Thursday, October 30, 2014

Introduction: A step or a precipice?

I'm Tim. Hi.

I came back to running a few years ago and kind of surprised myself. What happened in the past- that's a story for another time, but when I came back I found that I actually was having fun this time around, and maybe because of that it was pretty good for my head, too.

I kind of eased into the act of training, but I devoured books, articles and movies on it, anything I could get my hands on; and I developed these strategies about how to approach it. I coached myself. I wanted to control everything, to do it perfectly. And it actually went pretty well. It's easy to keep improving your PRs at first as you start to get fit, but I continued to improve in a pretty linear fashion. I started to run longer races. I didn't get hurt. I tried a couple of cross country races that made me nostalgic for high school XC, and so I signed up for this trail race...


It was 9 miles long and I was completely unprepared for it. I mean, I knew the course profile and I had the fitness, but I was unprepared for how I would feel about it. My friend Steve, an avid trail runner, has described running technical trails as a 'different kind of athleticism' that's somewhat removed from road and track running, and when I was out on the singletrack I knew immediately what he meant. If you want to run on the trail, particularly at speed, evaluating each footfall needs to be involuntary, and doing it came so naturally... like an instinct that had been waiting to be expressed. It was visceral. It was fun. And then in the last mile, the course began to zigzag downward through a dangerously steep rock garden section - and then it became revelatory. Not only could I put concern for myself aside and scream down those harrowing switchbacks, I delighted in it. I jumped around other runners, picking new lines off of the trail, legs and arms wheeling.

But I didn't fall. I've fallen since then, but in those first moments everything was perfect. I was letting go completely and there was a sense of rightness about it. We are all gifted with things we are perfectly suited for in this life, but it's not often so clear to us. I didn't have to muster up the courage to bomb down that hill. I just acted. But the memory of that experience has helped me when the way in my life is not so clear, not so dependent on physical intuition and muscle memory. That experience changed me. It changed how I relate to the world and to the constant challenges it throws at us, and it changed how I think about running.

When I first started up again at 37, I set this arbitrary goal for myself: I wanted to qualify for and run the Boston marathon before I turned 40. The spring after that first trail race I ran my first marathon in just over 3:05 and realized at least the first part of that goal with a small smile. It was hard, but no clouds parted and there was no great emotional moment. I don't mean to diminish it or anyone else's journey, but it's not the same as that unplanned revelation in the woods. In some ways it feels like I was born out there.

This weekend I will run my first trail 50k. Training for it has gone the way most of my training does: cautiously, methodically, and more or less perfectly. I've had some great results in shorter distance trail races along the way (including a repeat experience at the 9 mile race (a top-notch and flawlessly run race called EVL9 in Ellicottville, NY, if you must know) despite running it while sick). But I can't help but wonder what's in store for me out there in Mendon, running hard for much longer than I've ever done before. Will it simply be something to tick off the list like the marathon, after which I regroup and plan for whatever adventure comes next? I hope not.