"Why do I keep running? That’s more complicated. The fitness is still part of it, but it’s also for that running feeling. "What?!?," you say. It’s when I’m out running on a road and there are no cars, no dogs, the wind is in my face, and the sun is shining, or maybe it’s not. It’s the sound of my own breathing, which is like a mantra in a bizarre way. I run for that feeling when my legs just go, and all is right in my world. Oh yeah, and so I can eat."
- Karen Bates
Addiction is often called "the disease of more". When you’re addicted to something, you can never get enough of it. The amount that used to be sufficient to satisfy you isn’t adequate anymore.
Another sign that you’re addicted is when your relationship with whatever you’re addicted to causes problems and you continue the relationship in spite of those problems.
By those criteria, I am clearly addicted to running.
But running isn’t really bad for me, right? I’ve had a lot of fun running and I want to keep doing it. I enjoy the company of my running friends when we’re racing, out on long runs, or eating pizza at Casey’s. The exercise and fresh air are good for me. If I don’t run, I’ll end up fat, sitting on the couch with my TV remote and my bag of chips, waiting to die of a heart attack. I need to run!
I had a lot of fun while I was drinking. I still miss relaxing and enjoying the company of my friends with a drink or two, or winding down in a bar with a beer after a run or some other event. And a drink or two every day is good for my heart! I even miss a lot of the outrageously dumb (but funny) stuff I’ve done when I didn’t stop after a drink or two.
My relationship with alcohol changed over time until my search for more fun actually resulted in less fun. When I finally realized that my drinking was causing problems that were outweighing the fun I tried to drink moderately. Unfortunately, after the first drink or two, moderation usually seemed like a good idea for some other day. Finally, I realized that the only way to avoid the problems created by my alcohol use was to put drinking aside. Some people can drink responsibly, but I’ve gotten into enough trouble to know the risks aren’t worth it.
Most addiction treatment programs agree. They believe that abstinence is the only way to manage an addiction and avoid the problems that it causes. They think that anyone who believes they can learn to moderate their behavior and have a healthy relationship instead of an addictive relationship is in denial, not in touch with their true situation.
If that’s true about a running addiction, then I choose to stay in denial. I want to keep chasing the runner’s high. I’m still going to run.
Not every runner is an addict. The runners I have met over the years can be divided into four different groups.
The first group is the new runners. New runners are still trying to figure it out. Running is hard for them. They may have worked their way up to running 3 or 4 miles at a time, but each run is a grind. They often have doubts about whether they’re going to keep running, and some of them don’t. But if they stick with it, they start to notice changes. They lose weight, their muscle tone improves, running gets easier, and they might even start to toy with the idea of running further or entering a race.
The next group of runners is the fitness runners. Fitness runners have stuck with running long enough to understand the benefits. They enjoy how running helps them stay healthy and build strength and stamina that they can use in their other activities. Fitness runners have made running a part of their life. Their bodies are accustomed to running and no longer change as fast as a new runner’s. Further improvement is still possible, but it requires more work than before. However, fitness runners don’t worry much about becoming a better runner. A fitness runner may enter a few races, mostly local 5 or 10Ks, but they’re casual about it. If they’re traveling or on vacation and it’s inconvenient to run, they have no problem taking a week or two off. They have few injuries. When they are injured, they back off and take the time to get better before they resume their usual running routine.
The third group is the racers. Most running addicts are in this group.
Someone becomes a racer when they start to set competitive goals for their running. Racers’ goals may involve successfully competing against other people in races, or successfully competing against themselves by improving their time at a particular distance. It isn’t always about speed. Sometimes their competitive efforts are about pushing themselves to add another marathon, another consecutive day of running, or another week with a high mileage total in their running log. Whatever the goal, for a racer running is about keeping score.
Racers plan their running, and often their life outside of running, so everything contributes towards reaching their goals. They judge every run as a success or failure by whether the run helped them advance towards their current goal.
There’s nothing more rewarding to a racer than reaching a goal. But a win or a PR only provides momentary satisfaction, and then it’s time to move on, time to set a new goal and try to do even better. The past is past. The future is an opportunity to do more.
