Songs of Experience

I just spent the past hour paging through every one of my running journals from 1994-2000 trying to find my best time in the Gallop and Gorge, a local 8k that I run every Thanksgiving. It was to no avail, so I’m still all jumpy and squirrelly. I don’t know why I have to find this; it is absolutely meaningless to my present life (and I feel foolish even telling you about my OCD search that is not over yet), but I must track it down. I must. I feel safe knowing the objective facts of my life. Objectively, my daughters are 12,8, and 4 years old. Objectively, I am 5′ 1″ tall, my once-blonde hair is turning gray, and the mole on my left cheek is getting bigger (not worrysome though, my doctor informs me). Objectively, I ran 30:17 yesterday and came in 2nd place behind a senior cross-country runner from nearby Duke University. She ran the race in her training shoes – so, I’m sure it was simply her morning run. Still, I was pleased with my 6:03 pace effort 5 days after a treacherous 10-mile trail race in Charlottesville, Virginia.

I was able to track down my times from 2001 to present, but those were my “masters” years not my “elite” years. Maybe I am looking for proof that I was once fast. Silly. Why would seeing 26:53 written down make any difference? (I do think that’s what I ran in 1997, the same year I ran 26:16 in July).

2000, age 38 – pregnant with Lizzie, didn’t run
2001, age 39 – 29:29, 2nd to Betsy Kempter
2002, age 40 – 28:53, 2nd to Kim Certain
2003, age 41 – 29:53, 1st place
2004, age 42 – 29:21, 1st place
2005, age 43 – 30:17, 2nd to Dukie

Objectively, my recent five-year decline is not all that dramatic (a little over a minute), but the difference between 26:53 and 29:53 is world’s apart. I really was in another world at that time in my life … and she, Joan-Nesbit-the-runner, is alien to me now. What is prompting me to seek her out through my running journals?

British middle distance star, Sebastian Coe once wrote:

“Sport at the top is mentally complex. When you need an iron will, when the fires are fiercest, the catalyst can often be your own doubts. There is a side of me that has always doubted what I can do … I have felt vulnerable so often … however, the best performances in life, whatever you do, can stem from a conflict inside you, from the combination of a sense of imminent failure and the need to prove, to yourself and other people, that you’re not really afraid at all.”

Maybe the conflict inside me is falls under Eric Ericson’s 8 Stages of Psychosocial Development:

Stage 7: Middle Adulthood
Age: 40 to 65 years
Conflict: Generativity vs. Stagnation

Maybe I need proof that I was once fast so that I can visualize myself generating success again (when my children are all safely in kindergarten, starting next September). I believe there is a sense of “imminent failure” for all mothers who are contemplating life after “staying-at-home.” And, yes Seb, I am afraid.

Now, where is that damn 8k time?

In her comment on A Woman Named Paula, Anne asked about the podcast on “leading from the middle” and after Google-ing (is that spelled “Googling?”) for it I now realize it was a radio show I was listening to, not a podcast. But in my search I did come across an interesting piece on leading from the middle that was written by the First Gentleman of Michigan. Turns out it’s a very small world, indeed, because not only is the First Gentleman, Dan Mulhern, a runner … he is also an old friend of the family (my older girls’ dad’s classmate from University of Detroit high school). So, here’s what Dan had to say about leading from the middle:

Someone at the meeting asked her how fast a certain celebrity runner was, and she said, “Oh, he’s not fast at all.” Now, you have to understand that Pat spends a lot of time courting, following, and supporting the elite runners who move at incredible speeds — like 5-minute miles for the entire 26 mile race. The person asking the question said to Pat, “I just wanted to make sure Dan could keep up with him.” Pat clarified the celeb: “He only runs a 9 minute per mile pace.” Just as she was saying it, she and I shared a look of hope: she was hoping that I was fast, and I was hoping she would say something like “the guy runs a 12 minute pace.” So, our look of shared hope quickly turned to one of mutual embarrassment, as it was now my turn to clarify. Drawing on my small supplies of humility and self depreciating humor I said, “I’m hoping to tear the course up at a 9 minute pace.” The truth was out and I had to accept it: I’m just slow!

This should not have come as news to me. During the summer I ran a couple of timed races, and at the end I checked out the results sheet printouts. In my first half-marathon I finished 126th out of 170 in my age group. And in a race on Mackinac Island, I was 15th out of 29 — the perfect midpoint. Sometimes, I think I was given a huge ego in life to learn this critical lesson: You can lead from the middle, too.

