Running

EARLY THIRTY

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Too many years of getting up early at early thirty I guess. I am standing in front of my western facing kitchen sink window admiring the full moon as I prepare my morning coffee. It is cold and crisp with not even a whisper of a breeze. “La Luna Llena” seems so close that I might be able to reach up and touch it and I have no clue as to why I think of it in Spanish. The moon light is causing the snow that still lays on the ground to glow brightly and seems to brighten my backyard forest, illuminating it in an eerie light.

I normally don’t have to set an alarm to wake up by five o’clock despite having no place special to be and an icy driveway that would prevent me from going out anyway. This morning my rambling “dream thoughts” awoke me at four thirty along with a puppy dog wanting to go outside. It is mornings like this that I am glad my “dream puppy” awoke me. Most mornings in a time gone by I would get up at four-thirty so I could run or walk before school. This habit has been hard to break. I always knew that if I waited, my labors would not get done and I really didn’t want to feel that elephant sitting on my chest again that I associate with an earlier heart attack. As scary as the outside darkness could be, even with my “miner’s lamp” style flash light, I loved running, probably more so walking, on mornings like this…even with the twenty degree temperatures.

The light cast from the full moon was so bright that most of the time I really didn’t need to use a flashlight. I would climb up the hill on Airline Road and crossover Highway 11 to the drive leading into Lookup Lodge. It was as if the moon was following me, always right over my left shoulder until it disappeared behind the small mountains to the west. Above me, and to the east, Orion still hunted despite the pre-dawn glow of the still unrisen sun. As I chugged, wheezing and gasping, out of what I called the hole and climbed the asphalt path up toward the lake, I always knew that both the moon and Orion would be waiting for me as soon as I topped the next hill and found my way to the eastern side of the lake. I also knew that I would pause, stop timing my run, and admire the scene of the setting full moon over the lake.

It is still too icy for me to get out this morning and with an attack of sciatica trying to hang on, I will resist my urge to do so. I think I am going set my alarm for four-thirty tomorrow, just in case. I think there will be enough light from an almost full moon left to make it worth it. If not, it will still be worth it.

DECISIONS, DECISIONS…ALREADY?

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It’s the third day of the new year, 2016, and I am already facing a decision. Not an earth shattering one…unless it is. Just a slight adjustment but one I hate to make…despite my New Year’s Resolution #1 that included the admonishment to “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff!” It is a concession to age and oh how I despise making a concession to MY AGE! For over a year now I have battled my arthritic and injured knee and my running. Over the same year I have mulled over my orthopedic surgeon’s prognosis, “There is a knee replacement sometime in your future.” He said other things but for some reason I didn’t hear much after the “knee replacement” part. I probably ought to get some clarification. I did make the decision to put it off as long as possible…which brings me to the decision to discontinue—GASP—running.

Running has been a constant companion since April 9, 2006. I had been a “hit or miss” kind of runner the decade previous…make it more miss than hit, but in 2006 I made the decision that I needed to make a lifestyle change. A heart attack will cause you to contemplate such modifications and, when it occurs on your birthday, remembering the anniversary of your heart attack is that much easier. I really don’t have a problem recalling the feeling of an elephant sitting on my chest and the fear that went with it. Because of that fear I made major alterations that included exercise and a new diet that allowed me to drop sixty-plus pounds. One of those alterations was twice a day bouts of walking and running. Mostly walking but some forty or fifty mile weeks of running thrown in for good measure. Since my injury my bouts are once a day and focus much more on walking than running.

My problem is not with the exercise. I can replace my running with more cycling and fitness walking. I really need to be more consistent with strength training. Maybe a rowing machine or a membership to the Y. Yeah I can do that…but what about my head? I should mention I once suffered from clinical depression…but not since I began running consistently. That’s the small stuff I am sweating. I’m not sure I can out walk my ghosts or the grim reaper. I just know if I don’t stop running I may not be able to out walk anything.

So the decision is made…right? As I walked into church this morning I picked up a bulletin and immediately noticed a runner on the front in starting blocks along with a Bible verse from Hebrews, “Let us run with endurance the race that lies before us, keeping our eyes on Jesus.” Okay…looks like their maybe a bit of prayer before my decision is fully made.

