What Doesn’t Bend Breaks

From Saturday, 2.17.2007 -12 miles:
Yes, I do think about quitting. Mostly I think about it at 5:14 every Saturday morning when the alarm buzzes. I think about it real hard then. The whole "You've come this far, you can't stop now" deal really does it's thing here. The investment is the majority of my motivation when I have to decide between sleep and run.

I also think about it for about the first ten minutes of my drive to wherever we're meeting. Creepies get in my head. Lonely thoughts. Worries about being dressed right, or feeling ok in my stomach, or what if I can't keep up today, or what is my life really about?

Then, I start to see other elves coming out of the woods. Sometimes I notice us at a stop light, our collective headlights brightening the dark morn; other times it's on a long dark road, like out by Two Rivers. Or today, along the road to Murray Park. Today I was driving along, thinking about how dark and quiet it was--moved enough by my solitude to snap a picture.

Only then did I look in the mirror and see...

There's much to be said for solitude in the right times and places, but the value of community, of having others around you who understand, is also strong.

Really, I thought a twelve miler would be easy. Two hours...out and back...no problem. Not so much. First, it was cold. Second, it was windy. Third, the previous week’s twenty-miler had not ebbed from my legs as much as I’d thought.

Tom and Chris were running an out-of-town race, so Jenna and I did this one on our own. Along the way we both admitted that we’d thought about sleeping in, but found out sly Tom had called each of us to let the other know we’d be there. Built-in accountability. Smooth.

It didn’t help that we were starting from Murray Park, right next to the Arkansas River. Wind screamed off the water. Whitecaps churned. We headed left out of the park, stayed on the road, took the new trail loop around the Jr. Deputy baseball fields (just below Cantrell Road), and headed back to Murray. Once there, we continued past our cars to the Big Dam Bridge, where we went up and over and around the detour loop built during the bridge’s construction. And back.

Heavy, heavy legs, for both of us. For a while, I thought it was because we were running fast, but even when we eased up they were stiff and slow. The whipping wind didn’t help. There’s a phenomenon nearly almost present along the River Trail in which the wind will persistently be in your face, no matter your direction of travel. Going out and back? As you head out into the wind, it’s tempting to think, “Gee, this is tough but at least the wind will be at my back on the home.” Untrue.

So apparently, that delightful twenty-miler took more out of us than we thought. It is frustrating to come off that high and then struggle with twelve.

“Was that a fluke?”...

... “Did I do something wrong?”

Am I sick?” ...

“What will happen on race day?”

... “Am I having fun?” ...

...“Is it a problem if I can’t decide on yes or no?”

The big adventure of the outing was getting across the Big Dam Bridge--twice. Wow! Icy wind howled and hammered us. Water streamed from my eyes, which I had to squinch shut to be able to see. I pulled my stocking cap way, way over to one side of my head to cover the wind-facing ear and cheek. With each step, I had to concentrate on balance, to avoid being blown over. It was that fierce! I don’t know how Jenna stayed on her feet, if it was enough to push my 144 pounds around. We made good time on both trips.

In the end, after a poll of several Garmins, it looks like we did about 12.49 miles in 2:08. Meaning, despite the heavy legs and seemingly fast pace, we were actually right on our usual 10:15s. Weird.

The soundtrack in my head pulled up a song I hadn’t thought of in some time:

Buildings and bridges are made to bend in the wind
to
withstand the
world,
that’s what it takes.

Obviously, the literal meaning applies here, but subtly, it was a good reminder to let the day’s struggles go.