Running at the track

As I mentioned in a previous post, I've begun regularly running again. The weather is finally nice enough that I could run outside, but I still mostly run indoors at the Y. I do this because it is convenient to go to the Y over my lunch break. The indoor track at the Y is pretty small - it takes fifteen laps to make a mile. I usually run 50 laps. Keeping track of the lap count is almost as difficult as the running itself. I have a rule that if I'm unsure of the count, I always assume the lower number. I suspect I usually run two or three extra laps because of this.

As the weather has gotten nicer, there are fewer and fewer fellow runners joining me on the track. I often have it to myself or have to share it for a few laps with a walker or two. There are three runners that I've shared the track with from time to time since winter. I thought they'd all left me for the summer, but then one of them was at the track yesterday. I've never spoken to any of these people, of course. They have a few common traits: they are male; they are younger than me; and they are faster than me. I don't know their real names, but in my mind they are Blondie, Sarge and Ron.

Blondie is the youngest of the bunch, probably not much over twenty. He's rail thin and runs really fast. The first time he passed me I was impressed by his pace. My admiration morphed to disdain when he quit after three laps. Anyone can run fast for three laps, I thought to myself. Over the weeks I began to be annoyed with this upstart and the disruptions his brief sprints brought to my running experience.

Sarge was at the track yesterday. He's probably in his early thirties. With his crew-cut and broad shoulders he looks like he should be running in camouflage shorts. He runs precisely, there is very little bobbing up and down. He also runs on the balls of his feet - his heels never seem to touch the ground. I've had a lot of chances to study his form - he's passed me many times. Whenever I get passed by anyone I find myself trying to justify it in my mind. Usually, I tell myself that they aren't running as far as I am. This was true for Blondie, I'm still not sure about Sarge.

Finally, there's Ron. I'd guess he's somewhere in his forties and closest to me speed-wise. I think of him as Ron because he has hair and a moustache reminiscent of Will Ferrell's Ron Burgundy character from the Anchorman movie. Ron runs effortlessly and I think he could probably go faster if he wanted to. Instead, he runs just a bit faster than me. This means he doesn't pass me as often but when he does it takes awhile. I sense him behind me for half a lap before he gradually moves into the passing lane. Sometimes, I slow down a little just to get it over with. It's awkward. Still, I kind of like it when he's at the track because it reminds me how funny Will Ferrell can be. I like to think of funny things to take my mind off the pain. Of course, it often also takes my mind off the lap count.

Counter-clockwise

Thursdays are counter-clockwise, I know this to be true.

The indoor running track at my local Y has designated that runners should run counter-clockwise on Thursday and Friday, clockwise on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Saturday and Sunday have directions as well, but I rarely run at the Y on the weekend, so I don’t know them.

I think the reasoning behind changing directions is to save wear and tear on the joints. The track is slightly slanted at the corners and running on this uneven portion probably grinds one’s knees disproportionately. If we didn’t change directions occasionally, we’d eventually end up lopsided, only able to run along the sides of hills like mountain goats. Instead, we change directions, grinding our knees evenly and gradually getting shorter. Of course, all of this only works if you run on the right days. I don’t know how they decided to assign the directions the way they did. I’m sure it was arrived at after an in-depth study of the running habits of a large sample set of members. Or, maybe someone just made it up after realizing that changing directions every day wouldn’t work since many members run every other day. At any rate, I typically run on Tuesday and Thursday so the system works for me.

Last Thursday, as I stretched before my run, I noticed a woman walking clockwise around the track. I stretch right next to the board where the direction signs are posted so I glanced quickly to make certain they hadn’t been updated. No, Thursday was still counter-clockwise. Next, I double-checked my mental calendar and assured myself that it really was Thursday. I was standing near the door for exiting the track and, as the woman approached, I hoped she would leave. Alas, she strolled past the door, intent on walking another illegal lap. As she passed me, I made a small production of staring at the directional arrows. I studied them as if they were the Mona Lisa, hoping she might feel compelled to check out what I found so interesting. She ambled on.

I stretched some more and felt myself becoming annoyed with the woman. The “don’t make waves, go with the flow” part of my personality was telling me that maybe I should run clockwise as well. The track is fairly narrow and going the same direction meant we would cross paths less often. The “we have rules for a reason” part of my personality was adamant that Thursdays were meant to be counter-clockwise lest we all become lopsided. I stewed and stretched some more. Finally, the “don’t go out of your way to look like an idiot” part of my personality noted that I’d be running for at least 30 minutes. During that time, the woman would likely finish up and leave the track. At that point, I’d be alone, running the wrong way on a Thursday, like a fool. I set out counter-clockwise.

The woman gave no indication of surprise or care as I approached and passed her on the track. We met often over the next few minutes. Finally, she stepped off the track near the exit. I noticed her studying the directional arrows before leaving, perhaps finally realizing her faux pas. As the door closed behind her, I felt my mood improve. Order was restored to this little part of my world.

Vignettes by B

With the winding down of another school year, the boys have been bringing home schoolwork. Among the papers in B's backpack were a couple of vignettes he'd written. He gave me permission to share them with you.

Cats      by B.
I have three cats and they are all odd. One hides at the slightest noise, one sits around all day doing nothing, and one leaps around like a bird chasing imaginary prey. When I look at them funny, they look back and their eyes say: "I don't care. I don't care what you think of me." They have no acknowledgement of what people think or have thought about them. People may be able to keep them in cages and as pets, but I personally think cats are smarter when you look at people socially, always worrying about what people will say or think. Cats are wise in that they are the carefree, the worriless, the relaxed, and the bravest. Yes, we people could really use a lesson on how to break free, and to be oneself. So I look at my cat and ask "How do you do this?" Of course no reply comes, only a soft, caring purr.

Hiking       by B.
In Canada we hiked all the time. Sure it was just a vacation, but we were on the trails a lot. I love it. The trees dancing in the wind, the water gurgling and laughing along. There I walk along the trails, there I stand at the top of a hill, looking down at the rest of the treetops. There the world is a painting, beautiful and abstract, to jump into and explore. By the end of the day I can look back and remember it in the photos on my camera, a small tribute to the amazing outdoors. The next day we explore and venture out again, taking in all the wonders around us and surveying the perfect landscape. More photos snapped, more wide-eyed gazes, more clean, calm fresh air. The pristine outdoors. Eventually we must leave, and we take with us the memories, the pictures, the experiences. We will go back someday, and remember the wonders, with new ones to come.