Portrait of a Runner

It all starts with the feet. The birth-place of injuries. I'm a life-long heel striker, and I've paid the price for it. When I started running in the seventies, proper running form didn't exist. Well, this isn't true, but my cross country coach never once mentioned form. He talked about strategy. "Crest the hill" was his favorite saying. But form? Nope. He never mentioned nutrition either, except one time after a Friday practice, he said "Don't drink too much beer tonight, kids, we have a meet in the morning." This was the seventies. Things were different.

My long, loping stride, launch from the toe, land on the heel was common, fine with my coach. And the result was nasty bouts with shin-splints and twenty years of knee bursitis. I can be stubborn. I always think I know what's best – for me, for others. I could never be convinced that my running form was related to my injuries. Running partners would complain about my foot-slapping gate. Running on a treadmill was an embarrassing racket. A recent reading of Christopher McDougall's "Born to Run" changed all of this. His early chapters talking about form and injuries caught me off guard. Made me think of myself. And his descriptions of trail running reminded me that wooded trails were my favorite place to run.

Eighteen months ago, I set out to work on my foot strike, my stride. Move to a mid/front sole landing, with a tight, gliding stride. And I think I've finally got it. I have the evidence. A few weeks ago, I ran a five mile road race. My first in two years. Since coming off an injury (knee bursitis, again), and rebooting my stride, I've stuck to the trails, even in races. Nothing on the road for 24 months. But this race is special to me. I was its first race director, and I had the privilege of laying out the course. A simple out and back with nothing but hills. It's not a very popular race, too hard for the 5K crowd, not long enough for the half-marathoners. 8Ks and 10Ks seem to be out of favor these days. At least in my region.

At the home stretch of this race a photographer was shooting the runners as we finished. He got a couple of good ones of me. One head on, and one from the side. With these, I'm able to evaluate my stride, my posture. And because it is the end of a race, when I'm tired, the data is more pertinent than when I set out – when proper form is foremost in my thoughts. Looking at these two photos of my finish, I'm elated but surprised to see good form. Upright posture, a perfect foot strike. Right on the ball of my foot. This success has been hard won. Switching strides thirty-five years into your running career takes effort, pain. Relearning what you know. Building new muscles. Back to basics, back to the start. Every run felt like my first. My calves hurt all the time. My foam-roller was my most important running equipment.

My pace took a two minute hit while I learned my new stride. Everything I ran was at a ten-minute pace. Not my normal eight. Short, long, it didn't matter. All runs came in with ten-minute splits. And my pace has been slowly creeping back down ever since. My overall time for this race was about thirty seconds off the time I posted four years ago. This race was 8:10 per mile, so I'm going to call myself done. I'm as fast a runner as I used to be, pre-switch, and now I have proper form.

Two years ago, I ran the same race and did fairly well. I can't compare times because the volunteer who set up the turn-around point missed by a quarter of a mile. Still, it was one of my faster race-paces since I left my thirties, down in the sevens. The same photographer was taking pictures at the finish and he got a clean one of me. I looked like hell. In pain, terrible form, and somewhat emaciated, skinny, old. Fast, but sickly.

I work at a community center with an awesome fitness center. Huge floor, comprehensive selection of weight machines and free weights. But I never used them. My exercise routine was spinning and yoga. I was disdainful of people who pumped weights. I didn't see the point. I was strong, flexible and fit. Most people at a fitness center are trying to lose weight. I couldn't have been any thinner, more lean. I felt that I was everything that everyone else was trying to achieve.

The guy who finished the race immediately after me was Brad, my co-worker's boyfriend. We were in the same age group, and he trash-talked me a bit before the race. There is a good photo of him finishing the race as well. And the contrast between his photo and mine is sickening. He is upright, buff, confident. Pumped up, almost cartoonish – like Captain America. He looked great. It doesn't matter that I beat him. He looked better losing. Much better. I was so shocked by the difference in the photos that I started lifting weights again.

Fitness-wise, this has been a ground-breaking two years for me. My entire adult life, I've exercised, a lot. But I've never really had an exercise program, a clear idea of what I was trying to achieve, (other than fitness). Running, mountain biking, soccer. Weight-lifting, swimming, yoga, spinning. I've been fairly fit, but without a plan. In and out of fads, focus areas. Essentially working however I wanted, whatever felt right. Without thought to an overall fitness goal. Imbalanced muscles – especially my quads – countless injuries.

