19 February 2016

Hills

n. 1) a natural elevation of the earth's surface, smaller than a mountain; an incline, 
especially in a road 

Hills are also known as the bane of many runners' existence. Certainly the bane of a new runners' training regimen. 

When I decided to go out for cross country in high school, I wasn't really looking for anything strenuous. I played hockey outside of the school system and a friend suggested we try out. I think he had his eye on a girl. I figured why not. It's just running (how hard can it be). And better yet, it was running in the woods, which in my mind put me way ahead of the curve since hiking with the family and running in the woods was a huge part of my childhood. 

To say I was wrong would be an enormous understatement. 

Cross country track turned out to be little more than a slog of endless miles in shitty weather capped by weekly runs on trail courses where I had the distinction of finishing dead last in nearly every race. I sucked at track. 

I'd love to say that even though I was terrible at track, I truly found joy and freedom in running for its own sake. 

Nope. Not that either. I hated track. And it got worse when cross country ended and winter track started and races were indoors, doing endless laps around a track in a gym. And I hated it the following year when, for some indecipherable reason I signed up again. 

Looking back, I honestly do not know how I lasted three years of running track with how bad at it I was and how much I disliked it. And it's even further beyond my ken why I ever came back to it. It may have something to do with the fact that I grew up in Hopkinton, Mass. (in case you're not a runner or otherwise familiar with the geography of New England, my hometown's claim to fame is the start of the grail of distance running - the Boston Marathon) and then proceeded to spend another ten years in Boston proper. 

I suspect it has more to do with the moments of peace I found when I finally let go of the misery and drudgery of one foot in front of the other mile after mile long enough to fall into a rhythm and a sort of oneness with the surroundings. I distinctly remember a series of god-awful runs that remain in my memory the pinnacle of my high school running career involving a solo trek, a cemetery and snow and freezing rain. In sweats. 

And the hills. 

At the time that I started running with any manner of structure, the words "hill day" were as dreaded as the phrase "pop quiz". More, probably. For someone with a slow gait, shuffling pace and gasping sports-induced asthma (not to mention the beginning of a very unhealthy smoking habit, hills were the absolute worst. Torture. Running sprints up hills, jogging back down and sprinting back up, over and over. And in some cases, the workout was just miles of up and down alternately rolling and steep hills. They were miserable. 

I suppose it's funny that now, more than two decades later, I see hills not as misery, but look forward to them. As I'm building endurance and mileage, I feel stronger with every foot of elevation and find things fall away as I climb. 

I'm coming to appreciate that running is as much a mind game as a physical one. The challenge isn't in the personal record or the time trial or the race. The challenge is in getting out there in the first place. It's in continuing to get up and run, even when the weather is terrible and you don't feel like it and you're sore. It's in those first steps up the hill. 

An appropos metaphor? I think so. 


15 February 2016

Story On The Prowl


The Hermes 3000 cinched the broad silk tie tight around its neck. It glanced in the mirror, made sure the knot was straight. Then shrugged into its jacket. It pulled the hardware from the holster under its arm and turned to the hotel door.

"Time to go to work," typed quietly across the crisp blank page.

12 February 2016

I am a runner.

I am a runner. Not because I run fast nor far. But because I run. Period. (Image of a wintery road.)

Running & Resurrection

A little over two years ago I last posted on this blog. Over the years, I've had various intentions for this column, including using it as a live journal, a writing lab, an ongoing experiment in coding and a portfolio/sketchbook, among other things.

I'm now returning with the intent to foster a more long-term writing discipline. To this end, I intend to write on topics of public relations, running, surfing, motivation and mindfulness, design and illustration, and various other subjects that strike my fancy.

Since a little before Thanksgiving, 2015, I have been running.

The beginning and the bible.
To be more precise, I have been walk-running. I had been entertaining the thought that I would someday run again and start getting fit for some time, without actually doing anything about it. Becca and I were doing our regular turn around the god-awful bookstore we're now saddled with in South Portland since the tragic demise of Borders and came across Runner's World's 2015 edition of Learn to Run. I flipped through, as I do every time I come upon the "Learn to Run" or "Get Super Fit" or whatever annual super-prestige book-magazine is out that month because, to be honest, I'm a magazine junkie and I have a problem.

For whatever reason, the plans and layout of this edition resonated and I decided that I'd start running. I laid out the 16 bucks and away we went. It was a few weeks later I picked up a fresh pair of Brooks Adrenalines from our local Fleet Feet Sports and another week or so before I was mentally committed enough to set my daily alarm for 5:00 a.m. to allow enough time for a 20-minute walk-run with 5-minute bookend walks.

...and I have been running steadily since. Four times a week for three months, taking off two weeks only for a recent rolled ankle and micro-tear in the achilles tendon off a heel bone spur.

I feel great.

This is a big deal for me. For those who know me, even admitting, that I feel great is a massive change. My mood, focus and productivity are all improving. I'm more patient, my clothes are fitting differently, and I don't get winded by the stairs at work.

Over three months of consistent running including adding daily yoga into the routine, I have developed a thirst for accomplishment, finding pleasure in the small accomplishment of simply getting out of bed in the morning and running, regardless of the weather.

What I laugh about is that I ran track in high school and I hated it. Hate may not even be strong enough of a word for it. I was awful at running, was almost always last across the finish line and was frankly too stubborn to hang it up even though I often found ample reason to slack off. Now I find that just getting out the door is a joy and the worse the weather, the better I feel about having run.

And I'm not walking anymore. Now it's all miles.