oldheads and the bush league

Yesterday’s long run found me thinking about four great years of distance running, having completed my very first half-marathon in Little Rock back in 2010.  Going into that race I was pretty sure I wanted to do more, but the deal was sealed the moment I crossed the finish line.  If I had any doubts, I left them there and never looked back.  Since that day I’ve lost count of the races and runs, the weekend trips and post-race celebrations, the mileage and finish lines, but I remember every single race and know that I won’t soon forget them.  They’re a huge part of who I am today.

In those same four years i’ve also evolved substantially as a runner, and can remember well the mistakes I used to make and being relatively unprepared on race morning.  I can also remember feeling intimidated by runners I saw at races who, I assumed, had tons of marathons under their belt.  And usually they did, what with their race shirts and big words and funny stories overheard at expos and in corrals.  I was the new kid hanging around and they were the oldheads.  It reminded me of being a freshman in college and getting nervous when the seniors and fifth-years would make an appearance.  Now, I reluctantly admit to being one of the oldheads and I try hard to be encouraging to the new runners, but I probably give off the same cues that I used to see and don’t even realize it.  

And just one week away from my 8th marathon, I still make bush league calls fairly regularly and even did so yesterday -- overdressing for the weather.  This might be the most common, as newbies show up for a race in the upper 40’s wearing tights, shorts over the tights, three layers on top, gloves, hats, and wrapped in a trash bag.  After the first mile they’re throwing clothes left and right, turning the course into a neighborhood-wide yard sale.  I know better most of the time, but didn’t pay attention yesterday morning and was regretting long sleeves within 10 minutes.  

It’s really easy to spot bush leaguers at races.  Beyond wearing too many layers, they tend to start out entirely too fast, wear the event shirt during the race, and weave in between crowded packs in the early miles.  They grab the first possible water cup at aid stations then come to a dead stop to drink it, take selfies in front of course landmarks, and bonk in the last third of the race.  Their goal is to find friends with the “Chuck Norris isn’t running” sign and stop for another picture.  Bless their hearts, they’re just so excited to be running their first race and my hope for them is that it won’t be their last.  

Not to be outdone, it’s just as easy to spot the oldheads.  They’re apt to ignoring assigned starting corrals and opting to sneak in with their buddies, jabbering on and on about their PR’s, they’re last race, and their next race (live in the moment, people!)  They wear faded, ratty shorts they bought in 2007 and have seen one race too many.  They virtually ignore the throngs of cheering spectators, choosing instead to focus on keeping their ever-coveted pace, which they have monitored with at least two different devices powered by Garmin.  They blow their nose and spit with little regard for people next to them.  And bless their hearts, too, they’re just doing what they love and my hope for them is that they relish every moment.

Disappointed and ashamed of my own bush league move yesterday, and getting hotter by the mile, I had almost convinced myself to cut the run short when I got to the end of the Frisco  Trail and found the newly-constructed tunnel under MLK finally open.  Hot damn, new trails to run!  I felt adrenaline surge as I stared it down and immediately forgot about being too warm.  The trail wasn’t 100% complete, but I got to see the extension on the other side and even convinced one of the construction workers to take my picture on a bridge before they poured the concrete, which was mixing about 20 yards away.

The Little Rock Marathon is next weekend and it seems like everybody I know and love is running it.  Todd and Heather and I are going down together, and hopefully at some point we’ll meet up with Bruce Wilkins, Katie Helms, Carole Swope, John Gheen, Kim Murie, Sarah Hood, Ashley Borgsmiller, Deanna Duplanti, Heather Diebold, Michele Hagalin, Cameron Magness, Tabby Holmes, Becky Mills, and my cousin Mark Emerson.  That’s 16 great friends who are running next weekend and I’ll probably finish dead last in the whole pack, but that’s just fine with me.  They only thing that would make it better would be to have Mrs. Pugh running it, too.  I know that i’m an oldhead now, but the way that I feel on a marathon morning is pure bush league, and that makes me really happy.  I’ll be nervous and excited, i’ll probably start out a little too fast, I’ll look for my friends, and I’ll smile every single time I pass cheering spectators.  And if I don’t watch myself, I might even cry a little bit when nobody is around.  I can’t help it, because those 26.2 miles are the best thing that I know how to do, and there’s no better feeling in the world.  

Run.