The loneliness……

The loneliness…….

Sure I, too, would have finished that thought with “of the long distance runner” and spouted quotes from Alan Sillitoe’s novella. And no doubt those words evoked the visions of a dreary wind whipped rainy morning run followed by the prison door slamming. The title alone may be just enough to scare most people away from running altogether. Just mention the term loneliness to someone and they may direct you toward a shrink or just walk away from your leprous disease. Let me paint a little picture to reverse the negative connotations which may have already been permanently embedded in your mind.

I will show you just a glimpse of my long distance running lonely canvass this year. During my weekly trots I’ve been fortunate to return to some of my favorite places in this country. I remember floating silently down the Pearl River in Mississippi earlier this year. The one hour deep water run along side my canoe had emptied my fuel tanks. Yazoo clay-silted water had formed a perfect sand bar for my lunch. Several flat red rocks provided the perfect table and even a bed for a quick nap in the rare low humidity. Katrina Relief Marathon was the event for the next day. A long lonely run along the Natchez trace would finish the weekend.

A hard packed snow crunched beneath my feet as I began the climb to Sunrise Point some 8,000 feet up on Mt. Rainier. Most people wouldn’t do this climb alone and far fewer the day after running the Whidbey Island Marathon. Armed with my running shoes and jacket I began the hike stopping frequently to absorb the stillness and absence of others. The solitude, snow, and crisp air may be some of the best recovery modalities known. I stood alone on the mountain and ran the race solo in third from mile one forward.

Towering redwoods created such a cool canopy that my legs groaned for a quick scamper through their towering presence. Muir Woods, just up from Stinson Beach, California provided a soft pine needle covered trail that led to a rigorous rocky climb above the canopy. It was a solo off-trail adventure that resulted in an up close and all too personal experience with a bear and her cubs. Alone and outnumbered 3 to 1, I opted too quickly, but quietly, retreat so as to not end up as bear scat. The race in Eureka at the Redwoods Marathon the next day would be far less formidable. The sheer number of bipeds roaming the woods seemed to keep bear sightings to a minimum during the race. I was alone in my scurry from Smokey and from the crack of the gun in the race.

My bike rumbled down the rocky edge of the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail. The ice-like fog nipped at my nose and numbed my fingers. I had arrived in Anchorage after a late night red eye from Jackson, Mississippi and opted to beat the jet lag with a 30 mile ride along the coastal trail. Between the bull-moose around mile 7 or 8, and stopping at the Tastee Freeze for ice cream (it has become a tradition), I had enough endorphins and sugar to run the Mayor’s Land of the Midnight Sun Run the next day. The tank trail turned into narrow single track and it reminded me of my training days along the Spider Web Trails in the land of the Choctaws.

Twenty mile an hour wind whipped the freezing rain in my face and grey clouds loomed over my head. A few friendly chats at the starting line and the Harrisburg Marathon had begun. Well over 500 runners had shown up to brave some of the worst racing conditions I have seen since my college cross country days in the U.P of Michigan. No white stuff today. Oddly enough the day before provided 65 degrees and sun filled skies. The day was absent of wind and this was a very welcomed smile into Pennsylvania’s capitol city. I sauntered for a solo 6 miles along the banks of the Susquehanna River watching the smooth mirror-like water reflecting the tranquility of my thoughts and hopefully a preview of things to come. It was merely the calm before the storm.

During the night prior to the race a strong front grumbled into the Harrisburg area and the temps dropped by 20 degrees. The wind on the other hand had picked up to kite tearing 20 miles an hour. No longer alone on my run, there were runners to pass and runners doing the passing. I found myself in 8^th place early on and thoughts of the previous day seemed to be haunting my weather slaughtered body. I focused on warm thoughts of a steamy shower, hot chili, and a warm embrace of an otherwise cold steel-like Mylar blanket. The flat course should have been one for the record books. Mother nature would see to it that even the best trained would find reason to complain at the end of the day. There were no cambered roads here and water stops were aplenty despite the wretched conditions. Race directors have little to do with the weather other than the selection of the time of year for the race. Even then it seems like a crap shoot. The howling wind and big drops of loud smacking rain made conversation with any runner a garbled smearing of words. The only reprieve came when Tom Lipsie and I hit the undulating hills of Wildwood Park. Although the wind was bullying the tree tops we had shelter from our invisible enemy for about a mile. Unfortunately the race path soon expelled us from our fortress of trees. We had managed to jibe through the next few miles and the exchange of words was brief. Tom and I had finished within minute of each other in Johnstown just one month earlier. Mentally I knew I had come a long way from that race and I was hopeful that while the weather was tormenting, that my less than forceful pace during the first 20 miles of the race would allow me to finish strong. At mile 22 Tom opened the door and told me he would see me at the finish line. I was once again alone for the final 4.2 miles. As my competition for third place faded so did the wind. It seemed the rain was no longer tearing at my raw and exposed flesh. I had 4 sub 5:50 miles and I found myself day dreaming about the river to my right and my fond memories of fishing alone for hours along the banks of the Cumberland River. I am continually amazed at how thinking less about running allows me to float while running. I would finish alone and with a smile. So many memories came flooding into my mind from a race course that I had never traversed before. It was a comfort to not be caught up in the moment, but to rather remember the moments.

For me, the euphoria of running was defined in each of these lonely moments. In the race of life and during the marathon there are seldom few who, in the temporal world, we can fully rely on. Marathoners are indeed a breed apart. We don’t rely on a great goalie. There are no timeouts to re-think our strategy. A bad pass by the quarterback will not result in missing the end zone catch. Plus, I have yet to run a race that has been on a rain delay or cancelled due to weather. I am very thankful for this.

Many people abandoned this race at the start. Nearly 600 registered, only 476 finished. I ran alone for much of the race and now have a new memory for the worst race conditions in my marathon running career. After a day filled with co-workers and fellow commuters, I hope you will take the time to get lonely with your running shoes and create a memory or two. The first finish line will convince you it was worth it and you did it. See you at the races.