The truth is: the middle is where most of us find ourselves all the time. If I had the time, I could argue quite persuasively that even a powerful governor, like my wife, is more accurately seen as “in the middle” than “on top.” She must set goals, stay positive, motivate, and empower. And she must do this even while she is pressed in upon by the legislature, the opposing party, the media, and even competing thinkers and advisors in her own circle (including, sometimes, her husband and kids). The truth is, we’re all leading from the middle.

Often, we act as though leadership must come “from the top.” And, so we miss opportunities. Sometimes, we wish we were at the top, and we’re busy making our moves to get there. And, so we miss opportunities. From the time we were children, we avoided full responsibility by hiding from the authorities, blaming the authorities, or occasionally taking on the authorities. Some seem never to realize that they may always be in the middle, yet they still have the ability to be on top of their game. It is more challenging and more fruitful to lead from where we are, than to grouse about where we’re not. In the end we are all in the middle. And for those who appear to be “on top,” the other side of this challenge is never far away: how do you get the masses in the middle to realize that the organization will move forward only to the degree they feel empowered and responsible and lead.

To check out the First Gentleman’s blog, go to: http://michigan.gov/firstgentleman/0,1607,7-178-24402-102401–,00.html

William Blake (1757-1827)

The Tyger

“Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart,
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? “

The back of the Chapel Hill high school tee-shirt is a beautiful thing. At first glance, it may seem like a bunch of gibberish and even after a “close reading” it isn’t clear exactly what the writer is trying to say. The essence, however, comes through loud and clear, “Never give up. Never give up. Never Never Never Never Never.” (Winston Churchill said that). If you’ll notice, at the bottom of the quote is written: Olsen file v. 7.06. I don’t know what all is in these top secret files, but I do know that “Olsen” is the coach and that the tradition at Chapel Hill high … since I don’t know how far back!? … is for the seniors to write weekly letters to the team to fire them up, to create esprit de corps, to give voice (and power!) to the veterans. A famous acronym from the Olsen files is FTP (F —- The Pain!). This one sparked controversy among the parents of the underclassmen (can you imagine opening up the backpack of your little 9th-grade ingénue and discovering the F-word in bold print?) It reminds me of when my kindergardener told me she learned what the middle finger meant on the school bus. I believe a little F-word goes a long way when it comes to motivation; those seniors who invented it were dead clever. Its the right sort of dangerous for a bunch of highly motivated, academically pressured, Type-A runners. They can rebel against the PAIN instead of against society.

I’ve always envisioned the black-clad Chapel Hill high runners as a pack of James Deans in spikes. When I was a senior at East Mecklenburg in Charlotte, the CHHS Tigers rolled in to town with cigars stashed in their gym bags (real cigars!) which they fully intended to smoke right after they won the state championship. This tradition eventually did get nixed by the parents (and rightfully so), but I still admire their hutzpah chutzpah!

I would like to know more about the Olsen files … so maybe a Tiger will write in (?)

***

“We have a soul at times.
No one’s got it non-stop,
for keeps.

Day after day,
year after year
may pass without it.

Sometimes
it will settle for awhile
only in childhood’s fears and raptures.
Sometimes only in astonishment
that we are old.

It rarely lends a hand
in uphill tasks,
like moving furniture,
or lifting luggage,
or going miles in shoes that pinch.

It usually steps out
whenever meat needs chopping
of forms have to be filled.

For every thousand conversations
it participates in one,
if even that,
since it prefers silence.

Just wehn our body goes from ache to pain,
it slips off-duty.

It’s picky:
it doesn’t like seeing us in crowds,
our hustling for a dubious advantage
and creaky machinations make it sick.

Joy and sorrow
aren’t two different feelings for it.
It attends to us
only when the two are joined.

We can count on it
when we’re sure of nothing
and curious about everything.”

-from A Few Words on the Soul
by, Wislawa Szymborska

Years ago I was really into the Jungian idea of synchronicity. I was hyper-aware of “charged coincidences,” and believed I was existng in a world of unseen connections … like the time I made a copy of Gaston (short story) for my freshman runner b/c I knew she wanted to be a writer someday and because I felt her spirit would respond to Saroyan. “Oh,” she said, in her typical blase fashion, “That’s my favorite short story.” How did my unconscious mind already know this? We had never discussed Saroyan, or any other writer for that matter. I was just getting to know her. Was it a coincidence that her name was the same as my first-born daughter? Was it a coincidence that her running resume from her high school senior year found its way to the top of a pile of recruiting letters that was a mile high? I don’t think so. I think we were destined to know each other.

An article I just read from the Nov. 7, 2005 issue of The New Yorker (on John Ashbery, the poet) has me thinking about synchronicity all over again. I’ve been too busy (and distracted) with three kids at home for the last 10 years to pay close attention … but the signs are coming back. Quietly this time.

