Life Lessons in a Course Preview

I have run the GBMC Father's Day race either 4 or 5 times now.  It benefits the NICU at the medical center.  Once, I ran it with all three of my sons.  The youngest took great joy in coming in ahead of the oldest.  For the first several years I ran it, the race was in Hunt Valley on a relatively flat course.  For the last two years, the course was much hillier--going from the medical center campus out to Osler, through Rogers Force (hilly!), and back onto the campus.  Two different ways.  Two different courses.  Driven by construction.

So, I have registered myself for the race.  I will register my two younger kids for the race.  And I will run as part of a team with my adopted daughter for the day as I did a year ago.  She is just young enough to be my daughter and I serve as a training partner, mentor, and friend.  We had the good fortune of taking the Father-Daughter competition last year.

With this year's website, it was unclear how the course would be structured.  So I wrote to Charm City Run's race management arm and asked.  And pleasantly to my surprise, less than four hours later when I got off the plan last night, I found the course description.  It is a bit of a hybrid between the two courses of the last two years.  It looks like it won't be short as it was two years ago but we won't have to double back as we did last year.

Still hilly.

This morning, for my workout, I decided to preview much of the course.  I've run most of it dozens of times over the last nine years.  But I hadn't run it in a while and I wanted to remind myself.

I've mentioned several times that the course is hilly.  Up Osler in the first mile.  Up at the end of the race.  Up Stevenson after coming off a nice downhill on Stanmore.  Up Bellona to Charles before beginning the nice descent.  All of those are notable.

But in my mind, the hardest part of the course is when I finish running up the long-slow hill on Osler, turn the corner onto Steven, and have to continue to climb toward Stanmore.  I just thought as I previewed that this morning about all the times in lie when I have turned a corner hoping for something better, something easier, and found instead that the road ahead was actually harder for some time.

That is the point in the race at which each runner will have to decide one of two things--either "this is a hard course and I might as well coast the rest of the way" or "I'm taking this head on and working even harder."  This morning, I took the first path.  I'd run an 8:30ish first mile.  then surprised myself by coming down under 7:50.  Then under 7:40 as I ran down Towsontown.  Then, climbing Osler and around back up over 7:40.  Then, for the run down Stanmore, up Stevenson, and up Bellona toward Charles, I ran 7:14.  Then, I eased up for one mile and took it back down to a sub-8 to finish.

The key was that I ended up with a slightly slower time in mile 4.  But I didn't give in.  Even on a workout a morning after returning from Texas and running by myself and thinking "the course is testing me rather than me testing the course," I ran one of my strongest workout performances in a while and could say, when all was said and done, that I had tested the course.  I'd like to do it a few more times before the race--just to make absolutely sure I know how it feels.  And I can say with certainty that I know how the race can feel if I just take it in stride and work on it.

The lesson for life is to do the same with any other task for which I end up on a similar topographical trajectory.

And to share with others the joy of the sense of accomplishment that one can get when achieving that goal.

A Message from a Bird

Yesterday, when I was waiting for Joshua to be done his day of volunteering at the zoo, I was sitting in my car reading a news magazine and I had what I thought of as an odd experience.  A small bird looking very bewildered flew in through my car window and landed on the dashboard up against the windshield.  I was at least as surprised as the bird was.  I opened all the windows and stepped out of the car.  The bird managed to get across the dashboard and out the front passenger window.

When I posted this on social media, one aunt pointed out that it is a gift to be visited by another member of God's creation.  And one of my dear long distance running friends (she runs ultra-marathons while I stick with nothing longer than a marathon) and fellow blogger said it was a sign or message.  I had to ponder what that message would be.

I think after today's 5K race, I have an idea of what the message might be.  The day was a picture perfect morning for a 5K at 7:30 AM.  Although as I and several people I spoke with afterward noted, for runners who arrived early to register on the day of the race, arrival at sunrise when it was still cool could easily mask the fact that on Key Highway with the sun shining down, even if the air temperature is only in the 60's, it is hot to run.  

The race, I ran in an official time of just under 20:55.  Not bad for a 45 year old, by all means.  But it was one of my slowest in a long, long time.  In fact, last year after having the GI week from hell before Father's Day and running longer than I should have when looking for a good time on the day before the race, I ran about the same time on a much hillier course.  So, something is up with me.  In fact, one of my running buddies said he had never seen look so miserable during a run before.  

So, how does this story relate back to the message from the bird?  The bird did not just sit on the dashboard helpless.  He found a way to get himself going again.  He found a way to set himself right again.  And he flew on.

So, after nine years of running off and on and 5 years of running almost constantly and four years of almost always improving times, I am at a spot at which it is clear that I have to choose carefully how much to run.  Life is ever more full of other things.  

I have to choose carefully what workouts to do.  I have been mostly accompanying friends at paces and distances of their choosing while being along for the ride rather than having a plan for myself.

Have I enjoyed that type of running--making it up as I go and just being there as a presence for others?  You bet.  But it doesn't help me race.  And if I want racing for my own times to be part of my continued running experience, then I need to be like the bird.  Get myself going again.  Right myself.  And focus on running ahead.

The biggest question is what role I want racing to play.  I have been quite happy with accompanying others.  I have told one person that the Marine Corps Marathon is still on my bucket list and if she would like to try a second time, I'd be interested in running with her.  I've told another runner that if she just wants company for a race, I'd be happy to do that at least once.  I have a "running debt" to pay forward from someone who helped me to achieve a wonderful time last year.  And I just love helping others achieve anyway.  

Those are fine reasons to run.  But it is not like saying, "I'm going back to Boston because I can and I'm hoping to run harder this time."  That would be my own goal.  And for that, I really would need to follow what the little bird did.

We shall see.

There are lessons in life to be learned at every turn.  A little hiccup in life didn't stop the bird.  One bad race and a couple of less than perfect weeks of training should not stop me.   

As I recently saw Michael Jordan pointing out in a video--he missed lots of shots.  He even missed chances to win games.  But that was on the way to making lots of spectacular shots and game winning ones.  Less than perfect races happen once I run enough races.  Now, it's time to see what I can do if I keep on pushing even though I know every one can't possibly be my best.  I told a friend how great it was that she could do that. Now, I have to prove that I can do it myself.