Don Miller is a retired teacher and coach who, in addition to his Blog, has written three books that have drawn heavily from his childhood and years in teaching. They may be downloaded or purchased in paperback at the following links:
“WINNING WAS NEVER THE ONLY THING…” goo.gl/dO1hcX
“FLOPPY PARTS” http://goo.gl/Ot0KIu
“PATHWAYS” http://goo.gl/v7SdkH

EVERYTHING IN MODERATION

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Changes in lifestyle
Despite my battles with my knees and some recent weight gain I was pleased with yesterday’s checkup, especially the cardio. Bp was 115 over 64 and my pulse was 55. Yeah I am bragging. On April 9, 2006 I had decided a lifestyle change was needed. A heart attack will cause you to contemplate such modifications and, when it occurs on your birthday remembering the anniversary of your heart attack is much easier. I really don’t have a problem recalling the feeling of an elephant sitting on my chest and the fear it fostered. Because of the “elephant on my chest” fear, after my recovery I made major alterations including exercise and a new diet allowing me to drop sixty-plus pounds of which I have managed to keep fifty off. In order to accomplish this feat in the three six months after four stints were surfed up an artery, I listed and placed most of the food, drink and cigars I loved into a folder marked as Daniels were replaced by early morning and late afternoon walks and runs along with food tasting bland with the consistency of cardboard. Six months after my stints and seven months after the heart attack, I proudly went to my first post-attack checkup and my cardiologist was suitably impressed. “What have you done to accomplish this?” he asked. I enumerated a whole lot of things I won’t bore you with except to say they involved food tasting much like tree bark and fifty miles per week of exercise. While he sat there nodding his head he suddenly broke in and pointed out, “You know, you just can’t give up everything that makes life worth living.” “But what do you mean?” I asked. “It’s like drinking. Everything should be in moderation. One or two drinks a day are actually okay, especially if they’re red wine.” Hummmm I contemplated. “I don’t like red wine.” “One or two beers or a shot or two is okay.” “Okay Doc, can I save them up during the week and drink them all on the weekends?” He was not amused but he made his point. Life should be about living and not fear. I am still good about diet and exercise but not obsessive. My “Never” file became “Once in a Blue Moon” which became occasionally. “Everything in moderation” became my mantra with an accent on “Everything.”
Don Miller has written three books which may be downloaded or purchased in book form for your reading enjoyment. Titles and links are listed below:
PATHWAYS http://goo.gl/6yB5Ei
WINNING WAS NEVER THE ONLY THING… goo.gl/dO1hcX
FLOPPY PARTS http://goo.gl/Ot0KIu

I AM NOT A RUNNER

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I am not a runner. My legs are too short, and my feet are too big. I am not built for speed. I have calves the sizes of cannon balls. I try to remember the joy of running as a child, but I can’t. Instead, there are memories of being picked last for school yard games and of saving my pennies and dimes until I could buy a pair of PF Flyers. Their advertisement assured me I would be able to “run faster and jump higher.” They lied but I run.

I am not a runner. I am too old and have arthritic knees. I am too heavy because I have spent the past year attempting to get over a clumsy misstep and can’t seem to outrun my diet. When I get out of bed, I make the sounds my father made when he was my age. I have a “Rice Krispy” back. I move and it makes a “snap, crackle, popping” sound but I run.

I am not a runner. I didn’t start until I was fifty-six and at age fifty-seven, I ran my first 5K. Twenty-four minutes and some change. Good for a middle of the field finish…in my age group. This morning I ran-walked hard enough to finish four miles in forty-six minutes. Not fast but sometime next week I’ll try for five…maybe. I shouldn’t be happy, but I am, and I will run.

I am not a runner. I am not depressed when I run, I am depressed when I don’t run. I am my most creative when I run because I create stories to avoid thinking about the pain of running. The pain of running is not as bad as the pain of not running. I am not a runner, but I run.