For some racers, accomplishing their running goals can get to be an obsession. Unfortunately, always striving to go farther or faster causes problems. The physical and mental stress racers create by always pushing themselves for more makes them more susceptible to injury. Racers often deny their injuries as long as they can in order to keep running. Their injuries get worse until they finally force the racers to stop. Ironically, since they delayed treatment in order to keep running, they often end up staying out longer because of the severity of their ailments. Each additional day without running is torture for the racers. They feel their fitness ebbing, their weight piling on, and their goals slipping away.
For a few people, those who are competing for something concrete, like a scholarship, prize money, or Olympic medals, taking the racer lifestyle to the extreme might make sense. Other people, who dedicate their lives to racing out of personal pride, are often trying to fill some less practical need for success or approval or belonging in order to build their self-esteem. Unfortunately, no matter how fast they are, there’s always someone faster. Comparing yourself to others is never the most realistic way to become happy with who you are.
It doesn’t have to be a bad thing to be a racer. The goals of a racer are clearer and success is easier to measure and more under the control of the individual compared to other tasks in life, like working with a difficult boss, writing a book, or raising a child. If your body can handle the strain and you can manage your efforts without becoming obsessive, a life focused on running can be as fulfilling as any other kind of life.
The fourth and final group is the mature runners. They have gone through the racer phase, so they know what it’s like to take things all the way to the edge, and sometimes beyond. But the mature runners have learned to compromise. They don’t let running control their life.
A mature runner is a lot like a fitness runner, in that they run at a level that allows them to reap the health benefits without the downside of excessive racing. But mature runners value the act of running for many reasons, not just for what running does for their physical well-being.
Mature runners still have goals, but they don’t need their goals to create meaning for their running. They aren’t driven to reach their goals at all costs. The goals of a mature runner aren’t barriers to break through; they’re just mile markers on their course through life.
Mature runners know where their limits are, and they know that exceeding those limits will cause problems, so they don’t try. That reduces the number and severity of the injuries mature runners get, and since they take the time to let their aches and pains heal, the few injuries that do occur don’t linger. They get to spend as much time running as they want, because they aren’t greedy. They have found the balance between their desire to run and the demands of the other parts of their lives.
For a long time, I’ve been a racer. That’s caused problems for me. The chief motivator for my daily runs has been to get ready for my next target race. I like to think I may finally be ready to change my primary goals from the timebound and concrete to something more nebulous, something I can always work on, but never need to finish.
I’m not quite there yet. For example, I’ve been wearing my shirt from the 2005 Vermont 100 as a reminder that I failed to break 24 hours and a goad to keep working on that piece of unfinished business. A mature runner would wear his 2004 Vermont 100 t-shirt to celebrate a day of success or, more likely, he would wear the shirt from an obscure 5K because it’s comfortable and it’s dyed a pleasant blue color.
I still have plenty of concrete goals. My main goal is to keep running into my seventies and eighties. If I can keep going that long, not only will I have years of running enjoyment ahead of me, but when I reach that age I'll be sure to be winning races by sheer attrition. If I’m bringing home age group trophies by virtue of being the only one at that age left running, that’s fine by me.
Every runner, no matter how fast they are and how hard they work, eventually gets to the point where they quit improving. New PRs stop happening, and soon they can't even keep up with what they used to be able to do. Their race times increase, as does their need for recovery time. They can no longer compete with the runner they used to be, let alone all those fast younger people.
A study of 2004 New York Marathon finishers found that starting at age 19 and continuing until age 27, the average runner got faster every year. Then performance declined as the runners got older. The good news is that the decline rate was slower. The results for older runners were faster than the teenagers’ times until age 64.
For individuals, there is a rule of thumb that says most people who train regularly can continue to improve for about 10 years before they reach their peak. So, if you don’t start running regularly until age 45 you may be able to keep improving until you get to be 55 or so. I started running regularly when I was 31. My time for getting faster is over.
