Coming back to Catamount

It's almost race day. Finally.

Thank you for reading this free preview of Running, Probably as I prepare for the Catamount 50K on Sunday. Be sure to check out the other unlocked pieces in this series.

• Talking strategy and tactics with my coach

• What it takes to run long

• When tech fails, run by feel

So much of the last 16 months has been a blur. From shutdowns to school closings to furloughs, everything about life during COVID-19 felt like it took place in a parallel dimension. I know that all of it happened because I lived through it. Yet, none of it seemed real, like a hazy dream you can’t wake up from early in the morning. 

One day in particular stands out, however. It was May of last year. I was playing wiffle ball in the backyard with my son, our version of home school recess. My wife was working at the kitchen table instead of in her office. My job, really my entire career as a sportswriter some 25 years in the making, was already in the rearview mirror. 

That was the day I found out the Catamount 50K was canceled. It wasn’t a surprise, but the confirmation dashed whatever shred of hope remained that there would be any kind of normalcy that summer. I remember looking at my son, who was patiently waiting for me to get back to our game and thinking, well, this really is my life now. 

Keep in mind that we had no idea when, or even if, he’d be able to go back to school. (It was late March of the following year.) My job for the foreseeable future was right there in the backyard, taking care of my child. Not just the fun stuff, like recess, but the harder stuff like reading, math, and navigating first grade zoom classes. 

I have no regrets about any of that, nor do I ask for any sympathy. As a family, we were incredibly fortunate that I was able to make the decision to step back from my life as a NBA basketball writer and become a freelance dad. 

Not that we had much choice. Somebody had to take care of him, and I’m grateful that I was able to do it. To be able to spend that much time with him, to really get to see how his beautiful little mind works, has been more enriching and fulfilling than any free agent scoop or exclusive interview I could have ever arranged. 

Without question, it was also one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I spent most of the summer in a self-induced haze, refusing to even entertain the idea of writing or being creative. All that energy and focus was now directed toward him, making sure he felt safe and that his needs were met. I intentionally broke myself down to lift him up and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

Running was the only space I kept for myself. It was an escape from the mind-numbing repetition of life in a pandemic, but it was also how I kept touch with reality. To be out there on my own with only the bare necessities of life -- food and water -- was the realest thing I could manage.  

I ran so much last summer. Way more than I did during this most recent training block, and more than I ever have during any summer previously. I ran and ran with no particular place to go and no end goal in mind simply to feel alive, if only for a little while. 

In retrospect, all that running probably contributed to the injuries I experienced during the spring. The aches and pains, the knee soreness and the hip stiffness, all fall under the category of repetitive use. I put my body through a lot and it was only a matter of time before it told me to stop. Fair enough.  

While I may have worn myself down physically, I was also growing stronger mentally. It didn’t seem that way at the time, but just getting through each day during the pandemic with some semblance of sanity was a major achievement. 

All of us -- each and every one of you reading this -- is stronger for having survived the past 16 months. Lord knows, there were tragedies and tumult. I’ve lost friends and relatives that I’ll never see again and never had the chance to properly grieve over, as I’m sure you have too. 

But we’re still here, still trying to make the most of life as it comes. We have to give ourselves credit for our resilience, even when we're struggling. I want you to know that I struggle too. Every day. That’s the biggest reason why I run. For me, running is far more than a physical challenge. It’s my first line of mental health defense, and it’s the way I make sense of the world. 

If you were to ask me what percentage of endurance running is mental, I’d say something like 75 percent. That makes no sense to folks who haven’t done the training, but once you’ve put in the miles and done the work, you start to realize that no amount of physical preparation can make up for a lack of confidence. You have to believe you can do it before you can even try. 

I like to go into races with a clear head and focused intentions, but I’m not sure that will be possible on Sunday at this year’s Catamount 50K. When I signed up for the race, I did so almost on a whim. Quite honestly, I wasn’t convinced it would actually take place. Given my injuries, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get to the starting line if it did. Even now that it’s mere hours away, it doesn’t seem real. 

What I know is that my body feels good, thankfully, and that I have a strong plan in place. What I don’t know is how I’ll react. I’ve raced dozens of times in the past, but this feels different somehow, and I won’t know exactly how until I get there. Ordinarily, that sense of the unknown would put me on edge, but for some reason I feel a deep sense of calm. 

I believe that a great deal of it comes from all of you reading this, and everyone who has offered their support and encouragement during this journey. I’m not just running for me this Sunday, I’m doing it for all of you, as well. You have sustained me through the ups and downs of training, and provided the motivation to leave it all out there on that course. I won’t let you down. 

And when things get hard during the race, as I know they will, I’ll be reminded of my little boy’s smiling face last summer. To see his joy and happiness at even the most mundane aspects of life during those extraordinary circumstances ranks higher as a personal accomplishment than any PR could ever hope to occupy.  

For my last taper run, he and I went out to one of our favorite trails. He rode his bike and I ran at a leisurely pace. I watched him cruise up and down hills that used to be too much for him and smiled when he circled back to check on me. I may have spent the last year or so taking care of him, but he’s done his share of taking care of me, as well. 

When we were done, he gave me a high-five and said, “Hey, dad. About that race, go get it.”