Mr. Mortality on the run

Speaking of the rare good weather one day last weekend, my niece Lindsey commented over the phone that “you don’t even want to talk about it.”  Her implication may be that if we bring something to our full attention it somehow ruins its pleasure.

One thing in this life we mostly don't want to talk about: We know that each day, each run, brings us closer to the final finish line.  Our measuring of effort, our fanaticism about long-distance training is a race against time and mortality. Not an original thought, of course, but we’re just talking here.

One reason running is a great metaphor for the human condition is because of  its routine finiteness. We put a clock to our efforts for a reason. The faster we finish a race or run, the more time there is left for the next run.

But “not talking about it” is a one way, maybe the best way, we address our limited run in this life, isn’t it? Forget about time. Run like an animal—in the moment, no memory and no mind for the future.

A favorite famous quote is one that bears on the matter: “You don’t quit running because you get old, you get old because you quit running.”

The idea has become a motto for me, because there are always good reasons, some sensible, to quit running—long distance running, at least.  Right now, for me, it’s chronic knee pain, but it could always have been something—plantar fasciitis, IT band issues, a close call with a car, and such.

There is another thought, too—that our deeper interpretations of running can be something that helps others. “The best that can come from contemplation of mortality, perhaps, is a kind of wisdom that can give others strength—not by answering questions, like those best-sellers which claims to tell you what happens after you see the white light, but by asking questions honestly,” writes Adam Kirsch in The New Yorker  of  the book “My Bright Abyss,” by Christian Wiman.

The tai chi teacher, Dr. Paul Lam, talks about how the martial arts are something you can practice all your life, that he has 90-year-olds still studying with him.  I like that idea—that there are pursuits in this life we can take to the end. I hope running is one. But I really don’t want to talk about it.

No knee is not a good thing

Yesterday, I talked with my neighbor Chuck who is awaiting knee replacement surgery at the Mayo Clinic. This will be the six or seventh attempt to get it right. He’s actually lost track. Both knees are shot, and he’s in a lot of pain much of time.

The man literally has no left knee, no nothing, holding his tibia and femur together currently as far as I understand, and he's pretty much in constant pain, it seems. Before they can operate again, the doctors are waiting for an infection to clear up, which has lingered for about a month already.

The damage to Chuck’s knees came from a lifetime of factory work on a hard surface floor.  I suspect  his case is not entirely  unlike the sort of overuse injury that life-long long distance running can produce.

About two years ago, an orthopedic surgeon suggested I may have damaged my knee enough that I’d soon be looking at knee replacement surgery.  In training for a second marathon in 2010-2011, I pulled up with a torn meniscus and a bony edema. The doctor implied it might be time to quit running, and certainly to lay off the marathons.

Since then, I’ve run a couple half marathons and a number of shorter races.  I’ve been able to keep running by taking up a mostly self-designed rehab combining shorter distances, slower speeds, more rest, specific leg and core strengthening exercises, and a daily dose of glucosamine sulfate.

Mostly, the program has worked. But, a week ago, the darn knee started feeling pretty sore again. A physical therapist once described  that such an injury is rather like having a hang nail in the joint.  It just never quite goes away.

When the pain crops up, as it does from time to time, the words of that surgeon resurface and I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by keeping after it. And, when I see my neighbor Chuck wheeling around in a motorized cart, not even able to get around on crutches, well, there get to be moments when I wonder what it would be like not to have a real knee, or no knee at all.

Chuck’s going in for surgery next Sunday, we hope. Good luck, Chuck!

Elegy for Boston

I took a long coffee break this morning to watch the later stages of the Boston Marathon.  While television hasn't perfected its coverage of a marathon, the program was amazing in its depiction of the drama possible in sport. I was inspired to take a short run at noon to kind of commune with all the folks running the big race today.

Later, when I heard word of the tragedy, I watched the new images from the scene and saw the world in a whole different, but familiar way.

All of a sudden the evil of the world again dwarfed the drama of sport. Malignant forces exploded from the sidelines of our lives, as they have fallen from the sky or surfaced from below. The awful irony of people dying and suffering "severe trauma" to their legs at a foot race is finally ineffable: three dead and more than a hundred injured, the blood rippling through the lives of so many others.

The Boston tragedy recalls how everything in sport can suddenly become so inconsequential, in the way that in the wake of 9/11 pro football seemed like such a trivial thing.

Long distance running is often seen as a metaphor for life, and today, for me, it resonated as a reminder that despite all we do the finish line is not ours to set.

But, here’s hoping that Boston will find justice, healing and a redemptive race in the year ahead.

Barefoot in the sand

Today, on another chilly April-is-the-cruelest-month day in Iowa, I feel like I’m coming down with a cold. My left knee aches. There’s a little voice whispering that I’ll never run well again, or perhaps never run at all. The week’s forecast is for rain, rain, rain.