“What he is trying to do (and here the metaphors get a little screwy, but these are the pictures that come to him) is jump-start a poem by lowering a bucket down into what feels like a kind of underground stream flowing through his mind – a stream of continuously flowing poetry, or perhaps poetic stuff would be a better way to put it. Whatever the bucket brings up will be his poem. Since he is always dipping the bucket into the same stream his poems will resemble one another but because the stream varies according to climatic conditions – what’s on his mind, the weather, interruptions – they will also be different.

There have been many times in his life when he felt completely stuck, when the poetry seemed to dry up completely, but the longest and worst began shortly after he graduated from college and lasted more than a year. Then he happened to go to a John Cage concert and heard “Music of Changes” – nearly an hour of banging on a piano alternation with periods of silence, as dictated by a score that Cage put together using the I Ching* so that it would be determined by chance rather than by his choice. The music seemed to him to be full of powerful meanings, and the idea of composing by chance made him think about writing in a completely different way. It made him want to go right back home and start work. Ever since, he has felt that what he calls “managed chance” is the right method for him.

It’s time to lower my bucket again.

Emerson said it. “Whoso would be a man (woman too, dude!) must be a noncomformist.”

Every so often, someone comes along who doesn’t think like everybody else. People like Einstein and Galileo in science, Picasso and Georgia O’Keefe in art, Virginia Woolf and Samuel Beckett in literature, Ghandi and Joan of Arc, John Lennon, Jackie Robinson, Janice Joplin, Martin Luther King, The Wright Brothers, Sojourner Truth, Nelson Mandella, Billy Jean King, Woody Allen, Maria Montessori, Fidel Castro, Jesus, etc. etc. If you did a Wikipedia search on any one of these individuals, you would see they were all revolutionaries.

In our little world of running, there are a few famous innovators in training methodology. Emil Zatopek is credited with inventing “fartlek” (also, for strength training, he walked 10 miles through the snow while carrying his wife on his back … but, somehow, that method didn’t stick – wonder why?!); marathon great, Buddy Edelen, experimented with holding his breath while running and Arthur Lydiard used his own body like a lab rat to discover that 200 miles per week is too much – even for the LSD (long, slow, distance) guru, himself. Sebastian Coe’s father/coach/scientist perfected circuit training for middle distance speed while Ma’s Army of world record-breaking runners drank turtle soup. My own historical muse, Mihaly Igloi, might claim interval training as his legacy (unfortunately, there are no written records of his specific work-outs; he was one of those geniuses who kept it all in his head) and Bill Bowerman’s Oregon system is well-known for its wisdom of hard/easy.

Each innovator must have come up against detractors and nay-sayers … “That’s crazy!” … but they stayed true to their vision (whether it worked or not). This past summer, I crossed paths with one such visionary. His name is Alex L’Hereaux and he is a damn talented runner. Track & Field afficionados might know of him as the guy who took over Alan Webb’s scholarship at Michigan. I know him as a maverick.

Here’s why: Alex is being coached by his father (because no one else will have him? Eccentricity is difficult to direct.) and they have devised a plan of training with a weight vest that will add 1 pound – in the form of heavy, metal bolts strapped on to a garment that Alex, himself, hand-sewed – every month or so until Alex gets to 10 pounds. He is to run every work-out, every recovery day, every race with this ever-increasing weight. The idea is that when the Canadian national championships roll around, L’Hereaux will fling his vest to the sidelines and run like the wind … light as a feather … strong as an ox … Superman!

I am sooooooooooooo curious to find out if this “crazy” idea will work. I told Alex he should keep a detailed journal to record all the data … and then blog about it! I have the utmost respect for his (and his father’s) original thinking and I really do hope this guy makes it.

So would have Emerson:
“A chief event of life is the day in which we have encountered a mind that startled us.”

Here is the back of the Chapel Hill cross-country tee-shirt. (I posted the front on 11/06).

A while back I posted the quiz, “Are you a lifetime runner?” and today I am thinking about my resounding yes to question #12.

Yesterday I witnessed Chapel Hill high school win not one but two State Championships @ Winston-Salem’s Tanglewood Park. Both the boys and the girls teams hauled in the 4-A first-place hardware … but it was the boys race that had all the Tiger fans bug-eyed afterward. It came down to one point (as all great races must) and coaches screaming, “every place counts!” couldn’t have meant more. Senior phenom, Jack Bolas, pulled a Tazmanian devil-like kick out of his you-know-what to thrill everyone with a victory at the tape. “How the heck did you do that!?” I wanted to know, but felt sheepish asking for an interview. My place was on the sidelines, not in the winner’s circle.

