Runners I Know: Henry Abbott

A conversation about going slow, not freaking out, and coming back from injuries.

I don’t remember when I met Henry Abbott, but I’m pretty sure we went running not long after our introduction. No matter where we were on the NBA map, Henry always seemed to have scoped out some local knowledge about the best places to get in a run before an All-Star game or a Finals practice. (If you’re an NBA head, Henry’s TrueHoop is a must read.) 

Over the years, we’ve gone way past the touristy parts of the River Walk in San Antonio and explored the Fire Trails in the hills above Berkeley. Even better than those impromptu exclusions, it turned out that Henry and his family settled in the town next to the one where I grew up. My parents still live there and we always try to line up time for a run when I visit.

If I had to guess, I’d estimate that I’ve run with Henry as much as any other person. After sharing so many miles and post-run coffees together, I invited Henry to join a relay team with some of my childhood friends that took us across the state of New Jersey in the blistering summer heat. 

We talked about those experiences — which Henry called “life-changing” — along with his amazing comeback from a slew of serious injuries, and why he always goes so darn slow on training runs.

How and when did you start running? 

My dad was a runner and there are some pictures of my sister and me in cute little matching running outfits. Technically we’d jog with him. I don’t remember a lot about that. It doesn’t seem like a big part of my childhood. 

But I do clearly remember freshman year of high school when I played freshman soccer. My best friend Matt was doing pretty well on the cross country team. He was like, you should just join cross country. It’s way more fun and way less hectic than all these people yelling at you on the soccer field. 

That was pretty convincing. So sophomore year of high school, the whole team both boys and girls was 14 kids, and I just fell in with them. In no way is this bragging, but I did well enough that I wanted to keep doing it. Then I was like, sure, I’m a runner now. That seems like a pretty good place to be. 

Where was high school? 

That was Oregon Episcopal in Portland, Oregon. 

There’s strong running vibes in Portland, did that filter down to you? 

Consciously, no. I didn’t know I was in a place with strong running vibes. It just seemed normal. Our coach was a guy who had done steeplechase at a high level. We’re talking about the 80s. It wasn’t like there were a lot of people who had competed at an elite NCAA level in steeplechase. 

There were running people around. Nike was being formed. There were people who talked about running shoes and stuff. Oregon in the 80s wasn’t quite the meat and potatoes America that everyone else grew up with. It was a little more … 

Crunchy? 

Yeah, a lot more Birkenstocks and a little bit more running. 

Did your high school experience give you a foundation to run as a grownup? 

I did run. And then I just totally stopped. I went to college and what would have been the best years of my running life, I just didn’t run at all. 

I feel that! 

I read your thing on that, boy did that resonate with me. In college, I was mostly hung over. And I played basketball. That was the thing I wanted to do recreationally. Now you can run in Manhattan, but at NYU in 1991, there were no running paths. You could run in traffic, which was BS. 

I was always a guy that if I had a really stressful day, I would go for a run. I knew running was a thing for me, like home base. I got tricked into running in an organized fashion in my mid to late 30s. My friend Erin had been a Division I hurdler and she knew all about training programs. She was like, why don’t we go for a run? And then the next day, why don’t we go for a run? After a few weeks I asked her, are we on a program? 

She said that if we’re going to run this half marathon we should probably get some distance and some speedwork in, so she tricked me into training. And then I liked it. I’ve either been on a training program or feeling guilty that I’m not ever since.   

What does running do for you? 

Such a deep question and I was worried you were going to ask me that. I'm going to make an attempt at two answers.  

One, maybe deep down the essential human activity is chasing animals across a plain or whatever. So, maybe on some deep level it feels like this is how we rehearse survival. This is how we do our most essential thing. I think it’s some of that. So, if this is what we do, it makes other things kind of possible, right? 

You’re tapping into something primal.

I definitely feel that and we can talk about that for hours if you want, but let me get to my other answer, which is a little metaphor. I write about sports for a living, as have you, and you’d think I’d have my kids watch sports to get inspiring lessons. You can ask them, I don’t think I’ve ever done that except for one thing. One lap of a race. 

This almost makes me cry. I think I have the details right. It was Jenny Simpson in the 2016 Olympics and with one lap to go in the 1,500 she was in sixth or seventh. It just wasn’t happening. Watching it, I felt like this was going to be her only shot at a medal and she’d been training forever. 

