Friday Ramble 02/26/21
Hope on the horizon, honoring Ahmaud Arbery, and a farewell to February.
My last race with other humans present was a local 50K in the fall of 2019. It was a breakthrough event in my transition to trail running in that I handled every challenge thrown my way and didn’t break. Whether it was the numerous wasp stings, the full face plant at Mile 14, or the stomach churning combination of late morning heat mixed with sugary gels, I didn’t let anything get in the way of setting a new PR (5:40:45.)
Establishing a new personal best was a big motivational drive during training, but I didn’t dwell too much on the accomplishment. Until I looked it up a few days ago, I had no idea what my time actually was. The real takeaway from that race was knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I competed to the absolute best of my abilities. Times and records change with the years, but to carry the knowledge that you really did give everything you had ... that’s forever.
I’ve missed racing so much over the past year. Without the structure and purpose it gives to training, I’ve found myself drifting from one season to the next, trying to invent goals and maintain consistency. I’m proud of my creativity and resilience, but I’d be lying if I said I’ve been able to replicate race training in any appreciable manner.
What I’ve really missed -- the hole that can’t be filled by anything other than the real thing -- is the feeling of competition. Not so much with other runners, but with myself. Racing is the most honest thing I know and there aren’t many places left in this middle-aged life where I can go the very depths of my being to find out what I’m all about, if only for a few hours.
I’ve missed competing in races so much that I refused to entertain the possibility that I’d be able to do it in 2021. Why bother setting myself up for aggravation? That was my mindset until an email appeared in my inbox late on Tuesday night inviting me to pre-register for the Catamount Ultra in Stowe, Vt. in late June.
I was on the pre-reg list because I had signed up for the Catamount last year. Located in the foothills below Mt. Mansfield, the race takes place at the Trapp Family Lodge. It’s one of my favorite places to run on the planet. While disappointing, it was hardly shocking when the race was canceled last spring.
I got the news while I was playing whiffle ball in the backyard with my son. Our version of pandemic recess. We were maybe a month into his school shutting down, and while I knew it was going to be a while until anything returned to normalcy, the cancellation hit me hard. This really was our life now, and for the foreseeable future.
With that, I put all thoughts of racing out of my mind. Throughout the pandemic, I’ve maintained a strict, ‘Make no plans beyond next week’ policy that’s served me well. Living day-to-day with nothing to look forward to may be a grind, but it’s staved off a lot of potential disappointment.
Long story short, my initial thought when I opened the email was, no way. The more I considered it, however, the more it seemed like a summer race could be a realistic option. The COVID numbers are going down. Vaccinations are happening, not as efficiently as I’d like, but there is finally progress. I also trust the race organizers will have sufficient safety protocols in place.
Dare I allow myself some tangible hope for the future? Maybe it’s tempting fate, but after sleeping on it, I signed up the next morning.
Just like that I have a race to prepare for again. The next thing I did was check the calendar. I have 17 weeks to train, plenty of time to get ready for a 50K. My mind started flipping through a mental rolodex of training plans: I have a month to rebuild my base, then hills, and speed work. I thought about routes and workouts and my coach, who I haven’t officially hired yet.
I’ve put off thinking about any of these things for so long, I was amazed at how quickly they all came back. It feels strange, like I’m preparing to visit some place I used to know, but barely remember. I’m excited to go there again. I’m still not convinced this race is actually going to happen, but I’m going to get ready for it all the same.
To honor Ahmaud Arbery, be the change you seek
This week marks the one-year anniversary of the death of Amhaud Arbery, a young black man killed by a white father and son in horrific fashion while out for an afternoon run near his hometown of Brunswick, Ga. I’m not going to rehash the details, but I will point you to this account in Runner’s World by Mitchell S. Jackson. It asks the most important question we have to answer as runners.
Peoples, I invite you to ask yourself, just what is a runner’s world? Ask yourself who deserves to run? Who has the right? Ask who’s a runner? What’s their so-called race? Their gender? Their class? Ask yourself where do they live, where do they run? Where can’t they live and run? Ask what are the sanctions for asserting their right to live and run—shit—to exist in the world. Ask why? Ask why? Ask why?
Beyond the #RunWithMaud hashtags, there are things that we as runners can and should do to make our running spaces safer and more inclusive. There are simple acts -- a nod, a wave, a cheery good morning -- that indicate a shared humanity and purpose.
Take a moment to examine your running world and ask yourself: Is it open for all or a closed society for some? Then look beyond your own circles. There are probably organizations dedicated to making running more accessible in your area. See how you can help.
Finally, make an effort to be more aware. No one is asking runners to be caped crusaders. Most of us, I’m sure, would just rather be left alone. That sense of peace and personal space are the reasons so many of us run in the first place. But when that peace is threatened or under attack, make a plan to be present and helpful. (Take some time to learn bystander intervention techniques.)
None of this can bring Ahmaud Arbery back. We can honor his memory by doing something to make the world of running a little bit safer and more welcoming for people of all backgrounds, races, and genders. Don’t let his death be in vain.
A not so fond farewell to February
I’m not in the habit of sharing my running journal with the outside world, but I think this pretty well sums up my feelings about the month of February.
I ran fewer miles in February than I have in any month since the snowmageddon winter of 2015. The miles that I did run were brutally slow and taxing. My hip hasn’t been right for a while and neither has my gait. I’ll blame the combination of snow, ice, and slip-on spikes for that development, and hope my body heals in time for spring.
Even after the snow and ice finally melt, the trails will need time to absorb winter and breathe again. To that end, I’m taking the rest of the month off. It’s my second extended break in four weeks, and I’d like it very much to be my last.
Farewell to you, February. You shan’t be missed.
I’ve never realized how important it was to have a race on the horizon until now. I’ve actually had a slightly different issues, where I’m running more than previous February’s but still feeling aimless in my runs. I go out with no plan for distance, do whatever I feel like, and come home. And while those runs are great ways to sometimes shake up the monotony of a training plan, when they’re all you’re doing they’re torture.
Of all the things that left our lives during the pandemic, races are one I didn’t really think too much about. But my stack of medals and race bibs hasn’t been added to in way too long, and can’t wait until that changes.
I have a few races that got cancelled after I signed up, so I have a deferred entry waiting for me at some point. So I'm nervous about signing up for another one because I don't want to all the sudden have too many races on the calendar (imagine, what a nice problem to have). But entries for a bike race up Mt. Washington in July open in a few days, and I think I might pull the trigger and cross my fingers.