In it for the long run

If you build it... (7/4/04)

I was thinking during this morning's run (in between more looks at my watch than I should have taken) about that line from "Field of Dreams," "If you build it, he will come." And a magical playing field came into existence, attracting all the baseball greats, starting with Joe DiMaggio. For me, the movie was a metaphor for the preparation we need in order to attract greatness, to bring the heroes into our back yard. Build for it. Believe in the possibility of it. Listen to the voices, the intuitions, but follow up with the practical work that is needed to make them real.

Sometimes that building process seems endless and the sun too bright and progress glacial.

Ran in the Downingtown Good Neighbor Day 10k yesterday and a sluggish 90 mins. today. Downingtown's event offers a choice between 5, 10, and 15k.

I was wavering between the 10 and the 15k. Decided against the 5k, thinking it was time for a change; had done that one the last couple of years, and with the weather always hot, my times were slow and slower. So I figured if I was going to have a slow time, I should get a few more miles in. I seriously considered the 15k. But having run in a track meet a week ago, then having done two hard workouts during the week, then looking at the weather forecast and an uncertain quad (yada, yada, yada....), I chose the 10k.

But I decided to try starting out easy and progressively picking up my pace, trying the "gears" as Dave described them. Jogged the first 20 mins. (already feeling the heat somewhat, but mitigated by a breeze), then picked up to a comfortably hard pace for the next 20 mins., then pushed myself harder for the rest of the race. The result according to what was listed on the board today was 1:03 and change (my watch said 1:02:38), which isn't too fast and suggests to me not a huge difference between "jogging" and "running all out" (sigh!). First 5k (part jog, part comfortably hard) was 31 verging on 32. First two miles 21something; mile 4 40ish, so I think possibly that while I felt I was running harder at the end, the heat was eating up whatever speed I managed.

This was a bit discouraging, but I've gotten encouraging reports from others who have said that sometimes speed disappears for a while and then there's a breakthrough and not to give up. Not giving up, I stayed with the schedule, which today called for 90 minutes--for me, a rather sluggish 90 mins. It was hot and thus a run of fits and starts. Still, I'd say it was good, as even overheated runs sometimes can be.

Started through Naylor's Run Park, where I saw an instructor teaching sword t'ai chi to a woman. Watched for a short time, and finally got the courage to approach them. Asked the instructor if they were there every Sunday and he told me they were there or in a church in Lansdowne Mon. evening. Price was $15/session which is a bit on the high side for me, having invested so much in running, but it seems like a beautiful art. The instructor let me hold the sword for a moment to get the feel of it. Hefty--would be a challenge working with it.

Out of the park to make my way toward the cemetery. This route takes me onto a shaded, pleasant street, then a turn onto the concrete jungle of a road, until I reach the path that winds up behind a billboard and onto the high school grounds. If my run is an hour or less, I head for the track. More than an hour and I wander further, often toward the cemetery. Today, however, the gate where I usually enter was locked. Next one also locked. I was now doing the running I most dislike: on sidewalks full of cracks. It would be a run around the cemetery but not inside. Disappointing because I wanted to stop at the grave. As it happened, I finally came upon an unlocked gate, stopped at the grave, poured a little of my water on a very fledgling maple tree that had been cut since yesterday but still remained rooted in the ground. Gave kisses to both my mom and stepfather, laid a pine cone and a couple of clover flowers on the ground, and finally headed off. Had no wish to run, just feeling like Forrest Gump--"tarred." But along came a couple of runners and pride kicked in. I wasn't going to let them pass me, and they did not, not until I left the cemetery where I'd come in. I thanked them and my mom and stepfather who probably had somehow brought the runners to me for just that push.

After completing a full circle around the roads bordering the cemetery, I crossed the street and headed for the high school, where I saw Bob F. who told me he'd had bypass surgery. He was slowly getting back into shape, happy his doctor had pronounced him okay. Also happy with the beautiful new convertible he was driving. I think it was a well-deserved treat for him to give himself. He's given a lot to running.

I promise to say a prayer for him--and as we part, I'm reminded that running isn't something I can take for granted. Every step is a gift. On the track, there is a sparse crowd--some walkers, another runner, a family with a child on a tricycle. Normally I'm not crazy about tricycles on a track, but the family was pretty careful, and the child was in the outside lane. I was lapped twice by the runner, but I tried not to worry about that and instead focused on practicing some of the form principles Dave had mentioned. Tried some of the knee lift drills when I got into shade, but my energy just seemed pretty low. Still, I decided that anything I accomplished there put me one step ahead.

Ran back through the park for the last mile, and when I came to the stream, could not resist taking off my shoes and sox and walking back and forth across the ford, splashing up water, enjoying its coolness. Saw a runner pass by along the park road, looking smooth, running easily the way I would like to run. I thought of all the work it will take to run like that, wondered if I could, wondered if the work would pay off. But it's an act of faith, this building, this preparation. Maxine Kumin talks about going "in deep," and also about being receptive. She would put out feeders, confident that birds would arrive, and an owl "arrived, like a poem, unannounced."*

I continue to "build it," believing, yet also living in the present that each run offers, the cool splash of water, the sudden breeze, the sighting of a cardinal, the occasional glimpses of the heroes in me and the herons around me, lifting me into flight.


*Maxine Kumin, _In Deep: Country Essays_ (Boston: Beacon Press, 1987), pp. 2, 133.

posted by DPMcManus @ 9:26 AM