when things fall apart...

‘When the student is ready, the teacher appears’... Four days after the marathon, I continue to reflect on lessons from the race.

What kept me moving forward through the panic of knee pain at 14 kilometres, the mental barrier of sheer futility at 20 miles, unutterable exhaustion two hundred metres from the finish line? My doctor friend Rafi who thinks running is bad for you would probably call it foolish obstinacy. My mother, on the other hand, believes in the power of will and would probably applaud this display of determination, even if dismayed by the sorry sight of her son near collapsing.

The night before the race, I relaxed my nerves in a warm bath, following Jeff Galloway’s suggestion to visualize the course and to find some magic words. The next morning, I scrawled on my left forearm – trust, relax, flow. Amazing how often I looked at those injunctions to find strength and form to combat the onset of mental and physical slump.

I also watched an excellent short Runners’ World video with tips by great runners like Ryan Hall, Joan Benoit Samuelson, Dean Karnazes and Dick Beardsley. During tough moments in the race, I reminded myself of Ryan’s advice to focus on the next step. Not the next five kilometres, not the bagel and banana waiting at an end point in the impossibly distant future, just the actual next step. (Amusing to consider Chairman Mao gave the same advice for a journey of a thousand miles.)

So this morning’s insight – when movement is underway, pay attention to form; when everything is falling apart, focus on the next step.

And really it makes sense to use the personal will as a resource when it is available, and when it starts to break down through stress and fatigue and the light of the ‘I’ draws dim and small, that’s when the next step becomes the only possible space for action, enabling surrender to a deeper flow that carries us forward beyond comprehension.

One marathon - two races

I ran two races at yesterday’s Royal Victoria Marathon. First, a smart strategic strong 42 km run, with evenly timed 4.45 minutes per kilometre splits. Then, bizarrely disconnected, a final 200 metre stagger, knees jumbled, eyes squeezed tight shut, faltering stumble punctuated by long hyperventilating groans, mooing like a cow driven to the shambles by some invisible goad.

Or make that an invisible god - likely Hermes, swift mover, cosmic trickster, patron of thieves and magicians. In the evening, recuperating, I came across an email trail suggesting I had in fact made my race goal - qualifying for the Boston marathon - by one second. Checking the race results, I saw my name - at chip time 3.20.59 - closely followed by another runner from Quebec, another man, same age group, who came in at 3.21.00 - one second too slow to qualify for Boston.

Here’s the crux of free will versus necessity in that most fleeting of instants: do I take personal credit for months of clean living, hard practice runs, regular stretching, core training, good race planning, a conservative start, mental fortitude and discipline, or do I accept, with gratitude, the god’s gift of that stolen second, a sacred mystery beyond my control in that final disoriented step over the finish line?

And perhaps I needed to run 42 long and hard kilometres on my own steam (and the loving support of kind friends and cheering onlookers) to be able to surrender at the last to whatever force summons forth spring from stone legs, the prime mover’s manifestation in this personal effort.

In any event, I am happy and grateful.

running with an injury

I took a risk this morning. The last long run of the marathon training clinic - a 34 km run planned for three plus hours. Last Saturday, we ran 2 hours and 45 minutes, and I felt fine, except for a pain on the top of my foot that got worse as the week went on. I iced and rested all week, forcing myself to skip speed workouts on Monday and Wednesday, but the localized swelling didn't go down and the pain went deeper into the foot.

Although I sternly told myself during the week that with five weeks to go until my fall race (the Royal Victoria Marathon on October 11), this was the time to rest up, I felt increasingly fretful and anxious, almost tearful as if some horrid curse had been inflicted on poor me. Physically, I felt bloated and heavy, as if I had gained pounds overnight from eating oversize portions, muffins and ice cream, normally burned away with a shrug during intensive training.

So this morning, I gingerly laced up my shoes and limped out to the run. With a short emergency detour to grab a couple of gels, I was in for the ride with the group. The first hour was painful - stabbing pains on the inside of the foot that seemed to get worse. I breathed through the pain and tried to relax into the run, going as slow as the slowest runner in our group, an unaccustomed humility that felt like practicing beginner's mind (or body).

Leaning forward like a chi runner, focusing on landing lightly on the balls of my feet, allowing the rhythm of the run to take over, pain gave way to pleasure and I felt a sag of relief at the prospect of not having to abort the run, limping painfully to the nearest pay phone with the quarter tucked into my water bottle pocket, calling a friend for a ride.

Instead I ran easily and fast until pain started to seize my knees and I could feel my core weakening, and then decisively took a short cut back to a friend's place, making it there a minute past three hours for the run. Doing a yoga inversion, sweat stinging my eyes, I felt gratitude and relief and the rush of joy at an unexpected win, at least for now, at the gambling table.

I'll see my chinese medicine doctor tomorrow though.

new start

Snow on the streets

Victoria in mid-march

time to run

Perhaps haiku is the best approach to re-starting a blog that has gone stale... I won't write much right now, just putting out my intention to write again, to run again, to put myself into flow after a winter in hibernation, transformation, in slow station, installation.

The cherry blossoms are blooming inspite of the snow, I will run slowly and patiently to ease my knee, loosen my hip, rebuild my feet. Another running season, time to breathe deep, sink into the body's ecstatic connection with the road, itself, others who run, life itself.