The slap of the shoe on the pavement, the swing of one's arms, the gag-inducing pace, the hop to clear the curb, the bounce on the balls of the soles as the hill crests. The efficiency and speed, plodding by some, effortless by others. The repetitive motion and the heart rate that is awakened from a slothful existence.
The act of running has me moving at a speed that is so different than on bike, car or transit, and although it's not so much faster than a brisk walk (by scale), the speed in which you travel -- real movement with the heart, legs, muscle in interplay -- have a way of activating my soul.
While I am moving while running, it is running that moves me in deeper ways that meditation could never give me. Running is my way to confront the self, but to find more that is hidden within me. I am seeking, striding, solving, negotiating, hurting, conquering, coping and -- ultimately -- living.
Non-runners don't understand. I get that now. In my years as a long distance runner, I've watched the running community repeatedly dismissed. One old example is Ted McClelland, who wrote in 2007 how the marathon was being ruined by slow runners.
Even as the sport continues to grow, capturing more women, more city dwellers and more participants at races, the naysayers feel compelled to -- shall I say -- dismiss the movement. Oh, you want 26 reasons not to run the marathon?
Just this past week, the Wall Street Journal ran an op-ed by a man who can't stand the 26.2 stickers, the 13.1 labels he sees on car bumpers. Chad Stafko, in essence, says running is an act of self-absorption, for showing off more than anything else.
He writes:
I have a theory. There is no more visible form of strenuous exercise than running. When runners are dashing down a street in the middle of town or through a subdivision, they know that every driver, every pedestrian, every leaf-raker and every person idly staring out a window can see them.
Mark Remy over at Runner's World does a takedown of Chad, much like I did of Ted McClelland in 2007, so there is no need for rebuttal, but I wanted to reinforce a few simple truths, some small reasons why we run.
I began my marathon with a sprint, cursing my nonchalance I'd taken the morning as train, ferry and bus had taken me from Midtown to Staten Island. The time was 8:56 on my Garmin, and I was a minute too late.
Sorry, the course marshall closed the corrals, the lady said at No. 13. My friend dashed to hers one ahead of mine where a rogue guard was letting people through. "We've come all this way," a runner from Italy pleaded before we made a dash for the other corral and a minute later, I found myself thanking the guard, into the corral and feeling lucky to have made it in.
From the time I left my hotel to get to the start line, it took more than three hours and 30 minutes. Could I run all the way back to Central Park in that time?
Journey to Staten Island
I began the start of the New York City Marathon surrounded by friends -- many I had met only minutes before. We traded war stories of Chicago, of heat waves and of expectations on what we'd do. We had all jotted 3:30 pace as our expected time, and it looked like this group was ready.
Right: At the corral. Left, top: walking to start line. Left, bottom: Me and my friend Jen (who had a similar finish time)
Here's the start of the NYC Marathon -- one of my favourite starts of any marathon.
Are you ready to run?
There are many moments during a marathon that you remember. There are very few moments that put a genuine smile on your face. It took me awhile to get that first smile, but once it hit, I couldn't let it go.
A lot was on my mind for this marathon -- remembering 2010, the last time I did this race, and telling myself to cherish an opportunity to run such an amazing race. I was thinking of Boston and the added security.
My final marathon of 2013 was also my 26th, so fitting that it had to be a big one. Race report to come later this week as I'm still in NYC doing some touring. In short, it was an awe inspiring race, one to remember Boston, retake the boroughs of this great city after last year's cancelled race. My race itself was fantastic -- three weeks out from Chicago, I plotted my race plan and executed it. Negative split for my third straight marathon and another sub 3:30 for the books.
I have a lot more to say, but I'll mark this with some of the pictures I took before, during and after the race.
Today another running streak was broken, but at least I set a new record. For the past six years, I've run the Marine Corps Marathon. If there is a 'hometown' race, that would be it. Anyways, today is MCM day, but it didn't happen for me -- I wasn't interested in doing MCM then NYC a week later.
With a week to NYC Marathon, I knew I had to get in 10 miles. A 15K race was on the Toronto race schedule, so I signed up more than a month ago, not knowing what exactly I'd be doing.