I need to accept that I’ll never accomplish some of the speed goals that I’ve had for a long time. I haven’t run a sub-40 10K, a sub-1:30 half marathon, a marathon under the 3:10 open qualifying time for Boston (let alone a sub-3), or a sub-24 hour 100-mile race.
As a racer, I hate to admit failure. I’m also a firm believer that if I haven't given up trying to reach a goal, I haven't failed. But if I’m going to become a mature runner, I have to let go of those speed goals and change my attitude about falling short. Giving up on an impractical goal is only a failure if I call it that. The mind frame that sees it as failure is never satisfied. Even if I did realize a particular goal, there would always be another, faster time that I didn’t reach.
Striving for speed is what causes most of my problems. I still fall into the trap of thinking that if I put the right plan together and put in enough effort, I can run as fast as or faster now than I ever could. I know that there was room for improvement when I was younger, so I figure all I have to do is train a little more carefully and I can work hard enough to get faster without getting hurt.
Then I get to race day, and when it’s time to make a choice I sacrifice my long-term goal of enduring running continuity for better results in today’s race. Of course, in the end that means I don’t get either one.
I’ve consistently shown that my heart and lungs are fit enough to support my mind’s desire to run long distances at a faster pace than my muscles and joints can tolerate. It’s hard to rein myself in just to avoid getting hurt. It feels like I’m slacking off, doing less than I’m capable of. So I don’t hold back until it’s too late and a new pain forces me to pull up.
One of the seductive qualities of racing is the illusion of control. In running it’s easy to see the clock as the objective measure of success or failure. In other areas of life it can be hard for me to figure out how to succeed or even to define success. I often need the help and approval of other people to accomplish something, and I get frustrated when I don’t get what I think I need. When I started running it seemed like success was up to me. I found that if I put in more miles and ran harder than usual from time to time, I would get faster. I was captivated, addicted to that feeling of control.
Alcoholics Anonymous says that if an addict wants to quit drinking, first he has to admit he can’t control his alcohol consumption. To become a mature runner, I have to let go of the idea that I’m in complete control of my running. Perfection, however you define it, cannot be achieved by man or woman. The pursuit of perfection, while accepting we’ll never get there, is the best we can do. It’s an ongoing battle to accept that, but if I learn to do it for my running, that’ll help me with other aspects of my life.
In the end, successful racing is about winning. Luckily, running isn’t just about racing. I’m reasonably fast for a human, though not as fast as I once was. It was evident early on that there would always be someone faster in almost every race. I’ve learned to lose to other people with only minor amounts of jealousy – I’ve certainly had enough practice. I need to learn to lose to my younger self with similar grace.
Many people continue to compete when they get older by trying different challenges, like age group racing or triathlons. I started running ultramarathons in my 40’s, and I’m looking forward to turning 50 and racing in a new age group. But no matter what I do, if I measure success with a clock I'll reach a point of diminishing returns.
I’m hoping I’ll learn to accept my limitations on the road to becoming a mature runner, but I still have learning to do.
When Ruth ran the 2010 Sugarloaf Marathon, it was her first marathon. I wanted the day to be about her, so I didn’t register to run. I even skipped the 15K held at the same time. Besides, I hadn’t run farther than 18 miles in more than a year because of injuries. Also, I had been sick with a stomach flu the week before the race, so I was still shaky from three days of 100-plus fever and I hadn’t eaten properly for a week. Running a marathon was not a prudent idea.
The race was on Sunday. We were going to drive back right after the race, leaving no time for me to run, so I went for a short run Saturday morning and then we left for Maine, leaving my running gear at home.
At our hotel, we checked the weather. The forecast called for a gorgeous day for running, sunny, in the 50s, and with a 15 mph tailwind on most of the point-to-point course. We headed out to pick up Ruth’s number and drive the course. It was a lovely route, passing by beautiful rivers, forests, and mountains. By the time we’d driven halfway through the course all my good intentions were forgotten, and I was trying to figure out how I could run. If it hadn’t been a two-hour drive to the nearest place where I could buy running shoes, I probably would have registered.
