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RE: Far From Flabby February
Sri Chi Marathon Man
I need a name. A name befitting a mechanical behemoth that is the new treadmill lurking in my spare room. It's a giant - much, much bigger, stronger, faster and steeper than my previous two treadmills. In a sense this machine is overkill, but then that's precisely what I wanted - something that I'm not pushing too hard but which has loads of spare capacity. This machine has a frame that can't be broken, a deck large enough to hold a picnic on and a motor powerful enough to take my middle-aged long distance exertions with ease. Short of going to a fully commercial model, this beast is about as strong as they come. Or, at least that's how it was sold to me. Time of course will tell.
To be able to run again with music is really quite exciting. The streets surrounding MLCMM HQ are too busy, too uneven and at night too dark to contemplate any notion of running with music – the roads and footpaths require constant concentration lest an unnoticed tree root or hybrid motor vehicle leaps from the shadows to prematurely end my running. I’ve been particularly paranoid since Mrs MLCMM broke her arm after tripping over a tree root the year before last whilst running in the dark. At our age, broken anythings take a long, long time to heal and are best avoided if at all possible.
Instead, to run in the comfort of my own home and focus on music and of course my running technique, rather than dodging pedestrians, rubbish bins and psychopathic tree roots is a welcome relief and I now look forward immensely to resuming a properly disciplined training program. Perhaps this all sounds rather like a bit of an excuse? Running the streets is not that bad although it’s true that I have perhaps an unreasonable dislike of other people using my roads. Doubtless a psychologist could find some deep-seated personal disorder in there somewhere. I am after all, a Libran cynic. Ironic, isn’t it?
Whatever the reason for my dislike of the local streets, I need to be comfortable with my running environment. This helps to push myself to continue with my running even when motivation flags, as it frequently does. It’s often difficult enough to lace up the running shoes, let alone contend with rubbish bins, manic rubbish truck drivers and rabid dogs. Well OK, to be fair I’ve never actually encountered a rabid dog, but the possibility is always there on the streets, whereas it is far less likely whilst on my treadmill. On the other hand I have encountered manic rubbish truck drivers on the streets, but never in my home, which is just as well.
So I find myself on a precipice, about to launch into a brand spanking new phase of my running life. A visit to the podiatrist today to receive new carbon fibre orthotics and to analyse which of the two pairs of shoes I bought worked best with them was oddly comforting. Discussing shoes and analysing my gait with knowledgeable foot doctors is almost second nature to me now, but at this juncture of my life, when calcification and other such degeneration is making itself evident in the joints and ligaments of my feet and legs, to have an expert confidently assert that I can continue running for a great many years yet is very reassuring.
As I age, there’s always that nagging doubt about how long I can continue to run. Running is a vitally important ally in my battle against mortality, but the older I get, the harder it is to overcome the setbacks and maintain that all-important motivation.
El Gordo himself touched on this some years ago. It has been quoted before but is worth repeating:
It was only after I finished my first marathon that I could see that, for me, there was no beginning, and there would be no end. The race began long before the start line, and it will never finish.
If you’re anything like me, you’re not running against other people. The only ticking you hear is from the clock of your own life as it slowly winds down. In truth, we run not against a watch but against a calendar.
In that first long race, you’re straining to out-run your own history, your own paralysis, your own paranoia. Like Pheiddipides, the original marathoner, you’re running to deliver news of victory and liberation — Your own.
The cycle of motivation and non-motivation that some average runners like me encounter is of course well known, and often likened to the myth of Sisyphus, endlessly pushing a boulder uphill only to have it roll down the other side. At some point we’re going to say “Enough!” and stop, because we are mortal and can, and must eventually do so. That is a frightening thought, and I hope to delay that inevitable permanent cessation of running as long as possible.
But like the subject of the myth, we tend to confuse meaning and motivation. Is running only ever about prolonging life? Well no, of course not, but it becomes damnably difficult to find any other meaning when the motivation has gone. The process is the thing however, no matter how hard it becomes, and if we can’t find joy and beauty in the work then the end time will be inevitably sooner. And so we focus on either enjoying each and every run by, for example, running in the countryside and up mountains, or else we enter races and find meaning there. Many do both.
Devoid as it is of scenery, a treadmill rather delightfully brings these points into sharp relief. The questioning runner will have to come to understand the true meaning behind the apparently pointless pursuit of the Sisyphusian task and its existential trials. It isn’t easy unless perhaps you are into Sri Chinmoy’s athletic meditation techniques, or Chi running’s yoga-style methods, but I love the challenge.
Which brings me back to the choice of name for the treadmill, now so unfairly lumbered with responsibility for my spiritual and mental well-being. Well, actually I think I’ll just let that hang for a while, it’s not that important, really.
What is important is that I have my treadmill, my new shoes (Asics 1000 if you give a toss), new orthotics (which cost four to five times the price of the shoes), and my mojo which is now re-found and whirling about my head yelling at me to get the heck out there and cover some ground.
Well, I did cover a little ground today. It was my last run in the old shoes - Brooks Adrenalines, which have been my favourite for a few years now, and which I bid a sad farewell to. I’ve a long way to go, but I have entered the Canberra half marathon on April 10, so the race goal is in place. Only nine short weeks to get back to half marathon readiness, but I can’t now be anything other than confident, and I am.
I even have, for the first time in absolutely ages, a Track du Jour for you, and it’s a cracker, and not a little ironic...
Happy running, fellow Sisyphusians!
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Far From Flabby February
