Running man: An addict’s confession

I am an addict. I make no bones about it or the fact every day I crave a fix I know I can’t have. No matter what I do to replace this desire, it never goes away. And you know what? I hope it never does.

Some people are junkies while others are alcoholics. Both will go to great lengths to satisfy their need to escape a world of inner pain and all too often die as a result. I am no different although you would never know it by looking at me because on appearance, I am the picture of health. Still, I am an addict who craves one more high, a high I hope and pray to experience again even though I know it is not likely to ever happen. You see, I am a runner. In fact, I am the worst kind of runner because I am a former runner, not by choice, but rather by circumstance.

In June of 2007, the morning after my oldest child graduated from high school and one day before Father’s Day, my running life ended, just a month shy of my 49^th birthday. It could have been worse. Doctors in the ER told me I was lucky to be alive and not in a wheel chair. I learned there are just some things the human body does not bounce all the way back from, even after five years of painfully grueling physical therapy. I found out the hard way the human body is not meant to withstand a 30 mph impact with its head and an immoveable object. I also learned it is possible to tear the right side of your upper torso from its sternum, leaving you just deformed enough and out of balance to making distance running a thing of the past, unless you enjoy constant hamstring, quad, and calf muscle strains along with knee problems.

For most people, this would not be a problem. They’d go onto another form of exercise or use the injuries as an excuse to never exercise again. However, running was not something I did so much as it was who I was.

I used to race the bus home from school every day just to see if I could beat it to the stop at the foot of my driveway. I preferred to run laps rather than wait in line for my turn to bat in PE. I read the autobiography of Jim Ryun when I nine which was quite an accomplishment for a kid with reading difficulties. I remember watching him race against Marty Liquori in the original “Dream Mile,” televised live. I pretended to be guys named Wottle, Prefontaine, Walker, Viren, Salazar, Scott, Coe, Ovett, and Lopes while going on afternoon runs by myself.

My first magazine subscription was to Runner’s World and I still love to read the wisdom of the late great George Sheehan. My favorite pair of running shoes I ever wore were my Nike Tailwinds which I had resoled twice in college because I could not afford the two days of wages for a new pair.

I am also very proud of my running accomplishments. You can find my PR’s for 5K (16:31), 10K (34:33), and 15K (53:51) tattooed on my left shoulder with a rising sun in the background and the Japanese symbols for “Running Man.” I know the thrill of a police motorcycle escorting me through public streets while traffic is held up as I win a 10K race as well as the pain from a stress fracture due to over training. I have arranged my schedule to rise at 4:30 in the morning so I could run quarter mile repeats on the dirt track at Arcadia High School in the 1980’s before heading off to work. And I know the feeling of Father Time creeping up on me, knowing my fastest running days are in the past.

Still, by the time of my accident almost eight years ago, I was managing to get in three or four runs a week while adding strength training and bicycling to my non-running days. I believed then I would be one of those leather-skinned old farts you see now and then shuffling along the side of the road while a passerby thinks, “I hope I can do that when I am his age.”

Unfortunately, it was not in my cards and even though I know this, I still get up every morning, walk down to the bottom of my driveway to pick up the morning paper and think to myself, “This would be a great morning to run.”

The fact is, every day is a great morning to run. There is no better way to begin your day than with a morning run in which you see the sun rise, coyotes head home, and commuters head off to work. There is also no better way to end a day than with an interval session at a local track, except for maybe a run along some local trails.

I tell myself I am lucky, and indeed, I am. A bike accident is what ended my running life, but of all things, a bike is what I now rely on to replace what I am no longer able to do. However, cycling is not the same as running, but it brings me great joy to see that at almost 57 years of age, I can occasionally ride someone twenty years younger into the ground. Cycling does not give me the high running did, but it does allow me to escape into solitude and push myself in a way running once allowed.

If you stop by my house, you will even see decorations that are cycling related. I also spend too much time looking at bikes on the Internet and admit I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of the new bike I recently purchased. But none of this stops me from admiring a great pair of running shoes, or trying them on to see how they feel while I think, “Maybe I should buy these and give running another try.”

I no longer have a subscription to Runner’s World and I couldn’t tell you the name of any American or foreign runners who currently compete. I do not know what the current world best time is in the marathon or who the odds on favorite is in next year’s Olympic 1500 meter final.

However, I do know I need an MRI on my left knee and may have to decide whether or not to have surgery on it. It does not bother me when I ride a bike, even if it is for four or more hours. But if surgery will allow me to run again … well, like I said, I’m an addict.

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