In deference to Cormac McCarthy, after reading his book that has been made in an Academy Award winning movie, I realized that it struck a chord. In the book the veteran sheriff realizes that his time has come. Time to get out of being a sheriff.
This is year 40. Forty years of running. Maybe one hundred thousand miles on my legs. I am not sure but it's more than ninety for sure and maybe more than one hundred if I throw in all the half hour runs I did around the soccer field before practice back in college. There were hundreds of those runs. But I count it from 1968 because that is the year I first ran just for runnings sake. I wasn't getting in shape for soccer. I was just running to burn some calories and because I enjoyed the way it felt. Whatever that joy was I will never fell that way again no matter how much longer I run. One hundred thousand mile legs just don't bend the way younger legs do. Not now, not ever.
I just didn't get it until now.
It wasn't all about racing. That was 23 years of it the rest was about just getting out the door and hurling myself on to the tracks, trails and sidewalks of wherever I happened to be at the time. I guess my running today looks more like it did back in the beginning. Intermittent and unfocused.
I am injured right now. Only my second real injury in 40 years. My achilles almost snapped back in 1985. That cost me a month but in '85 I was only 40. Seemed old back then. Seems young now. I recovered fast at 40. Terrell Owens fast. Not so fast now. I expect to out of the saddle for 6-8 weeks. Maybe I am being too careful or maybe I just don't miss running that much. Could be either. I am not sure yet.
I have become what I always hated in runners. The one who did the stupid thing that put them out of action. The only problem is that I am not so sure I know exactly what I did wrong. Shoes? Maybe. I did change my shoes. Went to a bigger size. Half a size up. Maybe it screwed up my stability. Not sure. I do pronate but then everyone pronates. I went to high too fast. Icarus-like. Several months ago I was running mostly flat-land course. Oh there were some rollers in there but mostly I was at sea level. The I went up into the hills above the dam and ran high. 2500 feet high. Steep too in places.
When the pain came it came slowly as an ache in my calf. Nothing big but I thought I could outrun it the way I always did. A thousand injuries and I had outrun them all. Well, at least excluding 1985. If there was way to keep going I knew it. The magic of heel lifts and taping and icing and Advilling. I knew them all. But it turns out that I didn't know this one. This one came on and hung around and I couldn't shake it. So last Saturday I finally slid off the saddle and said enough.
Had been thinking of returning to racing next fall. Cross country has always been my strong point. Someone could beat me by a minute at 10K on the flats and I would be on their shoulder if the course went off road. A body is built for something and that is what I was built for. But this year, unless I can come back, and I am in no hurry, There will no cross country for this old man.
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