Sometimes I wonder how I'll take getting older, when my body starts to protest against the miles and miles and miles and times slow and I've done all I can do as a runner.
I don't dread it. I've had great opportunities to grow as a runner and to push the limits of my ability. It will be a relief and a triumph to finally have known those limits because I know that even if I don't reach some of my running goals, like breaking 2:30 in the marathon, it won't be because I didn't try, but because nature, or other immovables in life, won't have allowed it. Running has allowed me a portion of glory--and yes, I mean it, glory--that I never expected. I'm happy with a lot of things I've achieved as an academic, thriving in a top-notch grad program, etc., and, professionally, I've more or less done what's expected of an Ivy League graduate. Lucky for me, that comfortably conventional career path has provided tremendous fulfillment and happiness.
But there's been no glory like running, nothing like the 25th mile of Boston, where somehow the agony is an ingredient in the utter triumphant joy of the race's last two miles. My uncle said it once, and it's true--nothing compares to the last two miles of a marathon when you're on your way to a PR.
What a joy it is to test and know the limits of your body. To tell yourself the truth about this is the essence of humility. The truth may not be what you expect.
My initial reaction to this post was admiration mixed with a tinge of envy that in testing the limits of your body, your body yields something close to a 2:30 PR. Which made me think, what about those of us for whom our bodies' limits, for one reason or another, prove a bit more circumscribed than we'd hope, maybe a bit narrower than our imagination would allow?
ReplyDeleteMy aspirations as a runner far outsize my apparent abilities, though I've suckled at the breast of running’s glory nonetheless for most of my life. I have to admit the disappointment, though, in setting ambitious goals and race programs for myself only to meet with so much injury, sometimes illness on the way. Seems like my body just wont match my aspirations.
But imagination being the powerful tool that it is, I feel like I often tap into the exhilarating feeling you describe on regular old morning runs, maybe a day when my back isn't killing me as much, just by imagining myself in the last 200 meters of an 800 m. race, being slingshot around the final turn into the homestretch, my body a receptacle of lactic acid (I would love it if my back would allow me to open up my stride enough to even access that anaerobic pain), hearing people screaming in the stands. And if only in a small way, that image gets me to straighten up and correct my posture and form, I can feel it increase the rate of my turnover, maybe it will even get me to throw in a couple of pick-ups. And I can identify with a great runner even if I’m not one. I love how athletics has that to offer.
Musicians often talk about the ability for muscles to benefit from imagined practice. If a pianist envisions playing a piece, note for note, that practice is, neurologically, equal to if not better than, actual time spent at the piano. And now that I don’t have time to play anymore, and therefore can’t play anymore, I can still feel some residual muscle memory in my body. I can still imagine it in my hands and arms, and that feeling is almost as good.
Anyway, what I’m getting around to is the point you make about aging, or facing the inevitable decline that running entails. Having done it injects enough of the muscle memory into you to last well beyond your competitive edge. “After the things are broken and scattered…the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time.” The scent of the rubber of a track can bring you back with such immediacy…