weekend mileage: 8 miles
on the iPod: "just the way you are" -- bruno mars
For whatever reason, training for distance runs seems to take place in the early morning hours, especially when long runs are on the docket. It's not uncommon for runners to meet anywhere between 6:00 and 7:00 a.m., or even earlier, to slog through the mileage in the relative quiet of a weekend morning. There are even groups that will go out before the sun comes up. Some of my most memorable runs have been at 5:15 a.m., wrapped in black of a pre-dawn sky. Stars are my guide. While the world slumbers, I retreat into a comfortable pace and experience my own understanding of peace.
I didn't choose running as my passion because of the early-morning timing, but i'm completely comfortable with it. If fact, I like it very much. Mrs. Murie, on the other hand? Not so much. My great friend, partner in tomfoolery, and running companion would much prefer to sleep in. Bless her heart.
So it was with a forced smile on my face that I agreed to meet her Saturday morning at 9:00 for a 12-miler. We had just finished running a five-miler that we've affectionately dubbed the "The Punisher" because of the monstrous, nasty incline in the third mile. I'm fairly certain that I was punch-drunk from a lack of oxygen to my brain when she brought it up. Looking back on it, I now realize it was all part of her master plan, as it was her idea to tackle the hill in the first place. She knew full-well that I'd be at her mercy when planning our weekend outing. Damn her. Foiled again!
In all honesty I was happy to oblige a later start, because it would afford me the opportunity to drink coffee and read, which is an equally amazing way to spend a fall Saturday morning. So that's exactly what I did, arriving at Starbucks around 7:00 and retreating into the New York Times and a venti Pike's Place Roast. The place was packed out with people stopping for coffee before holiday shopping, football fans getting a jump on watching the Arkansas/Mississippi State game, and groups of runners training for races. I talked to my cousin Mark, a marathoner himself, as well as my great friend Deanna, who'll be in Dallas for the White Rock Marathon in a couple of weeks. I can't wait to see her at the expo and starting line, she's such an awesome person. One of the nicest I know. Our friendship developed over running years ago, when she coached me through my first 10K. I was less than prepared and she got me through it. I need to tell her thanks. Mental note.
Finishing up the Times, I texted Mrs. Murie to let her know where I was and to come on down when she woke up. About ten minutes later, I got a jumbled, mildly-uncoherent text back stating that she was still in bed and did I mind if she bailed. I couldn't help but smile while texting back that, of course, I didn't mind if she slept in. I've run more miles with her than anybody else, and I know that sometimes I completely wear her out. Not in terms of physical mileage, but rather having to deal with my early-riser-mess-of-a-self. I hope that her sleep was good and I'm glad that she got it. I hope that she dreamed of happy things, like kittens and jelly beans. And finish lines.
For about 11 seconds, I considered just going home. Eschewing a long run. Then I promptly got up, walked out of Starbucks, and started running. Immediately.
Speed was name of the game, as I immediately and unabashedly ran above any pace that I could maintain for longer than thirty minutes. But i'll be damned if it wasn't the best thirty minutes of my entire weekend. Cranking my iPod as loud as possible, I pressed all boundaries in my legs and gave every ounce of will that I had. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to sustain it more than three or four miles, I relished each step. Hearing Radiohead, Kanye West, Pearl Jam, U2, and Jay-Z pounding from my earbuds made it even better. I was completely present in the moment. I loved it. These are the sorts of runs, when I forget the world around me and let go of my stupid worries, that everything seems to click. I feel like me. And that's an alright thing.
The pace back, after turning around at the really large Oak tree on the west bank of Lake Fayetteville, was substantially slower, but satisfying nonetheless. An extraordinary number of runners seemed to be on the trails, many of which were wearing gear from last year's Fayetteville Half Marathon. It's one of the three races I'll be running in the next three weeks: The Springdale Police Department Turkey Trot 5K, the Dallas White Rock Half Marathon, and the aforementioned Fayetteville Half Marathon. I'm excited for all three, but particularly Dallas White Rock. It's shaping up to be a great weekend road trip and I'm really hoping to see my childhood friend Jamie, who just finished the Outer Banks Marathon a few weeks ago. She's a beast at races, and I have no intentions of trying to keep up with her.
Arriving back at Starbucks worn-ass out from the pace, my Saturday was shaping up to be another great fall weekend. My legs were burning (that's a good thing) and the Hottinger's were having people over for the Arkansas game. I had a feeling that the Razorbacks were going to turn in a big performance, but regardless it would be great to spend the afternoon with my friends that I love dearly. But possibly the highlight of the morning was the killer bee. Really. I saw a killer bee! He was peddling the undisputed goodness of Honey Baked ham, of which I can personally attest to. It's pretty much my favorite thing about Thanksgiving and Christmas. Behind Cynthia Puckett's mashed potatoes. Those are edible proof that God loves you and wants you to be happy. At any rate, there was some kid dressed up in a really large bee costume about 20 feet from my truck. The fun and absurdity of the entire event made me grin ear to ear. I was sweaty and exhausted, but had to have a picture with the bee. It was a given. I marched right up to that bee and I said "Bee, I don't know who you are, but you just made my morning." The bee's handler/agent/manager was happy to take a picture.
Being a guy that, for years, felt like I didn't really fit in with any sort of group, the racing community has become my people. For the first time in my life, distance running has given me something to be. I love running races more than anything else: more than Razorback football, more than Sunday night dinner with my family, more than teaching AP Psychology, more than Eucharist at St. Paul's, more than quiet drives on country roads. I can't imagine my life without any of those things, but running is what makes me feel like a real person. It's my thing. The next three weeks, with a 5K and two half-marathons, are going to be a great way to end 2011.
Run.
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