LOOK UP

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“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”

Sunday morning I awoke with a start, my mind as troubled as the world I was dreaming about. My already feeble brain resembled an unfinished jigsaw puzzle with several dozen pieces missing from the box. I was also in pain. Arthritis and sciatica…aging is not for the faint of heart. Instead of making the noises my father made I bit my tongue to keep from waking my wife and made my way down to the den. It was 4:30 in the AM and both of my puppies decided to follow asking with their paws to go outside.

Stepping outside with them into the crisp predawn air, I was struck by the dark beauty of a bright moonlit night. I remembered similar mornings from my past, previous life…my working life. For the ten years since my heart attack I have been, more than less, religious about running or walking. Recently, due to knee pain, it’s been more about walking but I find either exercise is a better pain killer than Advil. During my working days I would roust myself out of bed at 4:30 and hit the pavement by 5:15. Since my retirement I try to run or walk at a more civilized 7:30 or so. With nothing of interest on TV and a mind too cluttered to write, I decided to relive “those days of yesteryear, Hi Hoh Silver, Away!”

It was dark and cold as a made my way up the steep, half mile hill to the drive way at Lookup Lodge. This stretch is the darkest and most fearful part of my jaunt because of heavy timber forming a canopy over the road. Despite the bears, coyotes and wildcats who share my habitat I have never been too concerned about running into wildlife. I am much more concerned about the spirits, ghosts and haints that are just out of the range of my head lamp. This time of year I would always pause at the top of the hill before entering Look-Up Lodge and “look up.” This morning was no different. The constellation Orion waited above me to protect me from harm just as it always had. As I continued to gaze at my protector a shooting star flew across the still night sky reminding me to make a wish, one that I doubt will come true. Shakespeare wrote, “Whenever a mortal falls in sin, tears fall from angels’ eyes. And that is why at times there fall bright stars from out (of) the skies.” My guess is there will be more stars to fall.

A mile long downhill would lead me to the athletic field at Look-Up were I would again “look up” seeing Orion nipping at my heels before a short, slow uphill trek leads me to the lake and a view of an electrically lit, bare cross below the small mountains beyond. As a small child I would stay with my grandmother while my parents worked. Under her tutelage I memorized many Bible verses including one of her many favorites from Psalms, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” The memory reminded me to pause and say a short prayer for humanity before beginning my mile and a half journey home.

My knees still ache, not as much as they did when I arose this morning, and judging from the morning news, the world is still just as troubled. My mind is clearer and less jumbled, I think I even found those missing jigsaw pieces. I may continue my predawn runs and walks…along with prayers at the lake at Look-Up.

RUNNING FROM MYSELF

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Eleven months ago I finished my last long run two weeks before competing, wink-wink, in the annual Spinx Fest half marathon. The following week I was a hundred yards from finishing my last easy run before the weekend event when a miss step ended that dream…and others. Later in that week my doctor said in his best doctor voice, “You’ve got a torn meniscus but Early Osteoarthritis trumps that. You are looking at a knee replacement down the road.” He continued to talk but for some reason I quit listening and fell into a dark place after the mention of a knee replacement.

I am not a competitive runner, not even in my age group unless I am the only one in it, but I like to compete…even if it is just competing against myself. It may be my teaching background, but it seems that when I have a plan and a goal, I forget how much I hate the actual act of running. I also like the cheering at the end of the race after following an attractive woman looking fit in her spandex who is running at a rate of speed, I can keep up with…but at a distance. Is that chauvinist or just being male?

I have missed all my races and the beer afterwards for the past eleven months as my weekly mileage has yo-yoed all over the place and my fear of being seen running in public has soared. Today it reached an all-time low. Three runs this week for a whopping six miles. There are another twenty-four from walking but it just ain’t the same. There is something that unscrambles my mind when I run while walking sometimes causes a reaction resembling the view from a broken kaleidoscope.

I began to walk and run in my late thirties after looking in the mirror. I was active, a coach, but I couldn’t deny that my pants had gotten wider and the long hours on the field had gotten harder, so I began to take my health seriously…until torn cartilage and a toe destroyed by psoriatic arthritis sidelined me. After four operations it became easy not to get up and workout and for a year or so I gave in to the temptation of my recliner, tasty steaks, bourbon, and cigars.

