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.