I just completed a successful seventh (fitting in with the theme of sevens) week of training for the NYC Half Marathon, with a very hot and humid (mid-90’s) 8-mile run. Suzanne and I ran through Park Slope, into Boerum Hill, over to Brooklyn Heights, up and over the Brooklyn Bridge. There we met Cari and continued running West through Manhattan until we reached the Hudson River and the beginnings of Battery Park. Then we turned around and ran home.
It was a little tough with the heat, but overall, I felt pretty good. Most likely because my runs during the week have been feeling pretty good, other than the shin splint I nursed on Monday and Tuesday. I ran 4.5 miles on Wednesday, did a speed work out at the gym on Thursday night (7 rounds — again with the seven!– of 400 meters at my 5K race pace), and 3 miles on Friday morning. Four more weeks to go!
On a separate, but related topic. As I was sorting through some piles in my apartment the other day, I found a page I tore out of Runner’s World magazine several years ago. It is an essay by George Sheehan called “Why Do I Run?“. I find it inspiring, and it speaks to my feelings of finding an identity through running. So if you’re looking for a little inspiration too, here it is, with my favorite passages in bold:
“Why do I run? I have written over the years of the benefits I receive from running. Enumerated the physical and mental changes. Listed the emotional and spiritual gains. Charted the improvement that has taken place in my person and my life. What I have not emphasized is how transient these values and virtues are.
With just a little thought, however, it should be evident that physical laws parallel those of the mind and the spirit. We know that the effects of training are temporary. I cannot put fitness in the bank. If inactive, I will detrain in even less time than it took me to get in shape. And since my entire persona is influenced by my running program, I must be constantly in training. Otherwise the sedentary life will inexorably reduce my mental and emotional well-being.
So, I run each day to preserve the self I attained the day before. And coupled with this is the desire to secure the self yet to be. There can be no let up. If I do not run I will eventually lose all I have gained-and my future with it.
Maintenance was a favorite topic of Eric Hoffer. It made the difference, said the former longshoreman, between a country that was successful and one that failed. However magnificent the achievement, without constant care the result was decay.
I know the experience intimately. There is nothing more brief than a laurel. Victory is of the moment. It must be followed by another victory and then another. I have to run just to stay in place.
Excellence is not something attained and put in a trophy case. It is not sought after, achieved and, thereafter, a steady state. It is a momentary phenomenon, a rare conjunction of body, mind, and spirit at one’s peak. Should I come to that peak I cannot stay there. I must start each day at the bottom and climb to the top. And then beyond that peak to another and yet another.
Through running I have learned what I can be and do. My body is now sensitive to the slightest change. It is particularly aware of any decline or decay. I can feel this lessening of the “me” that I have come to think of myself.
Running has made this new me. Taken the raw material and honed it and delivered it back ready to do the work of a human being. I run so I do not lose the me I was yesterday and the me I might become tomorrow.“