“if the future is to remain open and free, we need people who can tolerate the unknown, who will not need the support of completely worked out systems or traditional blueprints from the past.”
Margaret Mead
Sitting
And this moment is my path
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Living with Ambiguity: The Paradise of Being an Artist
“if the future is to remain open and free, we need people who can tolerate the unknown, who will not need the support of completely worked out systems or traditional blueprints from the past.”
Margaret Mead
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Why I Ran the Fifth Third River Bank Run: 7 Lessons I Learned in 6 Miles
1:04:29
That's my chip time for this year's River Bank 10K. It's not fast. And, it is to date, the slowest 10K I've ran since I first began running in 2006.
For the past two years I've ran the 25K--through storms, flooded course, 40-mile per hour wind gusts, and temperatures in the high 30s. The runs have been hard, which is made more intense by my stubborness to continue running despite my lack of any natural aptitude for it. I just run because I think I should.
In 2009 and 2010 I ran for Gilda's Club Grand Rapids. Inspired by my family's experiences with cancer, I decided to seek pledges from friends so that 1) Gilda's Club can continue their vital programming and 2) I would make the run about something more important than my roster of completed races.
For the past year I've been swarmed with small health problems: bouts of vertigo, a troubling colonoscopy that led to a series of biopsies (they all came back fine), a visit from my old friend "minor depression"
Like wandering into a ghost of gnats, none of these problems resulted in anything life-threatening, but as a series of issues, they just wore me down. And interrupted my running.
I still managed to do a few runs in 2010, including the Monster Dash Half Marathon in Chicago on Halloween morning. Spending time with friends, Steve and Bryan during that race reminded me that the joy of running had not left me.
In December, inspired by the Monster Dash and trying to leave the tiny room of depression that seems to always be in the house that is my mind, I began to train for the River Bank 25K. All was going pretty well. I logged my miles diligently, following the guide that came in the mail. I chummed around with good runners and smilingly accepted their abuse as they braved the snow and ice while I sweated it out on the treadmill.
By March I was in pretty good shape, although struggling to manage unexplained weight gain. I ran the Irish Jig 5K and felt every foot fall--with my 165 lbs (15 lbs over my typical weight) making everything more difficult and slower than usual. Nonetheless, I finished just fine and enjoyed the afterward at Rose's, our tradition.
And then I stopped running. Sluggish and uninspired I simply stopped running. Between March's Irish Jig and last Saturday--the day of the River Bank Run I didn't run at all. I did work out, but only out of obligation.
But--during that time I became keenly aware of friends, family and acquaintances who were experiencing all sorts of health problems. I attribute this to my age group--as I near 50 I'm just around more people who begin to have things happen to them that, well things that happen to people who are 50ish.
One guy fell during a training run only to find out he has a brain tumor. Another runner friend's father-in-law was diagnosed with cancer--and died within weeks. And then I had a bout of Schatzki Ring--a chronic condition on my roster of strange health problems that manifests by my not being able to swallow. One week before the Run I landed in the hospital--twice. Once in the ER and then again for the procedure that expands my esophagus.
And then I made the decision to run the River Bank. I just couldn't give in to all of these things. I thought, "As long as I can start and finish, I'm running."
And I did.
Very slowly, but with a mental lightness and enjoyable determination. And with great support from friends who ran alongside me.
I learned what I already knew:
That's my chip time for this year's River Bank 10K. It's not fast. And, it is to date, the slowest 10K I've ran since I first began running in 2006.
For the past two years I've ran the 25K--through storms, flooded course, 40-mile per hour wind gusts, and temperatures in the high 30s. The runs have been hard, which is made more intense by my stubborness to continue running despite my lack of any natural aptitude for it. I just run because I think I should.
In 2009 and 2010 I ran for Gilda's Club Grand Rapids. Inspired by my family's experiences with cancer, I decided to seek pledges from friends so that 1) Gilda's Club can continue their vital programming and 2) I would make the run about something more important than my roster of completed races.
For the past year I've been swarmed with small health problems: bouts of vertigo, a troubling colonoscopy that led to a series of biopsies (they all came back fine), a visit from my old friend "minor depression"
Like wandering into a ghost of gnats, none of these problems resulted in anything life-threatening, but as a series of issues, they just wore me down. And interrupted my running.
I still managed to do a few runs in 2010, including the Monster Dash Half Marathon in Chicago on Halloween morning. Spending time with friends, Steve and Bryan during that race reminded me that the joy of running had not left me.
In December, inspired by the Monster Dash and trying to leave the tiny room of depression that seems to always be in the house that is my mind, I began to train for the River Bank 25K. All was going pretty well. I logged my miles diligently, following the guide that came in the mail. I chummed around with good runners and smilingly accepted their abuse as they braved the snow and ice while I sweated it out on the treadmill.
By March I was in pretty good shape, although struggling to manage unexplained weight gain. I ran the Irish Jig 5K and felt every foot fall--with my 165 lbs (15 lbs over my typical weight) making everything more difficult and slower than usual. Nonetheless, I finished just fine and enjoyed the afterward at Rose's, our tradition.
And then I stopped running. Sluggish and uninspired I simply stopped running. Between March's Irish Jig and last Saturday--the day of the River Bank Run I didn't run at all. I did work out, but only out of obligation.
But--during that time I became keenly aware of friends, family and acquaintances who were experiencing all sorts of health problems. I attribute this to my age group--as I near 50 I'm just around more people who begin to have things happen to them that, well things that happen to people who are 50ish.
One guy fell during a training run only to find out he has a brain tumor. Another runner friend's father-in-law was diagnosed with cancer--and died within weeks. And then I had a bout of Schatzki Ring--a chronic condition on my roster of strange health problems that manifests by my not being able to swallow. One week before the Run I landed in the hospital--twice. Once in the ER and then again for the procedure that expands my esophagus.
And then I made the decision to run the River Bank. I just couldn't give in to all of these things. I thought, "As long as I can start and finish, I'm running."
And I did.
Very slowly, but with a mental lightness and enjoyable determination. And with great support from friends who ran alongside me.
I learned what I already knew:
- There are always obstacles to training
- Ilness and death co-exist with us every day and everywhere--we might as well make room for them at the table
- Doing something is better than resigning oneself to being on the sidelines
- It's good to be nobly determined
- Noble determination is different and better than ego-driven stubborness
- Fast is nice, but not necessary
- The guy who jumps out of the sidelines 500 feet before the finish and pushes you through is proof of good in the world
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