I have run the Richmond Marathon for the last 9 years. This will be the 10th time that my poor back will be be tested. I started back in 2002, when I turned 40. Mid life was an accurate description as the middle of my body was definitely growing. So I decided to run.
I had inklings of mortality, having ruptured my Achilles tendon several years before. After driving to Key West in January, I ruptured my L4L5 disc few weeks later. Dr. Sanhi performed mini-discetomy. I was out of work for several weeks , and gingerly started to ride my bicycle. A crystal memory remains. I woke from anesthesia and felt reborn. The constant nagging back pain was gone. It lasted for a few days, and then with the first walk , the pain returned although not as intense. My MRI post surgery looked worse, probably from scar tissue. My disc herniated and a disc fragment was lodged in a dorsal root ganglion. This sudden event made my misery so intense that I could not pee or sit, but only stand. I could not walk from the entrance of the hospital to the radiology section. I was carted on a stretcher, gamely studying the interesting patterns of lights and shadows on the ceiling.
I was the fortunate beneficiary of an excellent surgeon, and I decided to test his work by running the Richmond Marathon that Fall. I could not train due to a busy schedule, and I did not trust my running. I had read the Gallagher walk-run strategy, and so I decided to try the run-walk. From "men only" mountain bike trip every year, I learned that by day 5 of intense exercise, I was back in reasonable shape. So the two weeks before Richmond, I started to run my Woodland Pond Loop, 3.24 miles, every night, with a head lamp and bottle water. I purchased new shoes the week before, so that I did not wear out the shock absorption qualities of the heel. It seemed to make sense at the time.
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I had fun for the 1st 10 miles. I felt okay for the next 5 miles. I started to hurt for the next 5 miles. The next 6.2 miles, where the marathon begins, was essentially a test of endurance. When I looked around me however, all of the other runners who had actually trained appeared to be in the same boat, running downwind with the “wall” still looming. Because of adrenaline, the race itself was a blurr, and my back held up. I learned about chaffing around the the nipples, thighs and belly. Next year, Vaseline.
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For the next several years, I ran the Richmond marathon in similar fashion, running only the Woodland Pond Loop every day, one week before. I made it a ritual of going to Runner Bills and buying new shoes. I ate Pop Tarts at every “party zone” that my wonderful sister-in-law, Janet, faithfully provided. She has made an art form of making it to all three party zones in time to provide these important nutrients. She has been my best support staff. This year, I think Bud lite is coming with the chocolate Pop Tarts.
I even made a Richmond Marathon before my twin’s Bat Mitzvah. Joan made me promise that I would be able to dance and attend the formal party. My secret weapon that year was Helen, who is wonderful nurse also a certified sport masseuse. It was an incredibly hot race, but Helen did her magic, and I could be seen smiling in the Bat Mitzvah pictures. I never could dance anyway, but had a good excuse that year.
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Joan and I have run another marathon two years later, and she is correct in deducing that marathons are not good for your health. The training is important. Running and being fit is salubrious. The actual 26.2 miles is a little too long, and studies have shown myocardial enzyme “leak” especially in unfit runners like me. The first marathon runner, Phillipes, died after reaching Athens from the plains of Marathon. What we forget, is that Phillipes, ran from Athens to Sparta 140 miles, twice, and then fought a battle with the Persians. After the battle, he was asked to run back to Athens, a distance around 40,000 meters or 24 miles, to bring news of the Greek victory and also to warn the Athenian that a separate Persian force was headed their way. He promptly died from exhaustion after reaching his goal. Just as modern history is written mostly by the Brits, the real 26.2 miles came from the first Olympics in London, where the added miles was for the benefit of King Edward, that the race could finish in front of his stand.
I am now running for my own King Edward stand but feel more mortal than ever. I have run some long runs this summer but my right Achilles has been out, and pain ensues any distance run. I am not quite sure if it is my Achilles tendon or just a pulled muscle, but I cannot do my Woodland Pond Loop for fear of injury. So it will be a true taper. I need to remind myself that I did not have to fight the Persians or run 280 miles the days before. I simply have to go to work and eat piazza, and be ready for Janet to hand me my pop tarts and beer at party zones. I think I ll be ready. We have to have faith.
Going downwind or “running” in sailing is also an act of faith. You have to believe that the boat will not broach. You have to believe that you can turn back upwind. The gentility of the wind is treacherous. The wind hits your back kindly but will not let you go back upwind without a fight. It pushes you into a lee shore. When you finally face it, the full breadth of your hull and sails are now exposed to weather. You wonder why the poor blokes coming by you look so haggard and why their sails are reefed when you have your canvas magnificiently full and proud running downwind. We are running downhill only to pay to price of that upwind leg and Heartbreak Hill to come later.
It is actually more difficult to steer downwind. The boat yaws. Steering become loose. The waves turn the broad rear of the boat in a corkscrew action. We sallow and yaw, and our bearing deviates jealously with each rolling wave. If lulled, you can jibe. The full force of the wind takes your boom and turns it into a lethal force. Silent and swift, without any warning, the boom comes across hard, full force. Deadly.
Paradoxically, tacking into weather is much easier on the hardware, and not as dangerous. There is noise, the sails are flapping, but they are relatively impotent. You need speed to tack. The bow cleaves the waves well. There is less yaw. The heading is true. Song of the Wind sometimes slams into the waves, but it is more arresting than dangerous. The boom comes across more like a hestitating suitor while the jib crosses over like a jilted lover. It is exciting when she pick up speed again, bearing on a new tack, a new object.
This weekend, the meeting of my running coaches with sailing occurred, and this story is for them. The MTT coaches have been extremely generous with their time and encouragement. I want them to know the beauty of sail, and similarities to running. When the dog days of August arrive, and the hot summer fades, I want to salute the poor runner who is training for his day in November. I am often sailing rather than running on those hot Saturday mornings. The MTT coaches are out there regardless of weather, spurring on lost runners and dishing out wisdom. They are more fun on Song of the Wind than on the streets of Richmond, but that is for another story.
I hope to run another 10 Richmond races, but I will be grateful for just one more run. My memory of days when I could only barely sit or walk, suffuses each time that I can run. There is freedom in movement. Whether running downwind or going to weather, just as long as we are outside, sailing or running, is enough.
Whether one race or twenty races, just having family and friends running together is also enough. Each healthy day is a blessing once we are reminded of our morbidity and mortality. Looking backwards at the old marathon pictures, I am astonished how quickly nine years have passed. Miju has graduated from Williams. Ben, Mark, and Reuben are now in college. Noah is a freshman and will be handing out water at the Maggie Walker High School near the 23 mile marker.
I am looking forward to this Saturday with joy and anticipation no matter what my aches are pains might portend. I still have to contend with an expanding middle. I did not have to fight the Persians. I will have Joan and Janet and my MTT coaches spurring me on. The course closes at 3 o clock, I hope that it will be enough.
I am looking forward to this Saturday with joy and anticipation no matter what my aches are pains might portend. I still have to contend with an expanding middle. I did not have to fight the Persians. I will have Joan and Janet and my MTT coaches spurring me on. The course closes at 3 o clock, I hope that it will be enough.
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