on the iPod: "from the morning" -- nick drake
This Winter Break has been a spectacular end to the calendar year: it has perfectly mixed the abstract, things like reflection and faith; with the concrete, parties and presents. And while the time has been a much-needed divergence from the daily grind, it's been anything but slow. I've acolyted at the best Episcopal parish in all of Arkansas, eaten more than I should, spent time with my family, watched my nephew grow punch-drunk from the excitement of opening presents, poured oversized glasses of white wine, and watched obscure bowl games. The Meinecke CarCare Bowl comes to mind. What is that, anyway??
But that's not all. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I've also written Christmas cards on behalf of Abe Lincoln, wrapped presents without enough tape because I was too lazy to go to Wal-Mart, caught up with old friends, enjoyed the company of new ones, and completely neglected grading the essays that I told my students i'd have done sooner than later. Methinks they'll be in a forgiving mood. Throw in above-average temps perfect for distance running and there has been much to enjoy. Very much.
Notwithstanding tomorrow's total overload on the bowl games that actually matter, this morning's Fleet Feet 2012K run in downtown Fayetteville was the perfect way for this holiday season to end. The distance of the annual event coincides with the date of the new year, hence this year's version being a 12K. Next year, on the first morning of a bright new dawn, it will be a 13K. And the next year a 14K, and so forth. It's a fairly simple concept, and an excellent excuse to celebrate a calendar milestone laced up and running hard. And that's exactly what I did. The soreness head-to-toe, particularly in my quads and glutes, is a current reminder of my efforts.
With the beginning third of the race on and around Dickson Street, hilly terrain was a given. I had pondered this unfortunate fact well in advance and had vowed to go out slow, logging a few easy miles to save my legs for the flatter second stretch on the trail system. Of course that didn't happen. As soon as the gun went off, with "All I Do Is Win" by DJ Khaled blasting through my earbuds, I took off. Fast. There was no looking back. I was going to run this one full tilt without reserve. If it meant burning out in the last mile and finishing light, then so be it, but I was going to give it every ounce of effort that I had.
Fortunately the plan worked great, as I found myself running strong and determined. I didn't know it at the time, but would later find out from a friend who was courteous enough to do the math, that I was running an 8:03 pace. On Fayetteville-sized hills, and for 7+ miles, that's pretty frickin' fast for a guy my size. The conditions were near-perfect, with great weather, familiar streets, and tons of friends around for the fun. And as always, Cynthia Puckett bailed on church early and came to spectate. She was dressed for church and looked striking in a heavy black winter coat. When I saw her I immediately thought how pretty she looked. Very pretty. I was proud to have her there with me.
In mile six, knowing there was about a mile and half left that included the substantial incline back to the top of Maple Street, I felt fatigued. To confound the situation, I was running solo with the closest person no less than 30 yards in front or behind me. Finishing, of course, was a non-issue, but I began to contemplate how I would run this final leg. Slowing down to a comfortable pace was a total option, if not even desirable in the moment. I would still cross the line with a respectable time and could finish on cruise control, per se. No shame. But for whatever reason I wasn't completely comfortable with that option just yet, so I simply told myself to keep up the pace for a bit longer and see what would happen.
Shortly thereafter, literally within moments, Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" shuffled onto my iPod and everything changed. I turned the volume as loud as possible and gave it hell, even speeding up for the Maple Street hill. My focus was like a laser beam as I rounded the corner for the final 100 yards. Cynthia Puckett was standing there, and I remember looking at her and telling her that I was done. I was dizzy and light-headed, my lungs were empty as they gasped and burned, and my arms pumped out of control as I held on for just a few more steps. The whole thing ended in a dead sprint. It was the single best way that I can think to celebrate the dawning of two-thousand twelve.
New Year's Eve and New Year's Day are, by design, a cause for celebration. They cater to our human need to look back and remember the previous year and the lives we have led, particularly the good. The soundtrack for New Year's Eve is, of course, the Scottish poet Robert Burns' Auld Lang Syne, which encourages us all to remember old times simply for "old times sake". I'm fairly certain it's impossible for me to hear any of that song's incarnations and not become emotional, for i've certainly had moments of real joy in 2011.
But I can only look back for so long.
I can't dwell on the past, whether good or bad, because to do so would completely miss the point of living life fully every single day. Those memories will be with me for some time to come, but they are only memories. Nothing more, nothing less. Ultimately I only look forward. And isn't that so much more exciting, anyway? To know that tomorrow is a new day that will almost be guaranteed to bring more experiences, more challenges, and more love. That's how I think of the New Year. It's not old, it's not in the past. It's new and fresh and it's right now. I'm ready for it.
Run.
No comments:
Post a Comment