or as our friends at the OBX say, "Run for a reason!"

A Runner's Thanksgiving

The day before Thanksgiving is a good time to remember all the things we have to be thankful for, which surely is why it is (in addition to Christmas) my favorite holiday.  It should be a Christian holiday - a true "Holy Day" - but alas it is only a relatively late American invention, although most other countries have harvest festivals (and winter solstice festivals) that are remarkably similar.  It is only natural to enjoy feasting on the fruits of our labors even if we are no longer especially an agricultural society.  At our house, we are gardeners, so if possible we try to include on the table some form of green beans or potatoes or some other vegetables preserved from our summer garden.

There is so much to be thankful for:  family and friends, the bonds of love,  a beautiful wife and daughter.  And as a runner, I am thankful for so much more.  In my case, the difficult completion of my 20th marathon at the age of 65, and my gradual recovery over the past two weeks, my longest run now just over 5 miles.  (The rule of thumb is not to run anything hard for 26 days after the race.)  So I am in no hurry to climb back up that mountain again; now is the time for scaling back on distance and speed, going to the gym, working on strength and flexibility, and simply enjoy running in Highlands this time of year down a Main Street filled with holiday decorations, and under these beautiful winter skies here in the mountains. 

The gifts of life, and good health, and fitness:  blessings we don't deserve.  And this special gift of running:  new friends made on the road, new roads to run on, new adventures, and a chance every day to rise up singing songs of thanksgiving.  Amen.

Across the Bridge

As I write this blog, the mousepad at my right hand - given to me by my daughter Katy - depicts a famous woodblock print by the celebrated Japanese artist Hokusai, his iconic "Mount Fuji Seen Below a Wave at Kanagawa."

Mount Fuji was a symbol of immortality for Hokusai, a follower of Buddhism.  In addition to his well-known "36 Views of Mount Fuji," he depicted many celebrated bridges in his woodblocks, for reasons that are not quite as easy to explain.  It was an unusual fascination, and his lovely prints of bridges are beautiful to behold. 

A bridge, after all, is a symbol of an afterlife, or another life, or another shore at least.  A span to another world.  We have several of these prints scattered around our house and they please me in a way that is hard to describe.  It is an optimistic viewpoint to think that by crossing to another shore we can begin anew; we can draw to a conclusion one ambitious goal and focus on another one. 

Isn't it that way with all things?  And now that we crossed that "celebrated bridge" to Roanoke Island it is time to think about what lies on the next shore.  In the next life.

Number 20

I admit it readily enough:  Number 20 did not go as expected for me.  Perhaps it is just being 65 years old now.  In my training leading up to this race, I did two 18-milers and several tempo runs at a much faster pace than the conservative 10-minute miles I started out running.  But after the halfway point, I just fell apart - my quivering quads, and that tight upper hamstring cramping up from time to time.  The report I published in our Newsletter says it all:

"Your humble editor once won the Floridiot award for running the same difficult marathon course a second time, long ago in his fast years.  (I seem to remember it was a place called Knoxville), hoping to better his time - one famous definition of insanity.  This was the third time I ran the OBX Marathon course, so I am thrice a Floridiot for forgetting to anticipate – no, remember – how rough nearly three miles on the unpaved Nags Head Woods Road and then across mulch-covered sand dunes could be half-way through a marathon.  Although I remained on pace for the first half, my quivering quads slowed me to a crawl by the time I reached that 80-foot bridge over Roanoke Sound at Mile 23, giving me a time of 5:14:42 for this my 20^th marathon (good enough for 7^th place our of 14 in my age group).  Still, this course from Kitty Hawk to Manteo is a beautiful one in a beautiful part of the country (rated in the top 10 by Runners World magazine).  And I have never regretted crossing the finish line one more time."

 

And it is true:  I do not regret having had the courage (some might say insanity) to run another marathon.  There were so many impressions I had as I struggled through those last few miles - running until I had to walk, and then running again - that will remain with me for a lifetime.  You make fast friends during a marathon you will never meet again, like that young lady with the pony-tail here with a group of girlfriends, one of whom wanted to run a marathon at the age of 50 for her "bucket list."  Or the tall blond who kept calling me the "Green Machine" (in my green Boston singlet) until she left me behind.  Or the man with the shaved head who had had brain surgery for epilepsy 7 months ago, lost 50 pounds, and was running his first marathon.  

And, incredibly, my little angel appeared - there is one in every race! - at somewhere around mile 17 or 18.  We heard her voice for a long time, and several of us turned out heads to see this young Asian woman singing at the top of her lungs along with her iPod - "Oh Mother Nature, Hallelujah, Amen, Amen," stopping to take photos of houses we were passing on the bay, wrapped up in her deliriously happy little world.  She passed us by and we ran in her wake for awhile, energized and grateful that, yes, Mother Nature was beautiful and we were all glad to be alive and running this race.

I thought she was singing, too, something about it "raining men," and a search of the internet led me to the lyrics I had heard, from the song, "It's Raining Men," by The Weather Girls:

"God bless mother nature
She's a single woman too
She took for the Heaven
And she did what she had to do
She taught every angel to rearrange the sky
And each and every woman could find her perfect guy

It's raining men, Hallelujah, it's raining men, Amen
It's raining men, Hallelujah, it's raining men, Amen."

I don't know if my little angel found her perfect guy or not.  But now I know who The Weather Girls are.  And I know I wasn't crazy.  Well, maybe just a little.

Was it worth it?  Why of course it was.  After beating myself up for a day or two, I realized that yes, I had crossed another finish line, a finish made more triumphant and glorious because it has been so difficult. And not only that, I had finished 7th out of 14 in my age group, about what I usually do, and on a tough course at that.  Prayers had been answered, the hard months of training had prepared me as much as I could have been prepared, and I spent most of the race thinking about the blessings of good health, strong legs, undeserved breath, a beautiful wife and daughter, family and friends, and the gift of running.  I am a supremely happy man.

And 20 is a nice round number.

Countdown

The countdown clock on the OBX Marathon website reads 3 days 19 hours, and I am beginning to feel that strange mixture of apprehension and excitement, as usual, that builds until we toe the starting line.  Will the 80% chance of rain really materialize?  Will we sleep well the night before?  Will we be stiff from driving 550 miles?  The answers are:  probably not, definitely not, and definitely yes.

But we are both ready and as Hamlet famously observed, "The readiness is all."  So I have posted this message from across the years from another playwright on the kitchen blackboard with that iconic photo of the bridge to Manteo.