Category: Run

So, way back in the day in January, I wrote some stuff about how 2022 wasn’t going to be a crap year like 2020, or 2021.

Well, apparently, I lied.

Anyway, I come not to bury Billy, but to figure out how to save Billy.

Actually, I don’t even really need to figure out how to save Billy – we already know that. Consistency is all I ask. Mediocrity is all I plead. I need to eat less crap and move more.

So, I moved today. Weather was glorious, played hooky from a meeting.

More tomorrow.

Hi.

Two posts in 8 days. Which is something that I haven’t done in, well a while.

This afternoon was small child’s last home cross-country meet in high school. Small child who couldn’t hold his head up by himself when I started this blog. Small child who can now operate a motor vehicle by himself, and who, I hope, will be out of the house starting to adult in a mere 11 months. If college counts as adulting, which is up for debate. But Mrs. Jank and I are really trying to make him drive that process.

So, I ditched work early and headed off to Haley Farm State Park where Fitch hosts their home meets, and where I’ve ran probably 400 times, especially when the men’s group was younger and still running. I love this park. In a lot of other places, and at an earlier time, it probably would have become a subdivision. But, one of the positive outcomes of Connecticut’s style of NIMBY-ism and property taxes is that there’s a whole lot of large-ish parcels of land that get converted into nature preserves or parks close to where people actually live. Haley Farm is one of those. And, Fitch High School borders here, so the XC team has trained here for decades.

Anyway, I can’t recommend XC as a sport for kids enough – next to no equipment, minimal coaching, tires them out after school for several months each year. Usually takes advantage of public land. Kids get out of it what they put into it, and everyone pretty much improves over the season. Spectating is good – sit in a field and watch the kids run and the sun set.

Anyway, good race. Stonington’s got a kid who’s amazing. Crushed it. Minute or so ahead of two kids from Norwich, who were about 20 seconds ahead of one of the kids who’s grown up alongside small child. Kid’s been a phenom since middle school – scored (finished in the top group from the school) in his first race in 6th grade, which is amazeballs. Small child came in 6th for Fitch for the second time this season, which means he’s a letterman again.

Hung out after the race for the traditional roast of the seniors and cake. Mrs. Jank dragged the kid home, and I put on the sneakers and headed out.

The good news is that I think between rehab and almost a year of pretty much not running, I’ve healed my left ankle. What did I do? I:

• Stayed off it for the better part of 6 months
• 3 months of pretty dedicated PT and stretching
• A false start and more pain
• Losing 10 pounds
• More stretching
• 6 months walking in minimalist shoes
• And a super cautious return to running

I’ll do a post another day on the minimalist thing – I’m still walking and using them for day to day activities, and I think it’s helped, but the experiment in running minimalist didn’t. But, after a month of very slow building, I’m up to 2 miles a run, about 3 times a week.

By running, I mean “Galloway-ing” – running with good form til I’m tired, walking for a minute or two, and then running with good form til I’m tired again. It isn’t the fastest, but it’s keeping me not broken.

Run was ideal – the weather was low 70s and dry; the course was mostly dry but not dusty, and the light through the trees was dappled and beautiful. Breeze was blowing, but not enough to be a headwind. Grass on the trails had been mown probably late last week.

Run was good. I didn’t feel pressure to push through sketchy sections, but being out on the trails was good. Set a third personal fastest time heading up one of the hills I haven’t run in 18 months, which is nice.

It’s so nice to see that I might still be a runner after all.

Forgive me, please.

I used to be a golfer. Kinda.

I was born an Air Force Brat, so, I think teaching me to golf was something that my dad had to do as part of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Growing up down south, the town I was in had a robust set of municipal courses, and was dirt cheap for high schoolers. So, I spent a lot of Saturdays with a buddy looking to get picked up as a fourth with some of the older golfers. Some of it was a love of the game; a lot of it was old white dudes like to feel cool by sneaking young white dudes cold brewskies.

Anyway, one of the things that’s stuck with me from my golfing days is the concept of the perfect shot. The shot that makes you sing in your loins.

Yeah.

So, the conceit is that at least once each loop you’ll hit a perfect shot.

The perfect shot is instantly understood – everything feels smooth, the sound of the club connecting with the ball resonates, and even before you finish the follow through and raise your head to the heavens to watch the ball arc through the sky, you know the ball is going exactly where you wanted it to go.

A good golfer gets a couple of perfect shots a round. A pro might get one per hole and make a career out of it. But even a duffer, even a beginner, even a middle class white teenager buzzed off of two Michelob Lights sweating in the late morning summer sun in the South, is going to get at least one per loop.

And that’s enough to get you to come back the for the next round. Maybe enough to get you to go to the driving range in the middle of the week to work on the swing.

I think there might be a similar thing with running, and I think I hit it tonight.

It’s not the fabled “runner’s high”, which is, itself real – that hits towards the end of a long run, when occasionally the body will choose delirium instead of quitting, and it is glorious.

Instead, it’s a mile that just goes right. It doesn’t not hurt, it doesn’t feel effortless, it’s not necessarily easy.

But it’s a mile that just kind of floats by, exactly like it should.

I think I had a couple of perfect miles tonight after the sun had set behind Jamestown. I was moving, not pushing, but feeling the effort. I was aware of the wind, the crunch of the gravel beneath my feet. I made eye contact with rabbits, and tried to will them to stay still as I ran past, then felt kinship with them as they hopped away from the trail.

It was unexpected – I was pretty wiped from work today, and had pretty much planned on phoning in a mile on the treadmill and calling it another day on the streak. But, as I went to get changed out, the air just felt right, and I decided I may as well make it a real run.

I’m glad I did – there was at least one perfect mile, and it makes me want to chase the next one.

So, the pre-streak is still alive after seven whole days. I’m actually kind of excited about that. So, what I’m trying to do is get a jump on the Runners’ World Run Streak for 2019. Easy rules: at least a mile a day, every day between now and the New Year.

Why?

Why not.

No, mostly it’s to celebrate no longer having a gimp ankle, to mourn being overweight and slow, and to rage, rage, against the dying of the (day) light (savings time). (Have I mentioned before how New England really should be in the Atlantic time zone? Sunset at 16:30 is BOOOOOGUS).

Anyway, today’s run was, well, pretty good. 4 miles is what Nike+ recommended, 4.2 miles is what I did. I even put in a tough effort for a half mile towards the end. Navy installations play “Taps” every night at local sunset. I’d set off knowing I would be ending about Taps, and when I heard First Call sounded, I put the hammer down for the five minutes between first call and Taps, and ended up with the last full mile at below 10 minute pace. Not historically fast for me, but I’ll take it.