The big mid-August update
Perhaps my running (jogging? amblin’?) has become so ugly and slow that I no longer wish to be looked upon by people who are not on their own physical journeys. I haven’t run through my neighborhood in quite a while. In fact, I’ve been running exclusively on two bike paths lately- one near my house through some woods where I may see no other people, and the other, more-popular and populated Manasquan Bike Path, also known as the Edgar Felix Bike Path.
There’s just something about these relatively narrow paths that engenders politeness and genuine camaraderie between strangers in a way that doesn’t occur running down residential streets. My theory is that everybody on the paths is also moving toward a goal, or, at least, away from somewhere they would prefer not to be. Runners, walkers, bicycle riders- we’re just happy to be OUT. Out of our homes, out of our cars, maybe out of our own heads for a time. There is no question of motivation; we’re out for our own sake and sanity, regardless of ability. Unlike almost anywhere else, the message is “Go your way in safety” instead of “Get out of my way,” the unofficial motto of New Jersey.
In my neighborhood, there is a suspicion cast toward me from people in their cars, on their porches, mowing their lawns: “What is that guy running for/from?”, “Does he think he’s better than me?”, “How can he sweat that much and live?”, “Why is this guy upsetting my dog by blazing by my home/castle at speeds approaching 5 miles per hour?”, “This guy just went by here yesterday. Why is he running again?” My approach toward greeting this suspicion is to make eye contact, where appropriate, with an attitude of “It’s only me. I’m just passing through.” (It’s true, after all.) While this is often enough to calm a person, it NEVER works for dogs. Dogs will bark at me from anywhere, from the moment I appear to minutes after I’m gone. My personal record is causing ten dogs to bark at me in about one mile, a record tied by my return trip past the same houses to get home.
In short, as a runner in my sidewalk-free neighborhood, I am something to be considered and, therefore, suffered. On the paths, the simple truth is we are all going somewhere, so the athlete and, uh, me are equals, fellows well-met in our travels.
So when I “ran” three miles on the Manasquan Bike Path on the 7th of August, and it took me 38:11 to do it, no one glared or barked or measured me up and deemed me unworthy of the fitness I’m trying to regain. Two days later, when I did the same thing, only slower, I could be happy that I managed to keep it under a 13:00 pace by finishing in 38:47. On the 12th, I was slower still, sucking wind, but I got through four miles in 53:44, a 13:26 pace. I realize how abysmal this is compared to efforts just a few months old, but I remembered something on this run. When I started getting more serious about running in the summer of 1992, when I was 200 pounds (as now) and unknowingly facing uncontrolled Type II diabetes, my LONG run was TWO miles. As my mother would say, as bad as things are now they can always be worse. I have been worse at running than I am now. I’ll be better.
On the 14th, 15th, and 18th, I ran 3 miles each on the path near my home. I did not roll my ankle again. I even found my breath here and there, though my legs felt heavy. Through the 18th, I’ve run only 7 days and 19.7 miles, but the air is drying out and the sun is more forgiving. The dog days are ending.
The endurance my body has built up this year and in prior years is buried under layers of fat and disease. My body understands how to go far. The goal now is not to build endurance and strength. The goal is to find it within. Discipline is required to continue the search on the path. The only way I know to erode the worst of me, to reach the rock beneath, is to keep moving.
Tags: August, bike path, diabetes, discipline, endurance, environment, jogging, road running, running
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