Always a runner…

Another late afternoon New Years’ eve run, nothing ceremonial. Just another afternoon run. Another year tied together by a string of runs. Maybe not as frequent as past years, but running is still the lanyard of my days. I usually run most New Years’ eve afternoons. My employer lets us leave early so I can get a run in before the sun sets.

Running down the trails, the sun is setting as I crest the last hill and head towards home. The run is unmistakably the same. The sights, the sounds, the scents, albeit a tad bit slower, are unchanging. It’s the end of 2008, but it may as well be 1978, 1988, 1998…

That’s the time machine effect of running. Today’s run in my 60 year old body feels almost the same as the 30 year old, running this trail in 1978. Notice I say almost, as the speed, ease, fluidity may be somewhat changed, but the feel, the sights, sounds, smells…the joy is still there. Happy 2009…or it is 1979? Sometimes on the trail, it’s hard to tell.

You’re running trails in the middle of nowhere. You see a runner approaching in the distance. They are coming your way. You are now a few feet away. You look at them, you get ready to give a smile and some brief greeting in passing, but they keep their gaze straight ahead, not even acknowledging you. “Nice talking to you,” I mumble as they whiz on by.

Now is this me, or is this scenario becoming more frequent? Is this just a sign of the times? In the past, seeing another runner, especially miles from civilization, would be cause to greet them with at least a hi, a wave, or perhaps some pleasantry in passing.
I do notice that runners under 30 are most often the culprits. Not all, but most. This, as you can tell, is hard for me to understand. We all share common traits, experiences, highs and lows.

Of course on the most popular trails, paths, you can’t say hi to everyone you see, but when you’re out in the hills, on the trails, deep in the forest, miles away from civilization, and you see a fellow runner coming towards you, give them a wave. Even a “way to go,” would be pleasant.

On your next long run, far away from the crowds, and you come upon a runner and you pass them without some kind of acknowledgement, don’t be surprised to hear a sarcastic, “nice talking to you.”

It takes awhile to know you’re always a runner. It takes tens of thousands of miles run. It takes time.  It’s not as easy as you thought it would be, but then being a runner isn’t easy.  You’re now over 50 years old, maybe 60, but you’re still out there putting in the miles. You’ve paid your dues.

When we hit our PRs, we didn’t quite know it would be our lifetime PR at the time they happened.  There was always another race, another chance. We all seem to hit that crest silently, without really knowing it until much, much later,

If this is you, then surely you’ve had some of the following thoughts on the run:

You see where some local race is running its 35^th annual.  Has it been that long? It seems like yesterday when you ran in the first. 

You’re running some trail in the middle of nowhere, and you greet a passing running like a long lost friend.

You have drawers, or boxes of race t-shirts, now much too small to wear, but much too important to dump.

You’ve put a little too much self identity into being a runner and it starts to catch up to you when you can’t run everyday, or can’t run at the ease and speed that you once did.

You hope that the sequel to Again to Carthage (the sequel to Once a Runner) will catch Cassidy in his 50s.

You get a private tour of the new Icahn Stadium, and you wish you could run a few effortless laps on the new track…or even better, race on it.

You fly over your state and see open spaces with miles and miles of trails just waiting to be run on. You drive along California’s interstate 5 and see miles of dirt roads circling farmlands and you know how fun it would be to run on them.

You peruse the race results, and notice how times you ran for 100^th place, 20 or 30 years ago, now will get you in the top ten.

You look at the ‘over 50’ runners who have just taken up running as having that extra edge.  Their legs aren’t beat up by tens of thousands of miles.

You read Runners by Roger Hart and say “hey, he’s writing about me.”

You go to high school cross country races and feel that strange dichotomy in knowing what the runners are feeling, and you wish you could be in there yourself, but know deep down inside, you could never come close to running their pace, although you ran it easily in other races and in other times.

If you have a pair of Tiger Boston’s tucked away in your memorabilia…

If you have trouble finding a decent pair of running shorts that don’t come down to your knees…

If you see times that long ago would place around 100th, now making the top 10…

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