On April 7, 2006, I stood in front of a mirror while standing on my scales and had to admit that two hundred and thirty-two pounds did not look too good on my five-foot nine frame. I vowed to fix it but once again providence would intercede. On April 9, 2006, while celebrating my birthday, an elephant decided to sit on my chest signaling the best thing to happen to me since my wedding, a heart attack.

The best thing? Yes, the best thing because I survived it along with the four stints that were “surfed” into my heart. It signaled a need for a lifestyle change that I fear is in jeopardy if I can’t run. Between a clean diet, therapy and restarting my running I lost sixty-two pounds, much too quickly and ten pounds too much, before finally settling in at a comfortable one seventy-five and competed in my first 5k six months after my heart attack.

I was the “belle of the ball” as far as my cardiologist was concerned but there is a dark side. I still see a fat guy when I look in a mirror and fear I am one step from the slippery slope I was previously on. I am afraid that if I can’t outrun myself, everything I have worked for will crumble. There are other forms of exercise, but I fear they cannot provide the same peace of mind that I receive from my running. I’ve already seen an increase in the scales, beer consumption and even my cigars. Hopefully acknowledging it will help me battle my demons, but I am not sure I can out walk or out bike them. Sometimes a “mind is a terrible thing.”

Tale of the Swamp Rabbit continued or in this case Tails of the ….Crawfish

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Honestly this did not take place on the Swamp Rabbit Trail but it occurred while running…sorta. Generally I don’t run in the afternoon. I just prefer to run in the morning, sometimes even before daylight. Before daylight I can’t see how far I’ve gone or how much longer or higher the hill is but this morning it was raining. Sometimes I run in the rain…that’s a lie, I never run in the rain unless I happen to get caught in a rainstorm when the weather people lie. Despite my displeasure of running in the afternoon, providence reared its head in the form of a three year old that Linda Gail offered to baby sit. Linda Gail offered so I felt no remorse when I decided it would be a great time to do a five mile run/walk, actually more walk than run with my bad knee.
I am used to seeing wildlife when I run even on the Rabbit. The overweight guy running bear chested in tight padded bicycle shorts, the girl in the sports bra that fits way to loosely…wait, that’s the wrong wildlife. When I run around my home I see a plethora of animals including snakes, turkeys, deer, foxes, the occasion stork or even a bear. Yes, I do stop to help turtles across the road. Luckily I saw the bear before he saw me. As I started to run behind a tree an elderly gentleman sitting on his porch across the road yelled, “You might want to wait a minute I just saw a bear and her cub go up that drive.” A mile and a half from home…yeah I can wait.
Today was a first. I have never seen a crawfish the size of a small lobster scooting across a road. In fact this is my first crawfish of any size scooting across a road. Don’t crawfish breathe with gills? I know we have had a lot of rain the last few days but seeing this guy on the road makes me want to look for high ground. Where was the boiling water and Old Bay when I need it! Oh yeah, “pop dem tails!”

Gods With a Little “g” (Sept. 9, 2014)

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They won’t leave me aloneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Who has a bike race on a rainy day like today? Okay, I did go out running but it wasn’t raining when I left and I have a lot better traction than bikes do. I was determined to erase a bad memory from yesterday! Instead of running the Swamp Rabbit it would be up and over the hill on Chinquapin down to Cherokee Valley and then up and over the hill back home. Easy! A mere seven hundred feet in elevation gain and that one and a half mile “Hill from Hell!” Easy! It is in the bag. I just hope it’s not in a body bag.

Up at five and lets take time to make sure our legs are in fact attached to our feet. They were but I thought the same thing yesterday before losing a duel with a very pregnant lady pushing a double stroller. Out at six thirty, wait what is this falling out of the air. According to the weather map there is no rain in the area. Maybe it is just a glitch in technology? The little voice in my head said “I think the running gods are going to frown on you if you go out that door.” I should have listened to my little voice but instead I decided to just wait it out. An hour and a half later no rain is falling and no rain is showing in the area. Out I go and forty seven minutes later I am a very large, drowned rat. Thank goodness I put my IPhone in a plastic bag but I sure wish I had packed that poncho.