I came to the race as both insider and outsider. I hadn’t been to a high school state cross-country championship in 18 years … and before that, the last one I attended was the one I ran in (on the boys team, because in 1979 there was no state meet for girls in North Carolina). Some guy on the sidelines, who recognized me (as a “famous runner”?) asked, “Why are you here?”

Why, indeed. I’m not a coach or a parent of any of the runners at Chapel Hill high. I didn’t have anything to do with the administration end of the event. I wasn’t really directly connected to anyone in the meet. But, I felt … I feel … I am connected to every single runner in the race. You’ve heard of Everyman in The Pilgrim’s Progress? Well, I am Everyrunner.

Also, I wanted to support my former UNC athlete, now coaching at his high school alma mater, in his bid for the state title. John Cline, another Tazmanian devil racer, invited me to speak to his guys before the gun. I was humbled and flattered. How many times have I stood in a circle of runners, with arms outstretched in the center, ready for the “One, two, three, GO __________ (insert mascot’s name)!”? Hundreds, maybe a thousand times. I always knew what to say. It came to me from the running gods. But, yesterday, I had no inner-circle power. I was to be a witness only. It was John’s love and intensity and belief they wanted to hear – in John’s own words – not mine. So, I slipped away to my spot on the rail and watched.

I watched Taylor and Vanya line up as young men when just yesterday (wasn’t it?!) they were little Pacer boys. I can still see Duncan’s relaxed smile and Becky’s determined focus, Peter’s grimace and Christina’s steady pace. I see Jack’s crazy finish and his mom’s proud, glorious, beautiful face. I see them all and I remember.

It is hard to go back and watch and feel like John Knowles must have felt when he wrote in A Separate Peace:

“This was the tree, and it seemed to me standing there to resemble those men, the giants of your childhood, whom you encounter years later and find that they are not merely smaller in relation to your growth, but that they are absolutey smaller, shrunken by age.”

Every year I am slayed by the beauty of the leaves changing colors.
Dear readers, go outside and run in the woods today; joy is our greatest renewable resource!

God’s World, by Edna St. Vincent Millay. 1892–

O WORLD, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear
Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year.
My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

The other day at a cross-country race, I watched – in shock – as a young runner walked off the course at the exact moment she was passed by a teammate. My first thought was, doesn’t she know how a cross-country meet is scored?! Her dropping out will surely add 10 or 15 points to the team score – thus, jeopardizing their victory. My next thought was, something is terribly wrong in our culture if we are teaching children that the only two options are win or quit.

I got to thinking about what I would do if I were her coach and had to deal with such a delicate situation. I suspect her side-stitch was really a pride-stitch, and that she was certainly physically capable of finishing the race … but blasting, “How dare you!?” and accusing her of selfishness might turn a talented runner away from the sport forever. This would be the perfect opportunity for one of those “teachable moments” educators are always talking about.

Here’s what I would try to teach:

Back in 1988, when I was in the final of the 10,000m at the Olympic Trials, I developed a bruised toe in the early going of the 25-lap race. I was not fast enought to make the Olympic team, but I was fit enough to hang with the lead pack … that is, until my toe filled up with blood like a grape. I limped along, lap after lap, and was eventually passed by the entire field. With one lap to go, I was the only runner on the track when the announcer called out, “Let’s bring her in, folks! That’s Joan Nesbit finishing …” but, you see, I wasn’t finishing. I had only run 24 laps. The announcers were wrong. I had one more lap to go. SO, I had a choice: I could either stop and accept the polite applause or continue running what I thought (at the time) was a final lap of shame.

I pressed on … past the lap counters, past the time-clock, past the polite applause, and into dead silence on the back-stretch. Silent, that is, until I heard one lone hand-clap. “Atta girl!” I heard. Clap. Clap. Clap-clap-clap. “Atta girl, Joanie!” It was my father. My dad was standing up and cheering for me alone. He knew I had made a difficult, but right, choice. This was no lap of shame. Despite my last place finish, it was a victory lap!

That is what I would tell the young runner who dropped out of her race.

And this:
My father later died of prostate cancer and was unable to witness my “better” Olympic Trials performances in 1992 and 1996 … so, what if I had quit that day in 1988? What might he have missed? What might I have missed? What might you miss if you drop out?

A young-blood coach from West Forsyth high school recently sent me this very clever way to communicate to her team what it means to be a smart runner. Thanks for the tips, Coach Cox (formerly, Julie “Mythical Gear” Smith).