Ah, the frailty of the spirit sometimes.

Was it only a couple weeks ago that I was running barefoot in the sand along the Pacific? Better yet, I was spending time with my granddaughter Neena  on the southern California oceanfront. It was an utter joy to usher her down to the ocean’s edge where she viewed vast water for the first time. We took off our shoes, walked in the sand and listened to the waves roll in. (Those are Neena's feet in the photo, feeling ocean sand for the first time.) Normally an expressive little thing, she was quiet and in awe of the scene—as was I.

Later in the week I began experimenting with barefoot running on the beach. First a few hundred yards, then a mile or so, and finally a couple 5K type runs.  There was an evolution of technique—an adjustment for the canter of the beach, an effort to keep to the harder sand of a receding wave, a slightly shorter stride, etc.  The further distances came without even a twinge of complaint from arch, knee, or hip.

The experience was almost otherworldly -- simple motion, wave, breath, and sky.  It is the feeling of being a child again.

A recent study of barefoot Kenyan runners cited in Runner’s World (story) describes their environment as being a “firm sand surface.” I think I experienced something of that foot-surface feeling in California.

Is there a way to emulate a barefoot run on the beach or Kenyan sand?  On a lark today, I jumped on the treadmill in socks and ran for fifteen minutes.  Interesting experiment. The nagging knee was calm, the feet tilted to a mid- and front-foot landing, and the energy felt like, well, a little like running barefoot on the beach.

Although  I can’t imagine running barefoot anywhere but along the ocean (or on the treadmill), its appeal is now clear. And, it makes one wonder if a more minimal shoe would resonate some of the same experience. Certainly seems like something to explore.

Now, toting Neena along the Pacific. That’s something I wish I could figure out how to do more often, too.

Eat like you are poor

A response to my blog entry last week on diet and running produced this idea in the Runner’s World master’s forum:

“….the best advice I ever got on running diet was ‘eat like you are poor.’ I try to limit myself to simple foods (beans, pasta, lean meats, peanut butter, whole grain bread and fruits & vegetables),” said the forum member, “backothepack.”

For me, the idea of adopting a diet of the poor aligns with the new Catholic Pope’s pronouncement that the church be dedicated to the poor. It's just a bit of serendipity. Yesterday, he told journalists gathered at the Vatican that he chose his papal name because St. Francis of Assisi was ‘a man of poverty and a man of peace.”

He continued, "How I would like a poor Church for the poor."

I’m not a Catholic, but this is an inspiring belief—perhaps a guide both for running and religion, body and spirit. (It was heartening, too, that Pope Francis blessed non-Catholic journalists as well as non-believers at this event—basically covering all my bases.)

In last week’s blog, I wondered if one could simplify dietary choices by asking, “Is this something the Dalai Lama would eat?” Perhaps this was a pretentious leap from a mundane matter of daily living to the ineffable concerns of the spirit.

Still, what we eat (and what we do for exercise) has a lot to say about how we live and how we take care of the earth. So I’ll take another leap of faith and say it now seems possible to ask for guidance in another way: “Is this something Pope Francis would eat?”

Eat without thinking too much

The new issue of Runner's World includes a special package on weight loss, which you soon discover is as much about diet as it is exercise.

There's lots of good advice on what to eat, and when, if you want to drop some weight and improve your performance. The section provides a series of practical tips leading you through training for various lengths of races--from 5Ks to marathons.

Salient points for this older runner:

* The cover callout is tempting: Lose 5 pounds. That seems reasonable, especially with spring at the doorstep. Maybe it's time for the heavy winter brews and second helpings to go by the wayside for a while.

* Don't eat stuff before you run that will require you to carry toilet paper.

* Don't think that long-distance running gives you the right to pig out afterwards, or lie on the couch the rest of the day for that matter.

* No matter what you do with your diet, don't expect to look like any of the runners pictured in this magazine. Not ever.

* Some things I should consider eating related to running fuel: graham crackers, plain Greek yogurt, an egg or two more often in the morning, and gummy bears.

* Enjoy eating. I don't think I can start counting calories at this point in my life. Maybe I can just ask myself, "Would the Dalai Lama eat this?" Good food is transcendent; look at those bananas.

Trinity River Heron

This that Fort Worth has for a river

flows with the detritus of last night’s

heavy rain still.

I take the fork to a path of crushed shale,

ignoring the new downpour,

and the flash of lightning.

Too late for shelter or safety,

more the momentum of long ignorance,

of course, than any bit of bravery.

Well, hell, let the young stand under bridges

and wait out the storm!

At the low-level dam of the Trinity, across the freeway

from the Fort Worth skyline waits the great blue heron

standing aslant in the shallows, head tilted comically toward the current.

Imagine in that fixed gaze the focus of its cares in the water:

what in its mind’s eye is reflected of the creature on the trail,

the slow upright figure like so many all day running upstream?