the back nine

The Little Rock Marathon is exactly three weeks away and I haven’t quite come to terms with the fact that, sooner rather than later, i’ll be lacing up for the 8th time.  I can still remember the exhilaration of finishing my first in Chicago’s Grant Park a little bit more than three years ago.  With the unmistakeable giants of Michigan Avenue standing tall under a crystal clear blue sky, I celebrated one of the greatest accomplishments of my life on that October afternoon.  There’s been so many great races since, and I smile when I think about running Little Rock for the second year in a row.

But i’m slowly changing the way that I think about marathons, and the process of doing so has been really enjoyable.  My great friend and teaching colleague, John McElroy, was asking me just a few days ago if I had any races coming up and it dawned on me that I hadn’t really said much about running Little Rock, or that i’m also planning to run the Kentucky Derby Marathon in April.  John and I have worked next to each other for going on seven years, so we know each other well and often keep up with our individual interests -- for him it’s raising two boys that play anything involving a ball, and for me, well, it’s running.  A lot of running.  

I told John that running marathons was evolving for me, from something that is big, huge and profound to more like fun, relaxing and celebratory.  I likened it to running for the passion of doing so rather than completing a goal.  He thought about it briefly, and displayed a look on his face that communicated he knew exactly what I meant.  “Kinda like a relaxed afternoon on the back nine,” he said.  I grinned and said “that’s exactly it."  

I’ve never played a single hole of golf in my life.  I vaguely remember trying it a couple of times in junior high and failing miserably.  And there might have been once in college when I rented a cart with a buddy, but that was more focused on the cooler full of beer than anything like keeping it in the fairway.  I’m familiar with the basic concepts, birdie vs. bogie, and I’ve napped through enough tournaments to know that Pebble Beach, Augusta National, and Torrey Pines are storied courses. I even have on iTunes a familiar  melody by Dave Loggins that is very closely associated with the sport.  It’s one of the most beautiful piano pieces i’ve ever heard and I listen to it with relative frequency.  Look him up and it won’t take long to know what i’m talking about.  You can thank me later.

None of this, however, changes the fact that I can’t play golf.  I’ve somewhat followed the major tournaments over the years and think that I understand the draw of the sport.  It must be a special experience to grab the clubs, leave the phone behind, and head out on a late spring afternoon to walk quietly through a lush expanse of green.  I can only imagine that it can be spiritual, not unlike an 18 miler in the early morning is for me.  

That’s what training for Little Rock has been.  I’ve gotten in quite a few long runs between bouts of considerable winter weather, I’ve cross trained on the weight bench and elliptical, i’ve tried to go to bed earlier than later, and i’ve made sure to eat plenty of peanut butter.  (Protein, y’all!)  But I long ago walked away from the stress of trying to get it right, to make sure everything goes well, to worry about the minutia of an official training plan.  I just want to run.  So that’s what I do, and it’s the best part of my week.  

A close follow-up is spending time with the great people around me, and I got that in spades this weekend, first at the state indoor track championships, where not only did I get to watch BHS win both titles, but I also got to love on a colleague’s sweet baby girl.  

Then we celebrated a good friend’s birthday at Ruth’s Chris, spending the evening in great conversation with plenty of laughs and a bottle of wine.  The place was overrun with three different parties of really loud women next to us, they might have been considered “cougars” in some circles.  It was like watching a casting call for The Bachelor, but without an overcooked, clueless meathead handing out flowers.  I’m fairly certain the majority of them needed cabs to get home.  And probably some BC powder this morning.    

So if I were one of those of runners that meticulously lived by a training plan, these final three weeks would be time to taper.  But i’m not, so I probably won’t.  I’ll dial it down a little bit, I guess, but checking mileage and doing everything perfect simply isn’t going to happen.  If it were, i’d lose that feeling that lacing up affords me, and I never want that feeling to go away.  It’s become too much of who I am.  It’s my back nine.

Run.