“No one can say, ‘You must not run faster than this or jump higher than that.’ The human spirit is indomitable.” —Sir Roger Bannister, the first man to run a sub-four-minute mile

“The more I run, the more I want to run, and the more I live a life conditioned and influenced and fashioned by my running. And the more I run, the more certain I am that I am heading for my real goal: to become the person I am.” —George Sheehan, M.D.

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  • Running

I had another great run in Cherokee Park this evening. Only this one was spurred on by my bladder. In desperate need of a restroom, I sought a shortcut through the woods along one of the trails. Trails I have been hesitant to venture into but now sought out in desperation. With bladder empty (via bathroom not tree) and mind refocused back to running, I started along the pavement but took the first dirt detour I came across.

I started into the shrub and mud path, bounding down the trail. This was my first foray into the inner woods of the park, all my previous runs having been confined to the asphalt. What a mistake that has been. There amongst the branches, roots and rocks I discovered a feeling long lost in adulthood. Thursday August 20th 2009, was a cool summer evening, with a constant breeze flowing and being under the canopy of old growth hardwoods, hurdling over fallen tress, skipping over bulbous roots, jumping across washed chasms, running blindly down an unfamiliar path - all stirred an exhilaration not felt since childhood. Running breakneck through the forest made me feel like a kid again. I had no direction, no mileage goal, devoid of time constraints, I just ran wherever the trail went. Perhaps it wasn’t childhood I was revisiting but rather something more primal - the fight or flight of being chased by or pursuing something.

Whatever it was, I felt it and liked it. I ran faster and further than my normal “civilized” pavement runs. And running along a trail is not just forward progress, there’s a significant side to side bounce of the unevenness of the trail bringing new muscles into play (which are now sore). My new running shoes got muddy. My legs have a few scratches. My body aches in new places. But come Saturday - I’m doing it all over again.

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  • Running

This morning started off bad. Woke up with a headache, sneezing and sinus pressure. Work was tedious and slow but productive. I left not wanting to do anything more than crash into bed. At home, surfing the web and reading my Twitter feed, one thought echoed in my head: “Go run. Go run. Go run.” Followed by some words of wisdom from someone that I follow on Twitter (@stringsn88keys): “go for consistent effort, always. that may mean walking on a bad day”.

So I filled up a water bottle and headed to Cherokee Park. I’ve been running there for the past 2 weeks, but today was the most crowded I’ve seen it. Just to add to the trials and tribulations of the day, parking was nearly impossible. I found a spot, or rather made one on the side of the road and started off. I began walking, a quick pace with no intention of really running. I was only here to say I was here, that I didn’t not try. Maybe that’s what made it better, there was no self imposed expectation, no predetermined distance, I was simply there to be there. After walking for about a mile, I ran for a few minutes to the point of labored breathing then walked again. That got me to about the backside of Scenic Parkway. I continued walking until I recovered and picked back up running at a nice steady pace, shortly before the intersection of Scenic and Eastern Parkway which meet to form what has become my nemesis - a 1/2 mile of hilly Hell. I don’t know the exact grade, but to me it might as well be Mount Everest.

I was running at a surprisingly steady and quick pace and feeling, well a strange feeling of ease and confidence. “I can keep this up, I can run all the way up this hill” I said to myself. And so I began a controlled, determined climb up the face of Mount Asphalt. Passing by people walking and talking, dogs yapping and tugging, I was focused, myopically trudging along. As I neared the top, I saw what would be my finish line, the fountain on the left just before the pavilion. I upped my pace, too tired to fully sprint but running as fast as I could not in an effort to end it, but to “win” as if in a race. There was a couple coming toward me in the opposite direction and the woman told me “Great run”, as I’m sure after running the 1/2 mile, I had the same look as the winner of the Boston Marathon.

After a few moments of near death gasping, I regained my senses and only then did it sink in - “I RAN UP THAT HILL!”. Followed by “I want to do that again, 10 times a day everyday”. It wasn’t so much the physical effort driving my ebullience, as the simple fact that I accomplished something that just days ago seemed impossible. And that to me is what running is. Why run a marathon? Because those 26.2 miles are there. Why not? If I don’t try, I’ll never know.

Reaching that fountain wasn’t the finish line - it was a beginning.

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  • Running