Finding My Own Pace
Wednesday, September 3rd, 2008
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Back in 1992, a friend named Dana approached me about running with her. She was a fanatic, and I, at first, resisted. Not letting a little “no” stand in her way, she persisted. After about three weeks of her continually trying to cajole me into being her running partner, I finally relented and went out for a run with her. Now running was not something I had ever considered doing previously. In fact, running was so distasteful to me that in high school when I was considering the military, I actually asked the recruiter which branch of the service would have the least amount of running. Now, I never did join the military, but eventually, the running caught up to me anyway.
Although she was great company, I really didn’t enjoy running with Dana as she had very long legs and a faster pace, not to mention that she was ten years younger than me, and had the non-stop energy of a pinball ricocheting around in a pinball machine. Every time we went out running, I had a hard time getting past the burning lungs and the aching legs.
Fortunately for me, as I mentioned before, Dana was a running nut. Her drive and enthusiasm made it possible for me to run just one more day, then another, and another. Her momentum became my momentum. I had to use her determination and love of the sport to get my butt out of bed when my entire body was screaming at me to “lay still and play dead”.
Although I still wasn’t really enjoying it too much, we ran 5 times a week. One day after probably three or four months of this torture, Dana was out of town, and she couldn’t make our morning run. I thanked my lucky stars, rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
Notice the word “tried”.
Now I really don’t know what accident of nature got me out of bed to lace up my running shoes
I’ll never forget that day. That day was a turning point for me. I had been using my friend’s momentum to keep me running, but trying to keep up with her long legs made it such a struggle for me every day. The day that I ran by myself, it was actually enjoyable. At some point in the first few miles, I had a breakthrough – I got into a rhythm; I got to that point where everything just flows – I was one with my body and all my parts were working in harmony, and I didn’t have to focus on anything…not my breathing, not my legs, not the ground. Everything was in sync. It was actually easy.
I can still remember the color of the leaves changing in the fall and the deep blue color of the sky. It was an exhilarating feeling of well-being. I’d never even paid attention to the cracks in the sidewalk, or the details of where we really were each day. The difference was almost earth-shaking. And it was because I was able to run at my own pace, instead of hers.
When I started running with Dana, never could I have imagined that I’d still be at it sixteen years later, and not only loving it, but there’s an element of addiction to it.
First off, I would have never gotten here to this point without her. While I haven’t heard from her in over ten years, and have no idea where she is or what she’s doing these days, Dana was the catalyst that propelled me towards what is now my passion, running. Sometimes, although we don’t know it, we need someone or something else to push us towards something that we love.
But the other side of that coin is that it couldn’t become something that I loved until I owned it for myself. She got me started, but it was when she wasn’t even there that I actually took control of it and was able to make it my own thing. Previous to that, it was her thing that I just happened to be doing, too. As I look back, I am so grateful that my friend put me on the path, gave me a little (or perhaps “really big”) push to give me the momentum, that allowed me to eventually find my own pace.
How ‘bout it?
Vision Runner
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