The “gods” of running were frowning on me. I believe that if you believe in the Holy Spirit, which I do, that an argument can be made for the existence of “unholy” spirits. Not the devil or evil incarnate, just little ah…I don’t know…gremlins or what I call gods with a little “g.” Football fans understand what I am talking about. A little imp called a “football god” that made the field goal kicker miss two easy field goals after breaking the record for consecutive field goals. What about the “scrum” on fourth and less than a foot with just a little more than a minute to go? I am sure the little gremlin moved the ball one centimeter in the wrong direction as in “the football gods were frowning on us tonight.” Please understand I am not worshiping these gods. I have already broken too many commandments to break that one. I just believe that they might exist. Just in case they do exist sometimes I pray to God and ask him not to let the “little g” gods interfere. My little voice whispers to me that I should realize that God is really too busy to intercede on my behalf in such trivial matters.

As I made my turn around in the rain and began my seven hundred foot ascent to the top of the small mountain that Chinquapin Road runs over I saw a sign that read “Bike Race Today.” Okay it must be left over from the last one, because only an idiot would race today. When I got to the Baily Mill Road crossroads I found out that I was incorrect. There were about five hundred idiots on the road besides me and they were moving a lot faster than I was. Not just the cyclists were out in mass but their fans, pace cars and police were also present. As I ran weaving through Baily Mill on the wrong side of the road, I knew the cheering fans were not cheering me. I was amazed how fast the cyclist came screaming down the “Hill From Hell” while making the turn on to Baily Mill. All of those cyclist with their hideous colors and spandex were going so fast and leaning so deeply in to their turns I worried that they might drag a pedal and cause a dozen bike pile up. I was terrified for them and worried about the little “g” gods causing a blowout. As I continued my snails pace up Chinquapin they kept coming and kept coming. Flight after flight flew by me, each group a little slower than the last. I think I feared for them more that those who were obviously the elite riders. I hope the cycling gods were kind to them. At least it quit raining.

I made it home safe and sound albet quite wet. Considering the conditions and the hills, 11:30 miles were pretty good. Suddenly I feel that what I accomplished was not very important. As I type this I hear sirens heading up Highway 11 toward the race area and I say a little prayer for whatever has happened. I hope that the cycling gods were smiling today and not frowning. Please be smiling.

Exactly One Year Ago….

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From a suggestion from a friend, Linda Collins, I decided that I would call these rants: Tails of the Swamp Rabbit Trail. Tails is spelled exactly the way I want it. Also, don’t expect a weekly “tail.”
I had a great run Saturday if anyone moving that slowly can actually claim to be running. After much work I appear to have perfected the art of running slowly. There was less congestion, no pack riders and very little spandex. What spandex was seen was on people who should not be wearing it outside of the solitude of their homes.
Due to so much uncluttered time I was forced to do something I rarely do…think. What I thought about was how thankful I was to be on the trail this beautiful if somewhat humid morning. What made me thankful were the large numbers of people who appeared to be, like me, refugees from a geriatric ward. These were “seasoned” men and women who were trying to outride, outrun or out walk the grim reaper. I was particularly motivated by the much older couple who strolled up the slight incline using walking canes while holding hands. There was a young man who came screaming up the incline on his low slung hand powered bicycle, useless legs just along for the ride. AMAZING AND MOTIVATING!
I want to apologize to the three older men I met. Not for what I thought but for the fact my jaw went slack and agape when I saw the large expanse of white skin from their shirtless bodies. Guys I know it was hot and humid but you should not run without shirts. In fact anything you might do without shirts should be privately contained. My tee shirt had gained about a pound of sweat but I would never take it off in a public place. I am in pretty good shape but have reached the age that I now try to sneak up on mirrors when naked or partially naked. Despite all of the bicep curls I do, my arms are stick like. Pushups can’t keep my chest from falling into my stomach, sit ups and planks can’t keep my stomach from collapsing into my rear, and I don’t know where my rear is going. I guess into my feet because they are still growing to. Guys, I apologize for my facial expression but you looked like three very pale Mr. Potato Heads.
Finally to the cyclist I stepped out in front of, I am sorry. It was my fault but I was at the end of my LSD run. It is supposed to be LDS for long duration slow speed but due to the hallucinations I was having at the end of my ten mile run and walk, I call it an “LSD” run. I was not paying attention, thinking instead about the cool air conditioning of my truck and a glass of chocolate post run milk when I reversed in front of you. I did not hear your whisper quiet machine and I am sure you were just too busy to say “on your left.” I should have seen you. Who would have thought about putting all of those colors together on the same jersey? You actually reminded me of one of my grandmother’s patchwork quilts but I guess I thought I was in one of those LSD light shows. I also agree that I was a “damn idiot” but am somewhat concerned. First, physically I just could not accomplish what you asked me to do and I am really concerned about your eye sight. I was running and not riding a horse. I don’t think horses are allowed on the Swamp Rabbit and again why would you want me to do that to myself and a horse?