Here’s a woman who does this thing better than almost every American ever. She has a dream, and now she has less than 60 seconds to make it happen. It would be so normal for her to hear that bell (for the final lap) and freak out. Her gate would go to hell, her body language would go to hell, and she’d come in 12th. If you look at her she’s just caaaaaalm, like crazy calm. 

Paul, she gets into fifth, she gets into fourth. She’s not going to get third. She has half a lap and the gap is huge. Whoever was in third did what Jenny didn’t do and starts to freak out, so she comes back to her. Jenny passes her to get third and she gets a medal. (Ed note: Simpson became the first American woman ever to medal in the event.) 

My kids are bleary eyed before school one morning, and I’m like, Look at this! This is what you can do! And they’re like, Ok, dad. 

Life gets hard all the time. But the only thing you can control is if you freak out or not. If you don’t freak out, then you’re probably going to be OK. Running rehearses that for me. Mile 23 in a marathon is a chance to freak out, and all you have to do is just don’t freak out. Keep going. Most people do finish the marathon. You can do this. 

You told me a great line that has stayed with me forever. It was before my first marathon. You said, ‘The first 20 miles are your training and the last six miles are between you and your God.’ 

(Laughs)

I got to Mile 22 and was like, God you there? And God was like, nope. 

He gets busy, man! 

I should have gone to Mass more often. 

I’m not good at quick things. I watch basketball and I miss what’s happening all the time. People see it way better than I do. I could never be a referee. There are pursuits beyond sports where recognizing what’s happening that require you to fix what’s wrong NOW. I’m never going to be the best at those things. 

This is what I like about distance running. It’s about this conversation with yourself where, you can do it wrong for a couple of miles and still do well. You can patch it up. This feels very much like a lesson for the pandemic to me. It’s not how anyone wanted it to go. It’s Mile 23 of the marathon. Of course it sucks. Keep going. 

Henry and I in happier times in the hills above Berkeley, Calif.

You’re one of the only people I enjoy running with because pacing is always weird with other runners, but you were adamant. We’re going to run slow and we’re gonna talk. The first couple of times we did I was like, well this is horrible. Now I look forward to running slow with you because I always get something out of it. 

When I trained for a marathon for the first time (in my mid 30’s), I was an older athlete. You’re not supposed to be taxing your body like this. My mom had a friend in Oregon who was a fantastic running coach. I asked her about the Hal Higdon program and she said, pick whatever plan you want, but don’t use one where you run far and fast because those tend to lead to injury. I had it in my head that it’s dangerous. 

If I run alone I tend to get a little aggro with myself. I just didn’t want to get hurt, so I’d find whoever wanted to go for a run. Sometimes it was my dad or any local friend who wanted to go for a run. We’d go at their pace and we’d chat and it would be fun. I ended up becoming a counselor for a lot of aggro people, trying to convince them to run slower. 

I did break three hours (in the Philadelphia Marathon) after all my long runs were slower. The long day isn’t the day you’re going to get fast. There’s no science to back that up. Speed day is when you get fast. 

I want to talk about our relay team. All the guys grew up together and have known each other for 40 years. We had an opening and I said to the others, I know a guy. He’s our age, he’s fit, and he’s local. You show up and you’re wearing ...

I know what you’re going to say. 

The Vibram Five Fingers. And everybody was like, Paul, why did you invite this guy? 

My first leg with that team was in the Vibram Five Fingers on a trail. Brian (Harris, our teammate) had one of the first water stops. Brian is as dedicated to running fast and taking things seriously as any runner I’ve ever encountered. He ran with me for a quarter mile. He was charming and delightful, but I was fully aware that I was being vetted. 

Brian came back to the van and gave his seal of approval. By the end of the day, you were part of the family. 

It changed my life! That’s where I learned how much joy running could be. I didn’t think running had that much joy. There was so much love in that van. At some point that day, it became clear that Jeff (Shanklin) was the joy of running personified. If he opened a church, I’m an atheist, but I would go to the Church of Jeff. 

It was always the hottest day of the year. We both witnessed some amazing moments of sacrifice and perseverance. What stands out for you? 

One hundred percent, what stands out to me, it was late in the day, hottest day of the year, and there’s Jeff who’s just a brilliant, beautiful, gazelle of a runner. And he looks like he’s dying. 

The rules are the next runner can tag in early, but then they have to do the rest of that leg and your own without tagging. We’re all saying we’ve got to Jeff out of there. Brian’s up next. He’s already got a bunch of miles (in front of him) and he’s like, ‘He can go a little longer.’ 

