When running was my religion

Today's short poem, from Grace Butcher, touches on running, an activity that has played a leading role in my life for years, but about which I haven't blogged often enough.

I shudder to think where I would be today if I hadn't discovered running when I did.  Though  I briefly ran JV cross-country in high school, I didn't take it up seriously until 1997, just eight years ago.

In early '97, I was 29 years-old.  I had just gone through a very bitter and painful second divorce that followed a strange and deeply unhappy marriage.  I was living in one of those god-awful pre-furnished apartments, in a run-down complex in East Pasadena that was filled with men and women whose lives had just been turned upside down, as mine had.  (Oh hell, let's be honest.  I had just turned my own life upside down.  No victim I.)   It was a very confusing time.  I was teaching, of course, and lecturing and interacting with students was a welcome solace.  But I only taught for so many hours of the day. I woke up alone in this dreary, pet-less, partner-less bachelor pad.  I went to bed in the same condition.  It was a sad and difficult time.

And so, in the mornings, before school, I began to run.  I remembered that I had done it a bit in my younger years, and that it had given me an outlet for all of the energy coursing through me.  My first running experiences this time 'round were painful and slow.  My knees hurt.  My hips hurt.  I had been smoking cigarettes regularly throughout the divorce process (Marlboro Reds, thanks), and my lungs burned after just a few minutes of slow jogging.  But I kept at it.  I kept at it because I felt, frankly, like a failure in the aftermath of my divorce.  I wanted to succeed at something, something that I could control, something tangible that didn't involve relying on someone else.  Running seemed to be that thing.

In January 1997, my runs averaged 40 minutes.  By April, I was running two hours.  I never ran for distance in those days; I ran for time.  I hadn't yet discovered the trails of the mountains near Pasadena, so I ran on city streets.  I ran through the rougher parts of Glassell Park and Altadena; I ran past mansions in San Marino; I ran around the famed horse track in Arcadia.   I bought whatever shoes were on sale at sporting goods stores, paying no attention to what was the right "fit" for me.

In my running, I found peace.  I found structure.  I kept a running log, and recorded every mile and every route taken.  It provided a rhythm to my existence.  And it was something that in the midst of the chaos and upheaval of my personal life in those years (I can only hint at how wrenching it was), gave me the sense of worth I needed.  I saw my body grow leaner.  I saw my calves and quadriceps begin to harden and grow.  I liked my body better, and I liked myself.  Running, in a very real sense, was the vehicle for Hugo's physical and spiritual transfomation.  It was also, perhaps, my religion.

I ran my first marathon in 1998, using this book.  I was hooked, and decided to a. hire a coach and b. try and qualify for the Boston Marathon, which would require a sub 3:10 marathon.  For the second half of '98 and all of '99, I was devoted to this one goal.  In addition to countless 5 and 10Ks, I ran three marathons in a year, each time struggling to get that elusive qualifying time.  In preparation, I did agonizing speedwork on the track, ran endless hill repeats, and did long, slow distance runs alone.  And though I gave everyting I knew how to give, I fell short all three times.  The closest I came was in Pittsburgh, where I ran a 3:13:51 on an unseasonably warm spring day.  Close, yes, but no cigar and no Boston entry.

By 2000, I had decided that running was taking over my life. I let my coach go.  I started lifting weights and taking "spin" classes instead of just running.  I began volunteering with the youth at church, and took on more responsibilities at the college.  I still ran, but not with that same single-mindedness.  By the end of that year, I had also found the same group of buddies I run with to this day.  Through them, I learned that running could be fun as well as cathartic, that it could be a group bonding experience instead of a time to be alone with my thoughts.  And through them, I discovered the mountains and the trails where I now do as much of my training as possible.

"Working out" remains a central part of my life today.  My fiancee, an accomplished triathlete, has introduced me to cycling.  (Swimming, on the other hand, has yet to be explored.) We've done one century ride together, and plan more for this year.  I still try to run 5 days a week, and lift weights on 4.  But though I periodically fantasize about going back to that single-minded training phase, I don't suspect it will happen.  I have too many other interests and responsibilities; too many interesting people (and chinchillas) with whom to interact.  Heck, I've got too much blogging to do!   The weeks of two-a-day training runs and obsessive heart-rate monitoring are, I think, over.

I'm so grateful that running came into my life when it did.  It gave me structure, it gave me control, it gave me peace at a time when I had none of those things.  Today, it gives me a release from tension, keeps me fit, and has given me a community of dear friends whom I trust and adore.  I've been blessed with a body that can withstand the pounding of high mileage -- at least for now.  And so, for now, running is a joy.  But it was once far more than that, and for its crucial  role in transforming my life in a dark time, I remain grateful.

Comments

[Nancy]

Very impressive, Hugo!! Especially your fiance, not many women triathletes around!.... I'm starting to feel inadequate.... I think I need to introduce her to my spouse, a triathlete of a serious caliber, they might try to do the next race together.__I'll cheer!!

[zuzu]

Good post, Hugo. I recently started getting back into running (unfortunately derailed by two feet of snow and piss-poor plowing of my neighborhood) after a few years off due to injury. When I had started about 10 years ago, I had never done anything terribly athletic and it was a real joy to discover that yes! my body would do that.

I'm looking forward to running in some races this spring and summer; I just wish there were more dirt trails accessible to a carless Brooklynite.

[Kat]

I'm so far behind. I just started walking because my lazy ass is simply getting too big. No running yet, tho. Baby steps.

[zuzu]

Kat, check out coolrunning.com. They have a couch-to-5K program that I'm currently in the middle of (that is, I would be if my streets were plowed and/or there was less salt to irritate my dog's feet!).