After comparing myself to Brad, I wanted some muscle mass. I wanted to look fit, not just thin. And I'm a much healthier person for it. I began to put as much mental effort into my fitness program as the physical. I began researching workouts, proper form, muscle balance. I incorporated plyometric drills and compound lifts a la Crossfit. Stole bear-crawls and power-ups from Parkour. I inserted intensity drills into my spinning class after completing a HIIT certification. And I added body-weight exercises from www.bodyrock.tv (I go to that site for the workouts, really). Gone is the split-system weight training I used twenty years ago. My exercises now are much more in line with real-world activities, not just pressing weights.

The results have been remarkable. Not only do I look more fit, I am more fit. Better muscle balance, fewer exercise injuries, faster recovery. A stronger runner, more of an athlete. Body awareness, tighter, sturdier, stable. This all helps my trail running, and it helps me age. Now in my fifties, I feel that my fitness is still improving, or once again improving after a long break. It gives me hope that in ten or twenty years, I'll still be running trails, working out, instructing spin classes. My current retirement-career goal is to be a personal trainer to the over-fifty crowd. Not for people just wanting to tone up or lose some weight. Folks who are looking for true fitness. Setting new goals, stretching to achieve them. But for now, I'm working on myself.

Racism

On the day I ran in my town’s “Race Against Racism”, the big sports news was that Los Angeles Clippers’ team owner Donald Sterling chastised his girlfriend for hanging out with African-Americans. To him, this was embarrassing. To paraphrase his comments, "fine, hang out with them in private, but don't do it in public, people will talk." From an eighty-one year old rich, white dude, this probably shouldn’t be all that surprising. Undeniably, this attitude was common a half a century ago. Walk into any affluent country club in the United States and my guess is you will be able to find at least one racist octogenarian.

I have always considered racism as a crime of ignorance. To believe that a group of people, a specific race, a descendant of a different national or cultural origin, is inferior, I’ve assumed the racist must have limited encounters with people from the group he is stereotyping. This isn't the case with Sterling. He is constantly surrounded by African-Americans. They are his employees, his critics, his marketers, his peer-group. Sterling is surrounded by some of the smartest, most successful, accomplished African-Americans in the country. Even his girlfriend, the recipient of his racist remarks, is of African-American descent.

In this case, Sterling simply seems to be a jerk. Full of hate. I'd like to think this is a generational problem. A point of view that will eventually die-out with the handful of older people still harboring racist view-points, but I know this isn't true. I went to college in Lynchburg, VA in the 1980s. Not exactly the deep-south, but southern enough, remote enough to seem that way. Strong racism was prevalent. At parties within the community, I continually met racist people. I met Klan members. I met a guy my age who tried to argue that the downfall of slavery was unfair to white people –slave-ownership was our God-given right.

But it isn't just a southern problem either. A large portion of the students at my school came from northern states. New York, New Jersey, Connecticut. There was heavy recruitment from that region. I found that many of these people were just as racist as the folks from Lynchburg. The only difference is they were less public about it. While growing up in the suburbs of Washington, DC, I didn't realize these attitudes still existed. My high school had a small population of African-Americans, but no one I knew treated them differently from anyone else.

Since leaving my naïve, sheltered upbringing, I've learned that racism is still prevalent throughout the country, the world. In this country, religious intolerance is on the rise. Just this morning, I read a quote from popular tea-party pol, Sarah Palin: “Waterboarding is how we baptize terrorists.” The queen of clever language. Is she saying that we will not coddle terrorists, or is she saying that we intend to torture people into becoming Christian? I’d like to put forth the reminder that not all terrorist organizations are non-Christians. Our homegrown terrorist group, the KKK, morphed into a Protestant organization during the 1900s. Persecuting, terrorizing, attacking those who were Catholic, Jewish, immigrant or black.

The world is growing smaller. We are more interconnected than ever before. We interact on social media with people from all cultures, people around the world. Yet many are still holding on to their old stereotypes. Donald Sterling is entitled to his beliefs, but he is also entitled to the fire-storm that has flown his way. Only by holding accountable those who spout bigoted, narrow views, will society continue to make strides against prejudice. There can be no “they”, no “them”. Each individual must be judged on his or her own merit. When this is ignored, racism persists. We each have a responsibility to speak out against bigotry. To challenge those who judge without basis. This is true for Donald Sterling, for Sarah Palin, the guy at the country club, the guy down the street.