On her college basketball team’s
Instagram today, there are clips from their team’s 1 mile run. One photo
shows Zoey and two of her teammates laying on the turf after their run, two of
them are prostate, Zoey is sitting up, but clearly still panting.
I used to be a runner. Not as a high schooler, but later in life. It started off as a whim. I saw all these people wearing 5K t-shirts. I thought how cool would it be for me to have one too. Run a 5K, get a shirt, wear it around town. I started training. Typically I trained too hard and for a few weeks I could hardly walk, my knees hurt so bad. Then I read some books, adopted the run/walk method where you run a bit, walk a bit and eat time, increase the bit you run and decrease the bit you walk. Before long, I had several 5 K shirts. As I tend to, I became obsessed. It was no longer about doing 5Ks, it was about doing 5K fasters, and then doing a 10k, then a quarter marathon, then a half-marathon. I was never what you would call fast. I was a completer, not necessarily a competitor, but I did work at it. I thought I was decent. Running the Hartford Marathon, it was cool to run the same streets I worked as a paramedic. I ran down Asylum Avenue on the last stretch. I was feeling good. In my mind I was Kip Keno, the great Kenyan runner, who reportedly trained by running from lions. In my head I hear the music from Chariots of Fire. I glanced then at the building I was running past that showed my mirrored reflection. Who the heck was that old dude wobbling along?
After running I got into triathlons. I once set the record for the Litchfield Olympic triathlon for the longest time ever. I had a bike flat and then trying to inflate my spare tire with a C02 cartridge, I exploded it, so I ran the last mile of the bike leg carrying my bike. I wasn’t the last runner to set out, but those behind me all passed me, and I passed no one. As I ran the last couple miles, the water break stations would close as I passed. Unbeknownst to me, the guy standing giving directions at the last corner also left. I took a wrong turn. Scouts in a pickup truck sent out to find me found me still headed in the wrong direction and offered me a ride back, but I settled for proper directions instead. When I reached the finish, the field where the racers stored their bikes was empty along with all the bike stands gone. In the middle of a green field lay my bike on its side. The race director felt so bad, she gave me free admission to the next year’s race, where I finished respectably in the last quarter, no doubt setting a record for greatest improvement (50 minutes) over the previous year.
Eventually, I gave up triathlons for adventure races, which were more fun and timing didn’t really matter. I did a Tough Mudder, a Spartan Races, a Rugged maniac and a Warrior dash, all great adventures. I paid to have a picture of me leaping over fire on the cover of a fake WARRIOR magazine that still hangs on the wall in my kitchen next to other photos of our family’s athletic achievements on our Little Wall of Fame.
After the adventure races, I got into swimming. I was actually decent at that. I competed in the World Master’s Championships in Montreal, Canada, finishing X out of X in the 50-yard freestyle and X out of X in the 100. And I helped lead our Connecticut team to the New England short course meters championships on several occasions. My value was not as much as my speed in one race, but that I swam the maximum 13 events and 4 relays, getting points for my age group in every race.
Then
COVID came along and then closed the pools. My training fell somewhat by
the wayside. I ride my bike somedays, but when a fellow biker told me you
weren’t biking hard enough if you didn’t have one good crash a year, I rode
less. I didn’t want to break my collarbone or hip as I saw other bikers
do. I tried to keep up the running, but was developing numbness that got
worse after I was thrown in the back of the ambulance on a call. The
doctor told me I had spinal stenosis. Another doctor told me I had
arthritis in my knees so my running felt on its last legs. The doctor suggested
I learn yoga. I took up stretching, but there was no way I was going to
be able to do a successful plow.
Years went by, and I stopped running altogether. My legs felt too spongy and my arms would get numb. But I have been working hard on exercises and on rehabbing my knee which is back to normal size. I finally get in to see the orthopedist again and she tells me the x-rays show I actually only have very mild arthritis in my knees. She clears me to run if I want, just go easy she says. As far as the hamstring injury, she says these take time to heal. Jackie Joyner Kersee tore her hamstring and it took her four months to rehab and she said, I was no Jackie Joyner Kersee.
When I see the picture of my daughter and her team I think maybe I will give running a try. There is a race in Massachusetts called the Big Man Run. You have to be over 190 pounds to enter and you have to stop and eat a hot dog at three spots on the route. If you puke you were disqualified. The next race is in August or 2027. I will be past my 365 days then, but I think I will make it a goal race. If I can run ¼ mile today, then all I will need to improve on is 4.45 miles and three hot dogs. You Can Do it!
My goal for today is simple. Run one lap around the dirt track without stopping or falling over dead, and then celebrate with a hot dog. This can be a weekly challenge, slowly increasing my running time up to a full 3.1 mile (5K) with maybe a couple breaks for hot dogs. I drive down to the track. Instead of doing a warm up walk, I just start the run. I make it around, though halfway through, I admit I am startled about how far I still have to go. After I make it, I set up my iPhone so I can record myself crossing the line, but this time at a sprint. This clip I will send to my daughter. I film it, but when I check, I don't see the sprint. Just that old wobbly dude I saw in the building’s window on Asylum Avenue.
I think about getting a hot dog to celebrate, but I am tired and decide to go home and nap instead. Have the hot dog later.
I send the photos I took to my daughter and write “In Solidarity.” She texts back, “Way to go Dad!” and then tells me her mile time. Faster than I have ever run in my life. You go daughter!
Her coach has asked the parents to send a picture of our daughters as kids for a project she is working on. She also wants us to make a spirit boosting video. I do both. In the video I make a team boosting hot dog. I use red cake decoration to write the team logo on the side of the bun. I film myself eating it. “It tastes good,” I say. “It tastes…like Victory.”