It’s not easy trying to be responsible. Even after a couple of years of sobriety I often find I still have to resist the urge to drink. It has gotten easier over time to deal with the urge, but it’s still there. I suspect the urge to push myself to extend my limits when I’m running will be just as hard to break. The simple clarity of time can make it hard to remember that there are other types of success.
I still use goals for motivation, but those goals have to change as I start to slow down.
Some people start accumulating runs or races. They’re still measuring success by numbers, but now they’re trying for larger numbers to demonstrate their sheer persistence instead of smaller numbers (times or finishing positions) to show their speed. These people might start trying to build a long streak of consecutive days of running. Or they might try to complete marathons in all 50 states or on all seven continents.
Those particular goals don’t work for me. I’d rather target scenic or fun places to run or visit, instead of going somewhere less interesting just to check off one more box on an arbitrary list. If you want to choose a marathon because it allows you to check off both one state out of fifty and one month out of 12 (or one week out of 52, as some people have done lately), that’s your choice. I’m happy with the local 5K near my vacation spot, especially if it has a barbecue afterwards.
I do have a few goals that involve accumulating runs. I run in the Mill Cities and Lake Winnipesaukee relays every year with teams from SRR. I’ve run four of the five Mill Cities legs and seven out of eight legs at Lake Winnie. This year, I plan to complete both sets of relay legs.
I’ve never earned the IronRunner jacket for running the entire USATF-NE Grand Prix series in a single year. There’s always been a conflict with another race or an injury that has kept me out of at least one event. This year, both problems occurred. Maybe 2012 will be the year. I’ll be over 50 for all the races that year, and I might be able to score for the team in my new age group.
I’m not sure if there are more ultramarathons in my future. I’d like to have the fitness to run ultras again, and I like the idea of being someone who runs ultramarathons without a time goal. Running a trail ultra usually means meeting a friendly, relaxed group of people and sharing a long trip through some beautiful countryside. Ultras on asphalt and concrete are much harder on my body, but there are a few that I’d like to try someday, like the SRR 24 Hour Around the Lake or the Comrades Marathon in South Africa.
One of the things I like most about running is how I sometimes drift into a zone where I have no worries about what happened in the past and no anxiety about what might happen in the future. Consistent effort towards a clear goal and the metronomic beat of my footsteps combine to focus my attention on what I’m doing at the moment. Nothing but running gets me into that zen-like state of calm effort. An ultra’s worth of that is something incredibly valuable to me.
I don’t know if I could stay healthy enough if I tried to put in the miles I’d need to train for ultras. And I’m not sure I can (or really want to) put in the time to train and still keep a healthy balance with my relationships and other activities. But there’s no hurry to decide. Ultras are an older runner’s sport.
I have managed to attain some of the qualities of a mature runner. I do a lot more running now just for enjoyment, without a particular goal race in mind. I’ve always been something of a mileage junkie. I like watching my weekly mileage totals accumulate in my log. I’d like to settle in and regularly run 35 or 40 miles a week, with a long run of about 20 miles every couple of weeks. One of the most important things I’ve learned from all my years of running is that the only way to make a 5-mile run fun is to run 10 miles. A 20-mile run is long enough to give me plenty of shorter options I can run comfortably that are still long enough to keep me interested.
On long runs I enjoy the company of my friends who are training for a marathon or some other race. Some of them find it odd that I’ll do a 20-mile run just for fun. It’s in how you look at it. My body may not be fit enough to run 50 or 100 miles, but my brain still is. Ultramarathoning trained my brain to see a 20-mile run as hard, but not that hard.
Since I met Ruth I’ve had a lot of fun reliving some of my past, watching her find out how rewarding it is to put the effort in to training and get concrete results. And running is a great way for us to spend time outdoors, talking or just being together.
Ruth has helped remind me yet again that even though I’ve gone out for a run thousands of times, new things always appear in the mix along with the routine. There’s always somewhere new to run or someone new to run with.
And new experiences continue to find me. Small changes can keep me amused. I’ve never had much in the way of facial hair, but last fall I let my beard and mustache grow for an improv comedy show I was performing in. When winter came, finishing a run with sweat frozen in my beard was something new for me.