Lamentations…and Humiliation

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I am a realist most of the time. I know I still believe that the Cubs will play in a World Series and our government will actually…well…ah…govern. I also believe that these events will occur before I leave this world and go to meet my deserved rewards. Really…most of the time I am a realist especially as it relates to my running. I am enough of a realist to grimace a bit when I use the term runner when describing what I do. I just have too much going against me to be more than an average runner, even in my age group. Look at me. No really look at me and say with a straight face, “Now there is a runner.” It can’t be done with a straight face. When I look in a mirror I see a gourd with shoulders. A mesomorph from the waist down attached to an ectomorph from the waist up. My gene pool did not assist me in my running endeavors. Now, sitting in my recliner keeping my greasy pizza hand separated from my remote hand…that I got.
I didn’t beginning running with any regularity until I was in my forties and didn’t commit to it until after a heart attack in 2006. Soooo, realistically I just want to set an attainable goal, work at it, train effectively, stay healthy and attain it. A sub nine minute per mile 5K ain’t gonna happen. Maybe one mile might be run in a sub nine minute time. Now I do think sub ten’s are possible or at least I did until today. The Ache Around the Lake is just around the corner. Last year I ran it’s up and down five mile course in 50 minutes and some change. All I need to do is shave less than a minute off each little ole mile. 49:59 sounds so much better than 50:00…but it ain’t gonna happen.
Since I retired from teaching I don’t even like to set goals. There is something to be said for wandering through life without a road map. How can you get lost if you don’t know where you are going? Running is different. I knew where I was going today. A nice slow, long for me, nine mile run on the Swamp Rabbit as I move toward the mileage needed to run a half marathon. A nine mile “Jeff Galloway” run averaging around eleven minute miles. Easy, I did eight and a half last week. Just a little long run from the railroad car at Furman uphill through Travelers Rest for five miles and then back again. Bull hockey! I knew I was in trouble during the first mile and a half. Half mile walk to warm up and a one mile…jog. I know my legs were attached to my feet when I put on my shoes but where are they now? Physically I see them but for some reason they have become very large strands of over done pasta.
Miles two and three of the course are actually the hardest part of an easy course. After mile two I said to myself “Firetruck it” I am going to gut this out. Too bad my guts weren’t listening or doing the running. For some reason I am singing an old Dave Dudley song in my head. Actually I was hearing “Six Days on the Road” over my IPod. There is a line that says “my rig’s a little old but that don’t mean she’s slow, there’s a flame from her stack and that smokes blowing black as coal.” I decided I was going to be Dave Dudley’s Rig. I was gonna bring it home tonight! It worked…for about a half mile. I really tried to believe it but then she passed me at the three and a half mile mark. If I was Dave Dudley’s rig she was George Jones’ Corvette and she whizzed by me on the incline like I was rolling backwards. I am used to being passed by young ladies and it really doesn’t bother me. Nubile twenty something’s wearing spandex and going fast are usually motivating. So are thirty or forty year olds. Fifty…well maybe…oh yeah! This twenty something year old pushing her baby stroller with two year old on board really bothered me. Worse than that, she was really–really pregnant with another child. The tires on my rig just went flat! A nice little three and one half mile walk back to the railroad car on flat tires. Yeah I can attain that goal.
#blog #amwriting
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