White:
White is a base color, so white represents your base in running, which is your mileage. To be a smart runner, you must run consistently. Consistently means running 5 or 6 days a week, at least 30 minutes a day. Your times will improve after running consistently, especially after getting in a full year of consistent running. So I guess, white could also stand for patience. . . All we need is just a little patience. . . because it takes a lot of patience in order to run that much with no gaps in training.
Orange:
Orange you going to do your long run??? I cannot stress the importance of a long run enough, but I will try. Long runs make you tough and give you the endurance you need to make improvements in a race. The key to long runs is adding 3 minutes each week AND finding a good training partner who will hold you accountable to “go the extra mile” and keep you company. You can get some of your best talking and stress relief accomplished in a long run. So . . . ORANGE you going to do your long run???
Yellow:
Not to gross anyone out, but YELLOW stands for hydration. To be a smart runner, you must give your muscles the water they need to perform well and recover from the hard workouts. Why yellow? you might ask. If your urine is yellow, you’re not drinking enough water. So remember, yellow urine = Urine’sane for not drinking enough water! = Yellow Smartie. Enough said.
Green:
The Green Smartie stands for “You must eat green, leafy vegetables, as well as other really good foods.” Green represents growth, and your bodies are still developing and need lots of good food from the 6 major food groups: Carbos, Meats, Veggie’s, Dairy, Fruits, and the Butterfinger group. If you’re running 5-6 days a week, you can eat anything (just remember moderation is good). Also, after hard runs, your body is best at taking in nutrients up to 45 minutes after the workout; therefore, it’s good to eat a piece of fruit or drink a juice box immediately after a workout.
Red:
The Red Smartie stands for pace. Think of it this way, you don’t want to hit the “red-zone” in the first mile of the race. Start out slower, and let the other teams hit “the zone” in mile one, then think how “smart” you are as you gradually speed up and they immediately slow down after hitting the mile mark. I’m not trying to convince you that you won’t encounter pain if you run this way. There should always be pain, but pacing yourself is one way to handle the pain. Be smart, don’t hit the red-zone in the first mile.
Bluish-Purple:
Bluish-Purple represents winners, and so the Bluish-Purple Smartie represents your running intelligence if and only if you follow the guidelines listed above. You know what your goals are (cutting your times, finishing a race, making all-conference, making the state meet) and you can receive the Bluish-Purple prize if you are a SMART Runner.

PS: I ate all my SMARTIES before I finished this, so I can’t remember if there is another color. If there is another color, it would have to represent pain. In racing there is always pain. The fastest runner can be faced with just as much pain as the slowest. To be a smart runner, you must know that you will feel pain in the race, and you must decide before the race how you will handle the pain when it comes. You don’t have the ability to decide during the race because your mind and body will always tell you to give in to it. Decide now what you will do when faced with pain in a race. One of my coaches told me that pain is a force that holds you back, so you should bust through the force and allow it to push you forward.

Well, another Pumpkin Trail Run has come and gone and I feel like a worn out dish-rag (or, as my neice used to say, “I’m Bezausted!”). The weather was perfect, the trail was swept clean, all the volunteers were in place, the sponsors secured, the decorations exquisite, the food (homemade pumpkin pie and coffee!) delivered and ready to be sliced, fresh, and served with whipped cream … the shuttle buses running smoothly, the DJ jazzed, the photographers lined up, the timers ready, the some-300 runners (kids, moms, dads, kilted middle school coaches, a cow, a cat, and a pumpkin) were all buzzing wth enthusiasm … so, why wasn’t I?

Here’s why. You know how when you were a kid and you went on a vacation all you had to do was “go to the potty” and then get in the car? Someone did your laundry before packing your bag (with all the requisite items) and someone made sure the car was gassed and lubed and filled with travel goodies. Someone had gone to the bank for cash for the trip. Someone had hired the neighbor boy to take in the mail and water the plants or feed the dog. Someone had packed the picnic lunch. That someone was usually the mom. And do you remember how your mom was always the least excited about the trip once you got in the car? Dare I say CRANKY? Heck yes, she was. She was bezausted!

I now see that Race Directors are like moms. They work and they work and they work behind the scenes to make sure everyone else has a fabulous experience on race day … but they are spent by the time the gun goes off. In all my years of running I don’t remember once saying thank you to a race director. Of course, as an “elite” racer, I wrote obligitory thank-you notes … but this was more of a professional curtesy rather than a personal appreciation. I also never thanked my mom for all those trips.

SO, here it is … better late than never. THANK YOU, Mom! And thanks, all you thousands of race directors, for your unflagging love of the sport. Thank you for spending your time and energy on us, the runners.
WE are appreciative.