Live to run, or run to live?

Life can sure change your training habits. When I graduated from college and began gearing up for my first half marathon, I had no other concerns besides my running and my job. I wasn’t married. I had no kids, no pets, an apartment where I didn’t have to do the maintenance. Nothing. So I ran—six days a week, religiously, for about four months. I was up to 70 miles a week or so. My “short” runs were six-milers. I ran six-and-a-half-minute miles. Consistently.

And I regularly trained for more than I was going to run on race day. Weekends were 18- or 19-milers. I’d be on the roads and trails for hours.

When I ran my first half-marathon, I thought I did pretty well. In a field of nearly 16,000, I finished in the top 1,000. My time was 1:35. I was happy.

So I did it all again the next year.

I trained harder. I put in more miles. I lost more weight. And when I ran, I performed even better. I beat my previous time by more than two minutes. I placed even higher.

Then I got married. Then my wife told me she was pregnant. Then we bought a house. Then we had another child. Then we moved to a different house. Subsequently, those endless days on the road changed.

Don’t get me wrong, my life is so much richer than it was in those early days. But it’s different. Running, which used to play such a prominent role in my life—it defined me in many ways—took a back seat to other priorities. I still ran, but not as far. I ate more and exercised less. I gained weight. I was more tired. I had other obligations. I couldn’t just leave the house at the drop of a hat to go run for an hour or more.

New shoes

I got a new pair of shoes this Christmas and, with them, a whole new way to run.

I just finished reading Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, a book that centers on the Tarahumara Indians who live in the Copper Canyons of Mexico. The Tarahumara are an ancient tribe of runners, ultramarathoners really, who run unfathomable distances in what amounts to makeshift shoes assembled from pieces of rubber tires and leather straps. McDougall delves into the evolution of man, from his humble beginning as homo erectus to today, and he explores scientific evidence that indicates man is actually a born runner. We're not the fastest or strongest of the earth's creatures, but we have the genetic ability to run long distances without growing tired. This ability allowed early man to track down prey; after a while, other animals must stop to regulate their body temperature and their breathing while man can keep going and going. This ability (called "persistence hunting") eventually allowed homo erectus to beat out Neanderthals in the evolutionary race to the finish.

Welcome from the middle of the pack

I know, I know...a blog. How cliché. How self-serving and narcissistic. And ultimately, how pointless to throw these words out into cyberspace where no one (well, maybe my wife - Hi, honey!) will actually read them.

Then again, why do I run? Why do I go out day after day, week after week putting in countless miles, ripping through dozens of pairs of shoes, sweating my ass off in the summer, freezing through the bitter winter months, living through blisters and blackened toenails? I'm not fooling anyone here. I'm not a great runner. I've never won a race.* At my best, when I was in my 20s, I averaged a 6:59 mile at the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. Now, I'm comfortable at about an 8:30 pace. I've finished somewhere in the middle of every race I've ever run.

Writing's a lot like running, though. The more you do it, the better you get, right? Besides, it's therapeutic. A man thinks about a lot of stuff out there on the roads. Some of them are great ideas. Most aren't. But if you don't have someplace to jot those ideas down, they're gone forever. And like those countless miles, these countless words aren't pointless. They have a purpose, if for nothing else but to exercise the brain as well as the legs.