Editors Note: First, my apologies. It has been some time since my last
edition of this little newsletter/blog. As many of you know, we just
spent two weeks in Ireland. The weeks, both leading up to, and
returning from, such a trip get busy. Unlike my usual format, which is
to include snip-its from various readings and observations, this issue
is a single article. It’s an account of my attempt to move off the
bicycle and into running shoes culminating with my first ever running
race - in Ireland. I hope the article gives you some things to think
about in terms of celebrating life as it is presented to us. My special
thanks to my friends in neuro-cycling for the lesson they provided. ~
Bill
CELEBRATE ALL VICTORIES!
Sixty-two years and I’ve never been a runner. I’d had some success as a
long-distance bike racer but never ran. Certainly never in a race.
And when I did run, it felt awkward - unlike the smooth rhythmical feel
I get from a bike.
But I needed to switch it up. As my body became more and more
efficient at cycling, it became harder and harder to burn calories.
And, after my crash in Colorado a few years ago, I had almost given up
outdoor riding anyway.
To that point almost everything I had read about running was overly
celebratory. People espousing on their epiphanies and inspirations.
Rousing testimonials to adrenaline and the “runners high”.
But very little that was useful in a practical way. So, you go out and run. Badly. And, what? No epiphany. No runners high.
The starting point for me was a running workshop put on by the National
Exercise Trainers Association. The workshop was led by Deanna Reiter,
author of several books including one on running. Deanna showed me how
to run the same way I cycle. That is by taking each one of the
component parts and breaking it down to make it as good as it could be.
The pleasure was not in the “big high” but in the little things,
getting toe placement better, or improving elbow movement. The gift
was in the little things.
Meanwhile Annie suggested that the Dingle, Ireland Marathon was going
to be held while we were there in early September. I needed a goal and
signed up. I initially signed up for the full marathon, but after
further thought cut back to the half-marathon because, as I told
friends, “I am only half crazy”.
I began training. And, if I say so, my training went pretty well. By
early August, I was able to run twelve miles at a steady pace and feel
pretty good about it.
And then I stopped training. Partly, I felt pretty confident.
“Surely, if I can run twelve, I can run thirteen”. Partly, I had a
minor injury I was nursing. Partly, it was hot. Partly, I got busy.
But, in sum, I did what no trainer would recommend and basically
stopped running altogether. I think I ran about 5 miles in the month
between my early August 12-mile run and the event itself in early
September.
The time for the event comes and I figure, “What the heck? This is Ireland. No one knows me. I’ll just go do it.”
I sucked. Or, at least I felt like I did. I ran the first few miles
not feeling as good as I should. And then came the hills, and an 18-mph
Atlantic Ocean headwind that had last seen land, by my reckoning, in
Newfoundland. I ended up walking some of the course and finishing well
over my target time.
(This despite joking to my friends that I won my group. My group
being: guys over 60, from Iowa, running their first ever running race,
in Ireland. I figured there was no one else there meeting that
description.)
My friends all told me, “Good for you. You finished.” I appreciated
their support but I still felt like I had somehow failed. Of course, I
was only being neurotic and competitive in an unhealthy way.
Deanna sent me a helpful congratulations. She wrote:
“Although this wasn't the end results you had expected and hoped for,
the main thing is that you set a goal and accomplished it and learned a
LOT along the way. And what you learned - physically, mentally,
emotionally and spiritually - is what you can now impart to all of your
students, friends, blog readers and everyone with whom you come in
contact - in some way, going forward.
We often look for such big purposes as to why we're here. We have high
expectations as to how things are to be. Much of this is ingrained in
our society - looking toward the payout rather than the steps we take
along the way. It is each of those steps that form us. There is magic in
each moment - more so in the seemingly ordinary rituals we perform
every day - than in the "epic" moments we build up in our minds. Never
overlook the smallest of your accomplishments, for the most magic is to
be found there.”
This is wise advise and it reminded me of Annie’s favorite quote. It is from John Steinbeck’s “East of Eden”.
“Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man. It happens to
nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse
burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of
the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every
deep-drawn breath is sweet. Its beginning has the pleasure of a great
stretching yawn; it flashes in the brain and the whole world glows
outside your eyes. A man may have lived all his life in the gray, and
the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the
important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then — the
glory — so that a cricket song sweetens the ears, the smell of the earth
rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his
eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not
diminished…”
The race was not “glorious” for me in the traditional sense, but it was a “glory” in the Steinbeck sense.
And then I took a lesson from the students in my Neuro-cycling class.
These people are the most determined and tenacious people I know. They
are wonderful. Primarily they are Parkinson’s disease patients working
to use the neuro-theraputic benefits of cycling to delay the symptoms
of their disease. Parkinson’s is a movement disorder and generally
these people are battling to maintain their functional mobility.
I have the privilege of leading the weekly class. Last week, the
students were telling me about the Davis Phinney Foundation Parkinson’s
Summit in Minneapolis. (Phinney is a former world-class cyclist who now
has Parkinson’s disease. He and his foundation are committed to
improving the lives of Parkinson’s disease patients.) The students told
me about chant that they all called out as punctuation to the talks
throughout the summit. It was:
“Celebrate All Victories”
And so shall I.
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