Going the Distance
Step by Step
I am not a runner. I do, however, subject myself to running on nearly a daily basis. I was long an individual who failed to lose his baby-fat. I was never particularly overweight, at least by American standards, but still carried more weight than I should. The weight issue grabbed my attention the summer after my freshman year of college. Perhaps like many freshmen, I had gained additional weight over the year—not quite the freshman-fifteen, but more than enough. It struck me that I had no reason to be carrying excess-weight as an eighteen year-old, even one with an insatiable sweet-tooth. This started me on an exercise regiment that has stayed with me for going on ten years.
I transitioned from cycling that summer to running the following year. And for over seven years now, I have tied up my shoes and gone for my run almost every day. Each painful – psychological not physical – step has led to yet another painful step. It's much like drilling out a cavity after properly administered novocain—it's uncomfortable, but tolerable and necessary.
I have unfortunately rarely experienced the elusive "runners' buzz." I lived with cross-country runners throughout college who were always happiest when running. They ran when it was well below zero, and they ran when it was over a hundred degrees. They ran when they were healthy and when they were sick. They also ran clothed or naked, but that is another story. Through it all, they regularly described the high of running. On rare occasions, I have come close to this buzz; I describe it as unawareness of one's physicality. Fatigue comes more slowly. There is a heightened attuning with your senses—a nearly tactile feeling of sun on your face and an electric smoothness to your stride.
More often than not, pain is a more appropriate adjective to describe running than the description in the previous paragraph. Today, however, I experienced more joy than pain in my physical exertion. I participated in my first triathlon. Not only was it my first triathlon, but it was also my first real race after a lifetime of team-sport participation.
The Great Race
I'm not quite sure what inspired signing up for an event that could lead to death-by-drowning, but I believe it was the realization that my likening of running to a fixing a cavity indicated that I would probably not be running a marathon anytime soon. Consequently, I decided in April that I would race in the 2008 Shawnee Mission Triathlon.
For the sake of clarity, a triathlon consists of three events: swimming, biking, and running. The downside of that particular trio is that I don't swim. As noted in the opening paragraph, the curse of the baby-fat meant pools were a no-no for me after junior high. That meant that I had from April to July 13 to learn how to swim or more accurately swim 500 meters. It was a rigorous process, but one I came to enjoy. After weeks of swimming, biking, and running, I finally came to today's race.
Things got off to a rough start when I woke up at 3:00 a.m. convinced I had cancer. That irrational thought led to two hours of laying awake – first fretting about cancer, then worrying about having to wake at 5:30 for the race – not ideal preparation for an endurance challenge. Fortunately, prayer and adrenaline kept me in good spirits. Tara and I got everything ready, and my co-worker, Patrick, arrived so we could head to the race. As misery loves company, I roped Patrick into thinking a triathlon was a good idea. I think I liked the thought that a fellow non-swimmer would be going through the same painful process as me.
We made it to the park where I soon realized I had no socks and, more problematically, no helmet. You can race a triathlon without sleep, but the referees will not let you do so without a helmet. Fortunately, we were early and my incredible wife dashed home to supply me with my helmet and socks. Things got close in time, but after Tara's half-mile run, I had a helmet and could race.
A long Saturday-rain caused the temperature of the water and the air to cool so that the men's heat could possibly have been mistaken for the female's heat. This speaks as much to the shrinkage as it does the crazy muscles that most of the females had. I participated in the sprint course, which includes a 500 meter swim, a 9-mile bike ride, and a 2.4-mile run. We started at 8:00 a.m. in a rush of bubbling water and flailing bodies. I only got kicked once and made it through the swim without much difficulty.
After a barefoot run of the marina, I hopped on my bike a started up the dam-hill. This is an appropriately named hill that serves as a double-entendre without the sexual connotation. It's a mile-and-a-half hill that never seems to end. I had the disadvantage of racing without a road-bike, but I can't complain about my time. After a quick dismount and a couple miles of jogging, I was done.
The whole event was a blur that left me with little time for reflection. There were hordes of people of all shapes and sizes—each one encased in spandex like your aunt who wraps you in a hug just a bit too tight. My only real observation of note is that I very comfortably fit-in with the participants of this race. I run because it is necessary. It's necessary to stay healthy and it's necessary for maintenance of self-esteem. I do it because I have to. There was a similar mentality in today's race. Certainly there were competitors who were there to top everyone around them, but it seemed that most were there for the battle within themselves. It's a constant fight for me to run or work out, and I battle to convince myself that going for a run or a bike-ride is a good idea. The race today was mostly about taking another stroke or taking another stride. The racers encouraged each other and you could see the determination in their eyes to win that battle within. Afterwards, we all seemed in good spirits and the talks consisted of discussing whether we met our individual goals. I did and I was content. Like my fellow triathletes, I want to race again and improve my time. I may have been one of the few running away from a younger/plumper self, but I was one of many running against myself.
