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| The First Mile is a Liar |
I am not fast.
In high school, I got the nickname “Fast Eddie” because I was a sprinter. Short distances, I guess I was pretty fast. Fast enough to go to state on relay teams and in the 200 meters.
However, it was well understood that I did not run far.
Once I was punished for being late to practice. My high school track coach knew the worst thing he could make me do was run long distance, so he signed me up for the 3,200 meters in a meet. So many of the other runners passed me — lapped me — that the officials tried to get me to quit so they could all turn off the lights and go home.
I kept running.
My senior year I was faster than ever until a knee injury cut my season short. The only time in four years that I didn’t qualify for state. That was the end of running as far as I was concerned. I rode my bike, went to college and forgot about running.
When I became a nurse, something changed.
After years of writing at a desk 60 hours a week, I was fat and out of shape. My biggest challenge was sitting on the couch for three days watching adventure races on TV.
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| This year I got to finally run with my mentor in nursing and running, Col Wayne Van Hamme (ret) at right. |
But nursing is a job where I’m on my feet 12 hours a day. I found myself working in a busy emergency department where many of the nurses around me competed in triathlons, marathons and Iron Man competitions, even though they were a good deal older than me.
They inspired me to challenge myself.
Like my father, I was a walker and hiker, a trudger. Even in my desk job days, I’d try to get out and walk around the fields to breathe the fresh air and think.
Yet I hadn’t run at all in two decades.
Mistrust the first mile
I set my sights on the Great Columbia Crossing — a 10K run across the Astoria Bridge. It seemed so daunting. I set up a 3-mile course on the backroads near Rosburg, Washington, and started — slowly — training.
It’s been said that “the first mile is a liar: Don’t trust it.” This runner’s expression means that your body tells you all sorts of things to get you to quit, to turn back. If you can power through all the voices of doubt, you can keep going.
If you can keep going, you’ll feel better, not worse.
For the first mile, my feet hurt and my lungs burned, but once the endorphins kicked in, all was forgiven. The first mile of anything is a mountain of doubt you have to climb if you want a better view.
I found the more I ran, the better I felt. Not just healthier, but better. Exercise is meditation and stress relief. I downloaded audiobooks and podcasts so I’d look forward to running time, so I’d run longer.
Running in the cold rain is challenging, to say the least. On the other hand, it is good to get outdoors and pound out the miles despite the conditions and darkness and mist. It’s fun to learn to laugh when the rain blows sideways as you near the farthest point from home. You can even pretend you are in a commercial selling expensive athletic gear as you splash through the puddles.
The first mile will try to seduce you with songs of comfort, but challenging yourself is uncomfortable by its very nature.
I survived that first Columbia Crossing in 2011, and kept running.
Running for me
Early on, my wife, Amy, started running with me. We took the girls to run local races, and they have carried on into track and cross country. When we started, Amy and I would have to run slow so the girls could keep up, now they sprint ahead and leave us behind.
We especially like running the Shamrock run in Portland as a family, where we find ourselves in a great crowd of people, all shapes and sizes, moving on a chilly spring day. Most are not fast, but they are out there, and they are moving. Sometimes just putting your running shoes on and getting outdoors on a gray day … that can be as challenging as that first mile.
It was Amy’s idea to run our first half-marathon, something I could never have imagined. Since her instigation, I have completed the Battle to the Pacific half marathon three times. I’ve decided that it is my favorite distance. I’ve discovered that everyone has to find their own pace and their own race. Everyone has to create their own challenges and goals.
I am not fast.
My goal is usually to not be dead last in whatever race I run, but I’m getting better.
“Better” is both a goal and ruler of relative success. It doesn’t matter how or what you’re doing, so long as you feel yourself getting better than before.
This month is my 49th birthday.
To celebrate my 50th year on the planet, I’m challenging myself to run four half marathons before my 50th birthday, which will get me a little more than 50 miles (not counting training and hiking). It’s just a little way to remind myself I’m still alive, and in better shape than I was a decade ago.
It probably doesn’t seem all that impressive a feat. After all, I have friends that run 50 miles in one go.
But I’m not running for you and I’m not competing with them.
I’m not competing with anyone.
I’m only running for me.
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Ed Hunt is a registered nurse and former newspaper and magazine writer. He lives in Grays River, Washington. His book “The Huckleberry Hajj” is available on Amazon.