summer

yesterday's distance: 17 miles

on the iPod: "don't look back in anger" -- oasis

Summers in Arkansas are my favorite season of the year. Mornings are cool and breezy, the noon hour finds abundant sunshine, temperatures rise quickly in the mid-afternoon, and evenings are punctuated with outstanding arrays of colored skyscapes as the sun sets in the low Western hemisphere. I have so many outstanding memories of summers past: riding bikes through my neighborhood, camping with my family atop Petit John Mountain, a week at the beaches of the Florida panhandle, lifeguarding during high school, and going to see live music all over the South, and sometimes even further away, during college. Summer is great.

But summer has taken on a new meaning in the past few years as I've discovered distance running. I now understand it to mean the opportune time to train for races. I relish in the opportunity to pound out some short mileage in the heat of the day. Getting up at 4:30 in an effort to beat the August heat on a long weekend run is exciting. I find myself thinking in advance about these events, anticipating the challenge of going the distance exposed to the elements. I really do love it.

The Chicago Marathon is two months away and Mrs. Murie and I are in the thick of training. Knowing that the heat was going to be a real factor, we set out from Lake Fayetteville well before daylight to cover our 17 mile route. Starting in darkness is surreal. The landscape is incredibly quiet, as if to convey that the organisms around us: the lake, the trees, the fields; are still enjoying their slumber. The calm can be overwhelming in a good way, and I certainly felt a connection with the morning's surroundings as we headed out. I think Mrs. Murie did as well.

That's not to say, however, we weren't still affected by the elements. It was a sticky 86 degrees when we left, and we both commented early on that we could feel the effects within miles. It was this revelation (and the fact that I think we both needed to go to the bathroom) that made us stop around mile three at the Courtyard by Marriott for a very quick water break. We couldn't find a water fountain in the lobby, but the really nice maintenance guy, gave us a key to the fitness center that had a Culligan water cooler. It also had treadmills, and as we we drank from our paper cone cups I'm fairly certain we both contemplated finishing out the run in the air conditioned comfort, complete with televisions and towel service. We pressed forward, however, back outdoors in the morning heat. The sun was just beginning to light the trails at our feet. We were in our element -- two friends, two runners-- and it made me happy.

As is becoming our routine, we started together for the first four or five miles, catching up and laughing, enjoying the company, but eventually Mrs. Murie pulled forward, surging at her own pace, with me holding back a bit and finding my own comfortable stride. As much as we enjoy running together, we're both aware that our abilities and athleticism are in different places. And that's okay. So it's cool when one of us strikes a great rhythm, even when it means that there will be considerable separation between us. Sometimes we don't even acknowledge the event, but rather just let it happen. Not to mention that fact that it allows me to turn on my iPod and travel away from the daily goings-on and stressors of life through music. This time it was Fleetwood Mac, Nick Drake, The Fray, Howie Day, and John Mayer that shuffled across my temporal lobes. It never fails that the sounds coming through my earbuds transport me to a cathartic trail of understanding. These are the moments of running that I love.

Our turn-around was the Mill District in South Fayetteville. Cynthia Puckett, the best mother on the planet, had graciously agreed in advance to meet us there with water and cold wash cloths. Sort of like a portable aid station. She was so sweet about it all, she brought her camera and had everything laid out when we got there around 6:40. As we cooled off by essentially wringing out the wash cloths on our heads over and over again, I did some very basic (and probably flawed) math in my head and realized that we were on pace for a really fast time. I'm incredibly lucky to have a seasoned runner in my great friend, Mrs. Murie. She pushes me to give everything i've got when it comes to speed. I can feel myself getting faster as the months go by, and I couldn't do it without her.

We said our goodbyes to Cynthia Puckett and headed back, knowing that the sun would soon be high enough in the eastern sky that the trees along the route wouldn't be able to provide shade anymore. It was gut check time. These are the sorts of training runs that separate the participants and the finishers. The finishers are the ones who, despite the heat and the blisters and the thirst and all the elements, keep going. They refuse to look back or stop moving forward. But I suppose that's true for everything in life, and not just distance running. I want to be a finisher.

Running solo for the majority of the second half, time seemed to stand still as I enjoyed, despite the blistering heat, one of the best training runs that I can remember. My legs felt great, my breathing wasn't labored, my lower back was strong, and everything seemed to be right with the world on this beautiful summer morning. I could see my friend ahead of me for quite some time, but eventually she was out of my field of vision. She waited on me at the mile 15 mark, however, and we went the final two miles together. Those two miles, i'll admit, were difficult. By that time the temperature was soaring and the sun was beating down with reckless abandon on the sporadic runners and bikers that we passed along the trail. It was a gut check for sure.

We made it back to Lake Fayetteville in one piece, with the morning still relatively ahead of us. The scene was much different than when we left only hours earlier, as the park had come to life with bikers, softball teams, families, and fishermen. We sat on the ledge of a rock embankment, covered in sweat and completely devoid of energy. I'm not for sure if I could have gone another mile, much less the additional nine miles that it will take to finish my second marathon. In fact, it scares the hell out of me to think about it at this point. Sharing our water and gatorade with a couple of bikers who had stopped to relax, the morning was ours. In that moment I was so incredibly grateful for everything around me: my running shoes and iPod, the extensive trail system, the sun in the sky, the great conversation being had, the ice cold water in the cooler, my great running friend Mrs. Murie, and most of all for summer. I simply love it.

Next weekend is the Tontitown Grape Festival's Run For the Grapes 5K. It's a great local race with awesome tradition that celebrates the Italian heritage of many of the families that live in Tontitown, Arkansas. The heat is always a factor, as the course is a quick circle through rolling hills and farmland. There's not a shade tree in sight. Anywhere. It's become just as much of a part of summer as biking, camping and going to the beach. Summer wouldn't be complete without it, and I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Run.