Of course, the target this fall was the Chicago Marathon two weeks ago. I emerged from the race in pretty good condition, and last week ran Sam and Nicole in for the half at 1:45. The longer term injuries I'd been dealing with since early August have been fading away with the rolling, stretching and fewer miles.
How fast did I want to do the 15K race? I was telling my friend Jen -- who is also doing NYC -- to go out
slower the week out, but I knew I wanted to see what I was capable of.
Was a chilly but gorgeous morning -- hovering around 5C, feeling a little cooler. Yesterday, I had done a 5K run and forgot my gloves. I was left chilled, so today, it was shorts, longsleeve with a light singlet underneath, plus gloves.
"Let's go Simon!" Canada collectively yelled at their TVs that day in 2008, when Simon Whitfield threw down his hat on a Beijing course, and ran one of the most exhilarating races I've ever seen. Ever. Really.
If you don't remember screaming your lungs out, just listen to this woman in the video below who caught the finish live. It wasn't just her. We were all screaming "Run Simon!" From fourth, he ran his heart out to first through the final turn, and grabbed a silver out of nowhere.
That race, well that was epic. And the runner in me loved every second of it. And today, as Simon announced his retirement, it's worth marking a remarkable career.
Simon is not a marathoner, but he is a runner, and an endurance athlete. I once read on his blog the summation of what training and racing meant. It's one of the most important lessons I've learned about road racing:
It was fellow Canadian triathlete Simon Whitfield who for me succinctly summed up what race day meant for his sport -- or any sport where preparation is the key. A few weeks after he ran that thrilling silver medal win in Beijing in 2008, he wrote:
"I felt like all I had to do was express my fitness, I wasn't hoping for miracles, simply expressing fitness earned through hard work," he wrote on a blog at the time.
Anyways, I thought it's worth saying that for triathletes especially, but also runners, that Simon was a class of the field and one of my favourite Canadian runners.
From the archives, my post from 2008, titled "Hero"
Simon Whitfield tops awesome, if there was a word to top that. I've been following his blog since 2006 and over that time, you get a picture of a down-to-earth, hard working and impressive athlete with a sense of humour and humility. He won gold for Canada - in surprising fashion -- eight years ago in Sydney. He didn't medal in Athens and apologized to the nation. But what most didn't realize in between 2000 Olympics and now is that he had built an amazing resume with tonnes of wins. He's the real deal, a legend of the sport, not a flash in the pan.
I'm not a triathlete. I can't even imagine adding two sports to my one (running). But I do identify with the pain they must feel pounding the pavement after swimming and cycling at the paces and the heat. In the Olympics earlier today (last night) I was so happy that CBC was playing most of the race. The run was just fantastic. So many times, Simon seemed to be dropping back from the lead pack but he reeled them in again. Then with a kilometre to go, he seemed too far back that the three ahead of him would escape with the three medals. He was out of the picture frame. Then he took off his hat, and started to work. Amazingly, he clawed back and the four of them were running for their lives in the last 600 metres or so. R. and I were yelling at the TV set. He took the lead, turned the corner and held it only for a bit longer, but finished strongly, and happily, in second place.
Wow.
From Bruce Arthur, sports columnist for my newspaper:
But in his mind, Whitfield kept repeating one thing: Sing like Kreek.
Few athletes endure what triathletes suffer -- more than anything, triathlon is about eating barrelfuls of pain. And Whitfield began to close. Whitfield ate the pain, and spat it out. And in his mind, he kept repeating, sing like Kreek.
"I didn't think he was coming back," said his coach, Joel Filliol. "Normally that doesn't happen -- when you get dropped, that's it."
Except that in the final 200 metres in the shadow of the magnificent Mings Tomb Reservoir northwest of Beijing, Whitfield kicked as he had on that magic-filled day in Sydney, and took the lead. Thanks to a supreme act of will, everything was in front of him. It was all possible. And he kept saying it: Sing like Kreek. Sing like Kreek. In the stands, triathlon officials and his coach were screaming those words, too. Sing like Kreek! Sing like Kreek!
Kreek, by the way, is Adam Kreek, one of the men's eight rowers who won the gold a few days ago. He belted out our national anthem as the flag was raising.