We pushed Jeff to the freaking limit and he literally collapses into his brother’s arms. What I will never forget is his brother (Paul) holding him saying, ‘I love you, brother.’  

You stayed with Jeff and I went with Brian who did tag in early, and of course he caught the people who had passed Jeff plus a dozen more. He ran so hard and when he was done he could barely walk. For people reading this, it sounds horrible, but this is what we did for each other. 

It does sound horrible! But yeah, that’s all true. 

You got hurt not long after that. Not related to the relay for the record. What happened? 

I had all sorts of pain. Every set of muscles attached to my hips both front and back was in searing pain with every step 24/7 for like, 18 months. Not great. I went to doctors, I went to physical therapy. Nothing really worked. 

I complained about it during an NBA Finals dinner. My buddy David Thorpe’s brother is a radiologist and I still never had an MRI. He said, just come tomorrow and we’ll have an MRI. I was in so much pain I couldn’t run, so I went for an 11-mile midday in June Miami walk, which was stupid. On that walk, right by the aquarium, he called me with the results. 

He just started talking about injuries. You have a back problem that needs surgery, a torn muscle in your pelvic floor and the pubic symphysis where your pubic bones rub together, which is usually the end of your athletic career. Oh, and I had a torn labrum in my hip. 

At that moment he said you need to find a back surgeon, and you need to find a pubic floor surgeon, and you’re probably never going to be athletic again. That sucked. After a good 3-4 months of freaking about what to do, I ended up not having surgery. 

I wound up doing a bunch of squats and very careful training with this woman who ironically was the sister of my friend Erin who tricked me into training. Her sister Eileen (Vazquez) is this magical wizard coach who got me so I can do whatever I want now without pain. 

I have taken some of Eileen’s fitness classes that you tricked me into attending. Wow, were they hard, but she’s amazing. I want to be careful here, because we’re not advocating skipping recommended medical procedures, but it was possible in your early 40s to basically rebuild your body. 

Right. Speaking very generally, if you’ve ever been in some classroom with a skeleton, it doesn't just hang together. It needs wire because your body is not one piece. Your bones don’t tell that much of the story. We’re mostly soft tissue. 

People who know about soft tissue don’t have some particular certification, they’re often not covered by insurance. They’re these kinds of unicorns out there. If you can find someone who can tell you, ‘Oh you’re weak in this way, which causes this movement pattern that causes this pain.’ 

There are people who understand this. That’s exciting. That’s where the action is. That’s what saved my life. 

We went for a run last summer and you took me up some hills for a workout. It was fun. It was hard, but it was fun. I remember thinking, I’m so glad Henry can do this. We were bouncy afterward.  

Don’t get me wrong. I exercise so I can eat. But the part where after a hard workout you feel like a giddy child hours afterward, that’s a big part of it for me. 

How has your running been during the pandemic? 

I’ve been a bad runner in the pandemic. I don’t really have a program. I don’t really have a vision or a strategy. I also can’t go to the gym. My whole exercise regimen is in turmoil. I’m amazed at how many days I don’t work out now. I used to be maybe one day a week, never more than two. Now there are some weeks where it’s four or five. 

I’m trying to follow my own advice where it’s Mile 23 of the marathon. Today’s a sunny day. I’m going to go running today. Let’s do what we can. This coming spring is going to have the spring weather that I’m going to appreciate more than any spring weather in my life. 

I went trail running the other day in the snow. It was a catastrophe. Other years I might have been more resilient where I would have gone running in these conditions anyway. This year, ehhhh, it’s just too hard. I am a little diminished as a runner. I am so excited for when I can get back to every part of normal post-pandemic life, but especially running post-pandemic life. 

Because I’m doing this newsletter, there’s some internal pressure to keep up a regimen. Even on good weeks, I’m basically just repeating my stuff. I’m not really getting anywhere. Do you have any goals for the other side? 

I literally have dreams of finding something where we get the team back together. I don’t have solo running dreams anymore. I don’t have some PR I want to set or whatever. I would love to do some races, maybe a little more trail stuff because you’ve been brainwashing me. 

That race we did kind of fell apart, but wouldn’t it be great to have some trail relay somewhere in some beautiful place and haul ass across the countryside? That would be really fun for me. 

Me too. I know a couple of the guys are subscribers so we’ll have to make it happen. Anything else you want to add here? 

I really appreciate what you’re doing. I feel like you’re tapping into something here that’s meaningful. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I’m glad you’re doing it.