Stumbling Runner
My time was slower than I had hoped, I had an agonizing penultimate mile going uphill, and my calf muscles tightened so much I was hobbled the following day. To my surprise, my half marathon run last Sunday--my first race in 28 years--was a complete joy; equally surprising, I have struggled somewhat in the aftermath.
The run began in the 7 a.m. cool of overcast San Diego. Though the race announcer warned us that the day would "heat up," skies remained gray until mid-morning, well after my run was finished. Between jostling for position at the start, weaving among walkers, joggers, and other runners, I didn't have time to think much for the first four or five miles. In spots, knots of five to ten people had gathered to cheer us runners on. The course wound around the harbor, then rose precipitously to the entrance of and into Balboa Park. Climbing the hill between mile 11 and 12 was the only place where I struggled, but even that difficulty has faded into the pleasure I feel having completed the run. One of my great memories is seeing my wife's face as I neared the finish line; walking (or hobbling) around with her afterward, I was just so happy to be with her.
It may be the endorphins of "runner's high," or that insane flush some women feel as soon as they give birth to a child, but as soon as I was done I knew I wanted to plan for my next race; I knew I wanted to continue.
The hard part in the days since then has been returning to normal life.
I took Monday off well in advance, thinking I might need it to recover from the run, and I spent part of the day visiting people where I used the work, at the University. I enjoyed seeing friends I hadn't touched base with in more than a year, but I felt a combination of nostalgia and relief. I could see myself back in that setting, working with people I liked and admired, but I knew that my reasons for leaving hadn't changed. I knew it wouldn't be long before I would be frustrated again with the grading and the bureaucracy.
Still, the hours at my ordinary job feel sluggish somehow. It's as though the run, and the months of preparation upon which it was built, have opened something I can't yet name but also can't suppress. As though they've made a different kind of life seem possible, but that isn't clear enough (or too frightening) to step into.
I do know that writing is at the heart of the restlessness I'm feeling. I've started writing each day, my goal now, as when I began my running, simply to keep going bit by bit regularly each day, not concerned with quality but only with continuing exertion, only with building the habit of effort.
The run has shifted something in me, and now I want to see where it leads.
The run began in the 7 a.m. cool of overcast San Diego. Though the race announcer warned us that the day would "heat up," skies remained gray until mid-morning, well after my run was finished. Between jostling for position at the start, weaving among walkers, joggers, and other runners, I didn't have time to think much for the first four or five miles. In spots, knots of five to ten people had gathered to cheer us runners on. The course wound around the harbor, then rose precipitously to the entrance of and into Balboa Park. Climbing the hill between mile 11 and 12 was the only place where I struggled, but even that difficulty has faded into the pleasure I feel having completed the run. One of my great memories is seeing my wife's face as I neared the finish line; walking (or hobbling) around with her afterward, I was just so happy to be with her.
It may be the endorphins of "runner's high," or that insane flush some women feel as soon as they give birth to a child, but as soon as I was done I knew I wanted to plan for my next race; I knew I wanted to continue.
The hard part in the days since then has been returning to normal life.
I took Monday off well in advance, thinking I might need it to recover from the run, and I spent part of the day visiting people where I used the work, at the University. I enjoyed seeing friends I hadn't touched base with in more than a year, but I felt a combination of nostalgia and relief. I could see myself back in that setting, working with people I liked and admired, but I knew that my reasons for leaving hadn't changed. I knew it wouldn't be long before I would be frustrated again with the grading and the bureaucracy.
Still, the hours at my ordinary job feel sluggish somehow. It's as though the run, and the months of preparation upon which it was built, have opened something I can't yet name but also can't suppress. As though they've made a different kind of life seem possible, but that isn't clear enough (or too frightening) to step into.
I do know that writing is at the heart of the restlessness I'm feeling. I've started writing each day, my goal now, as when I began my running, simply to keep going bit by bit regularly each day, not concerned with quality but only with continuing exertion, only with building the habit of effort.
The run has shifted something in me, and now I want to see where it leads.
posted by A Pilgrim at 6:32 AM
1 Comments:
Congrats on finishing your race!!!!
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