I starting running as a hobby in 1980. I was never a fast runner, but I was decent. I would often finish at the top for local neighborhood races. For larger races I would shoot to finish ahead of the fastest woman. If I was the fastest woman in a race, it was a success. Those days are long past.
I still run but I don’t race. A sincere case of FOFL (fear of finishing last)! But that’s not the only thing that’s changed:
- Preparation. In my prime running days, I lived in a small town in Wisconsin. I got out of work at 3:30 and by 4:00 I was out the door. By 4:15 I was running on a rural road past farm pastures. These days every run is a process. Eat, have some coffee, surf the internet, check the weather, BM, change clothes, warmup, drive somewhere, run. And each step along the way has veto power over the entire expedition. So if you see me on a run somewhere, just realize it took a confluence of events to successfully get my butt out the door.
- For years I would disassociate during runs. A 90-minute run and I couldn’t tell you what, if anything, I thought about along the way. Now I’m more of a global monitoring system. At every step – was that my hamstring? Did I just feel a twinge in my calf? Is that pain in my knee more or less than usual?
- Recovery time. In the old days it wasn’t uncommon for me to run thirty days in a row, or even run five miles after work and then play basketball later that night. Now? I tighten up like a banjo after my runs, and my new BFF is Epsom salt baths.
- Pace. For many years I would glance at the clock as I left the house and then glance at it again when I got back. Which was just as well since I wasn’t never sure exactly how far I ran anyway. These days with a Fitbit you know your exact pace and your exact distance. This is not necessarily a good thing. Let’s just say I treat that as confidential information and give it much more respect than, say, today’s politicians.
So why do I still run? It’s ingrained in my nature and it’s still fun. Invariably during a run I’ll decide to take the long way home, flipping a planned four mile run into a six miler. Endorphins still seem to kick in at the slower pace, and I end a run feeling good with a bonhomie that lasts the rest of the day. Plus I have to admit there is something romantic about a hobby that has been a constant for over forty years.
The skill diminishes but the joy remains. I’m not as fast as I once was but I’m not nearly as slow as I’m going to be!