Other times, unknown forces pull together to create something unique, just for me. I was out on a beautiful sunny day on one of my innumerable runs alongside the Mystic Lakes when I saw a leaf outlined against the blue sky, floating in midair. I stopped, expecting to watch it fall, but the leaf continued to defy gravity. It was a magical illusion, one that wasn’t spoiled by finding there was an invisible thread of spider silk holding the leaf in place.
In March 2008, I was entering my mileage for the weekend into my running log when I noticed that my "total lifetime mileage" since I started keeping a log in 1992 had reached 19,999 miles. Twenty thousand miles isn’t an enormous number compared to what some of my friends have done in the same period. Still, running 20,000 miles in less than 16 years does indicate a certain amount of consistency and persistence. I take pride in that, and every day I continue to run reinforces that feeling.
My first podiatrist said I probably shouldn’t try to run a marathon. Eighteen marathons (and a few longer races) later, it’s safe to say I’ve exceeded his expectations. I’ve done a lot of that through desire and sheer stubbornness. When I think back on how painful some of those miles were and how many times I’ve had to pick things up again after an injury, maybe I could have tried restraint a little more often.
Now my times aren’t what they used to be. I’ll always have a certain wistful longing for when I could run faster or go on seemingly forever. But as long as I just keep running, I can find satisfaction in that simple fact.
All that running has taken a lot of time. As some point I have to ask if it’s been worth it. It can be pretty selfish, setting aside an hour or more for myself almost every day to get ready to run, run, and clean up afterwards. And I’ve had issues that may not have been directly related to running, but were entwined with my running life. For a while, between weekly bar runs, hashing, and post-pub race parties, it was getting hard to tell whether I was running so I could drink, or drinking so I could run.
It is worth it. Life is often about difficult things I have to do. Running is a (sometimes) difficult thing I choose to do. Running has helped me prove to myself that I can persevere and accomplish something hard, through good times, but also through bad weather, injuries, and those days where doing anything seems like an effort. That has helped me get through other challenges in life, like quitting drinking. Running helps with more mundane issues too. There are many tedious and repetitive, but necessary, tasks that I don’t like to deal with, things like cleaning house, mowing the lawn, or going to work every day. Learning to run marathons doesn’t make sitting through yet another pointless meeting at work into something fun, but it has taught me that I can survive an hour or two of pain (physical or mental) and come back for more the next day.
Running regularly creates a foundation that supports me. I’m always trying to pace myself and run strongly and smoothly for my entire run. The regular beat of a solid, steady pace helps me live in the moment and calmly contemplate the trials that I’ll face over the next few miles and the ones that I’ll have to contend with after I’ve put my running shoes away for the day.
Sometimes, when I least expect it, there’s joy. My body glides down the road effortlessly with my mind riding atop in harmony. The synchronicity between body and mind is so strong that my body starts to flow along a little faster before any whim for speed surfaces into my conscious thoughts. The magic can happen in little spurts during any run. Longer runs create room for those spurts to stretch out. Sometimes the feeling extends to the whole run.
But I can’t make that happen. I never find that fluidity on days when I strive too hard, which is why I seldom find it on race day. The few times that I’ve felt the flow during a race were some of my fastest races. The only time I went under 19 minutes in a 5K it felt so easy that I thought the course must have been short. I don’t feel the magic when I’m consciously backing off on my level of effort either. I have to earn it, but I can’t be greedy. But sometimes, when I’m relaxed and appreciative of the simple pleasures of running, I get a little glimpse of transcendence.
The rest of the time I settle, and it’s still good. Each run is worthy in its own way, even when it’s only for the relief I feel when a bad run is over. And every run helps keep me fit so I’m ready the next time the magic appears.
That’s the difference between running and chemically induced euphoria. One you can buy, the other you have to earn. You can give up, go passive, and still drink and smoke and snort to get high. But if you want the runner’s high, you have to find a way to carry on.
I’m going to keep running. Sometimes I stumble across a moment of fulfillment, sometimes I get lost on the road, but if I keep putting one foot in front of the other eventually I know I’ll find the path that takes me home.