Funky Friday: Running in the Past

It would be hard to tell by looking at me today, but I was a crazed runner from mid 1987, until late 1997. A decade of running, and also cycling, and a bit of swimming, and an hour of weight lifting five mornings a week.  Looking back at it, it was healthy in a very unhealthy way.  

My first race was in 1988, a sprint series triathlon, 1/4 mile swim, 12 mile bike ride, 3.1 mile run, my finish time was 1:09. I really learned to swim properly, so I could do that race.  And I bought a decent bike, soon to be replaced by an outstanding bike - that is still hanging around my life.  

I ran mostly 5k races, almost every Saturday morning from October through about April, in Florida, the road race season is winter when the weather is cooler.  I did two seasons of sprint series triathlons, then work and school got in the way. There were a couple of 10k (6.2 mile) races in the season, I had to arrange the day off from work to do those and be on time. There was an annual half marathon in Orlando, in early December.  I ran and finished that twice. The first time was miserable, and I wished I was dead the next day. The second time was just unpleasant, and made me question why? 

Training carried on year around.  I ran every-other day. A typical work day, would have me up at 5:30, running on Park Avenue in Winter Park by 6:00, to the gym before 7:00 an hour in the weight room, shower dress and check in at the office by 9:00.  Work until 6:00 and two evenings a week, go to class from 6:45 to 9:30.  I would ride my bike, 30 to 50 miles each day on my days off, usually in the middle of the week.  

Looking back, it was a strange and funky time.  I was running from myself, changing myself, afraid of who I was, who I am, and at the same time trying to be the person I wanted. 

There were some wonderful runs, early mornings in Savannah, London, Amsterdam and Paris, gliding by seeing my reflection in the windows in the early morning light. There is a magic in running, floating along, to an internal rhythm. It always took me the first quarter to maybe first half mile to settle in, for my breathing to become comfortable, for my heart and breathing to sync up, then time both stood still and moved in a flash. Fatigue and pain came later, usually after the run (except for those cursed half-marathons.) 

I am glad I had those experiences. But I also realize that I pushed too much, I obsessed.  I didn't eat well, I didn't get enough rest. I was being superman and trying to do it all.  

Why did I quit? That is an even longer story. 

Why don't I go back to running?  Age, weight, titanium in my spine, it just isn't good for me. 

What is my current hopefully healthier obsession? Walking an hour a day, and 45 minutes of active movement in the pool.  Not the same, but it does feel good.