I have met my hero, and he is me. - George Sheehan

George Sheehan is a legendary runner, writer and cardiologist. He was a track star in college, quit running when he went into med school, and rediscovered it at age 43. At 50, he was the first in his age group to run a sub-5-minute mile. A notable acheivement, to be sure, but he’s best remembered for his inspiring books about running.

I’ve only read one of them, his masterpiece Running & Being. The specifics are fuzzy, but as I recall the take-home message was: Running, like any practice, is an expression of, and can lead one back to, one’s authentic self.

Fairly heavy shit for a book about putting one foot in front of the other. I admit that the first time I read it, I thought parts of it were a little much ado about nothing. Well, maybe not nothing, but comparing running with being seemed a bit of overstatement. Yet something must have resonated because I still remember it twenty years later and the more I run, the more I think: by jove, I think he got it.

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The Komen Race for the Cure is an awesome race, especially if you don’t do that sort of thing much. There are thousands of participants of all ages, races, shapes, sizes, and walks of life. Everyone is wired and happy. There’s a band and an unofficial mascot, the Energizer Bunny. It’s hard to feel intimidated when you’re running with hundreds of people wearing pink foam bunny ears.

There are a few at this 5K who actually run to beat other runners. But the majority of us just run.
—

I almost didn’t get to race this morning. Traffic on the way to Qwest Field was fine, but there was a huge back up getting off the freeway. Every car had a woman in a ponytail driving it; I could see the anxiety on each face as we all worried we’d miss the gun.

Luckily I work in that part of town and I know the super-sneaky way to the cheap parking lot. Nonetheless, I still got a healthy warm-up walking from my car to the grounds. I made it to the starting line just as the gun went off.
—

I’ve been “training” for this year’s Race for the Cure since last year’s. Which is to say I get up most mornings and run for half an hour to forty-five minutes.

Sometimes I really enjoy it: the bod feels strong, the mind focused. I’ve still got energy at the end of the route. I seem to be improving. I’m a jock!

But often I don’t enjoy it at all. It’s windy outside so my ears hurt or the gym is hot so I’m dehydrated. The infamous first-five-minutes lead legs don’t go away. My lungs are filled with sawdust. I’m tired and worse, I’m bored.

Thing is, I keep doing it, which astonishes me. I am sometimes honestly surprised to find myself running. I’ve never experienced the supposed “runner’s high” of endorphins, so addiction is out. And making the time to run can feel more like a hardship than just being unfit. Yet running must do something significant for me, or I wouldn’t spend my ever-dwindling spare time doing it.

—

The Race for the Cure draws thousands, a crowd that fills the street for two blocks. This means that unless you position yourself right at the front with all the 6-minute milers, you won’t actually see the starting line until several minutes after the clock has started.

We gather, we wait. Our eyes grow bright with anticipation. We hop from foot to foot as the time draws near. Not long now - adrenaline surges. At last the race master shouts into the microphone: “Ready! Set!…” Walk. And walk. Just as the starting line comes in to view, he shouts, “You are now three minutes into the race!” and we laugh.

It was a perfect day - clear, cool, and sunny. I was glad I’d remembered my camera. A year ago, pausing during a run to take a snapshot would have seemed like cheating. This year, I took ten.

I can’t say the run was easy. But I can say that the one hill on the course seemed flatter than it was last year. I was passed by many people, but I found myself breezing by a lot of people too. The home stretch seemed shorter than I remembered it. I smiled at people a lot, and they smiled at me.

As I ran the last hundred yards toward the finish line, I increased my pace to a comfortable sprint. Months ago I read an article that said sprinting your last quarter mile will help you get faster over all, so I started doing it on every run. The first several times it felt very sophistocated, like I was a Serious Runner in Training. Now it’s just a habit.

So I was startled today when a spectator called out decisively as I passed, “Finish strong!”

He said it like he meant it, believed in it. Like he had faith. He may not have even been talking to me specifically, but it didn’t matter. In that moment I realized I am a serious runner in training.

Flo Jo I’m not and never will be. But just a few years ago, I was a depressed couch potato for whom racing seemed as likely as space travel. Just last year, I ran the race five minutes slower. Just last month, I felt no more fit than the day I wheezed through my first jog. Just last week, I was so sick I was in bed by 8:30 every night. Just yesterday, I almost decided not to race at all, afraid of being last.

Today, I ran 3.2 miles in 33 minutes. I finished strong.

—

In some ways, things haven’t been going real well for me lately. Old demons are back for another round. Spiritually speaking, I’ve been that couch potato, sick and tired, doubtful and afraid. But every day, I get up, do what I can with what I have, and call it good. I show up, do my best, finish strong.

Today I understand why I run. I’ve met my hero and she is me.

This post is dedicated to the wonderful women of Beautiful_Us.

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