"I started running in 6th grade. Why? To see if I could beat the bus home at lunchtime. I lived less than a mile from school, 11 blocks to be exact, so I was ineligible to take the school bus to and fro for lunch. The second the lunch bell rang, I was out the door like a flash, tearing down Larchmont Avenue to the Sound like nobody’s business. Some days it was close and I beat the bus by maybe a nose, but most days I beat that sucka clean!"
-Jim Chido
It's possible that I'm the first running addict in my family. Some people think addictions are hereditary, but neither my parents nor my siblings run. In my extended family, I do have an uncle who ran for 25 years, until one of his knees gave out. I also have a cousin who was a race director for a few years, but she did that to support her town. She didn’t run herself.
It all started when I was a little kid. Like most people, the first thing I did after I learned to walk was give running a try. Once I stopped falling and bumping into things, I was buzzing around the house and yard, exploring my newly expanded world. Running came naturally, along with eating, sleeping, and learning from my parents.
I was a quiet kid. I liked to spend a lot of time by myself reading, but I also liked to get out and do things and be with people. I didn’t always fit in easily with the others, but the games we played gave us something in common to do or to talk about.
My friends and I all ran while we were growing up in Vermont. We had so much energy that we played games like Tag or Kill the Guy with the Ball that were basically just excuses to sprint around the neighborhood. We ran (and biked) from place to place, because we were in a hurry to get to the next thing, and because we could.
As we got older, the games got more organized. I played whatever sport was in season, whenever we had time and could get a group together. I played a lot of baseball, basketball, football, bowling, and frisbee, and dabbled in a variety of other activities.
Sports were also a way to get my dad’s attention. My dad played baseball and other sports when he was growing up, and he competed for his school when he was old enough. After he got a job and started a family, he still got out and played softball with the guys at the office. As he got older, his social life revolved around more sedate ways to compete, like golf and bowling (and bridge). Dad encouraged his sons to play sports, coaching our Little League teams and going to our other events when work permitted.
Time passed, and I was forced to spend more time sitting down. First, I started spending eight hours a day in school, where all the running around was concentrated into relatively short periods during gym class, recess, and maybe lunch. Then I advanced to high school, where they took recess away from us.
High school track was where I first started running as a specific, organized activity, rather than just as play. I wasn't motivated by fitness or weight loss or any of those health-related things. I started running track partly for the thrill of competition, and partly to belong.
I wanted to play, not just sit there and watch the cool kids compete. I was good at schoolwork, but that’s never been a ticket to higher social status in the cutthroat world of teenagers. Track wasn’t my first choice. Unfortunately, I didn’t hit very well, I had no jump shot, I never learned to skate backwards, and I wasn’t big enough for football. The closest I got to playing one of the major team sports was when I tried out for the baseball team as a freshman. After I got cut, I volunteered to be the scorekeeper.
In my sophomore year, I considered track as a possibility. When we had races in gym class, I was faster than most people. And nobody got cut from the track team. Being on the track team didn't automatically make me a popular person at school, but it was better than nothing.
The football coaching staff had spare time in the spring, so they coached the track team. Our coaches were mostly concerned with keeping the football players fit for the fall. The rest of us were on our own as far as training was concerned. As spring approached, we showed up after school, did pretty much whatever we wanted to at practice, and went home. When school let out for the summer, we put training aside. I don't think anybody trained over the weekend, let alone year-round.
Vermont's lengthy winters meant the spring track season wasn’t very long. To get a head start, we held some practices indoors before the snow on the track melted. Runners had two options. We could do short sprints in the hallway, and try desperately to stop before we crashed into the wall. Or we could run the stairs. The stairs were probably better for us, but they were nowhere near as much fun.
When the snow finally melted, we headed outdoors to the track. At practice, the coaches usually left us to run our events multiple times. I guess they figured that if we did the same thing over and over again, we'd get better at it, so around the track we went. Sometimes we had to dodge baseball players while we ran as they shuffled through a lap or two as part of their practice.
I ran the 220, 440, the mile relay, and I high-jumped. I had fun, but without a real training plan, I never reached my potential. That's too bad, because I was young, and I still had the flexibility and resiliency to tolerate the stress of sprinting. High school would have been the best time for me to try running all-out for pure speed. I still have my high school track spikes today, but just looking at them makes my feet hurt.
When I graduated from high school, I stopped running. I went to college, but I didn't go out for the track team or the cross-country team. I had some mild regret that I wasn’t as fit as I was in high school, so I did a little running, but not in any organized fashion. I was old enough to drink now, and that path to overcoming social awkwardness required much less effort. And before long I dropped out of college, started working, and stopped running altogether.
A lot of my early jobs involved standing in place, either behind the counter at a store, or in uniform, guarding something that didn't really need guarding. After a while, I moved up to office jobs, where I just sat there on my butt for lengthy parts of the day. When I left the office, I’d eat, go out for drinks, or sit in front of the TV and click the remote.
In my early 30’s, I was working at MIT, getting fatter, and looking for something to do. I played softball, which was in large part an excuse to hang out with people and drink beer, and I played in a weekly roller hockey game with some of the students, but I wanted more.
My boss at MIT was Dick Thomas. He was an older guy who also liked his beer. He wasn’t some super-fanatical fitness freak, but Dick had run the Boston Marathon a couple of times, getting his number through a connection since he wasn't fast enough to run the required qualifying time. Talking about Dick’s running got me thinking about running again, and helped me realize that running could be fun, even if I wasn’t the fastest guy out there. I started to regret that I wasn't running anymore.
One spring I even tried to run a little bit. I bought a pair of Nike Air Pegasus shoes, and every couple of days I went out and ran around the block until I got tired, which took me less than a mile. But that didn't last for long. The air pod in one of my shoes went flat, softball season came along, and I quit running again.
When I was 31, I weighed 165 pounds, almost 40 pounds heavier than I was in high school. I hadn’t gotten any taller (I’m 5’8"), so I carried most of the weight in a potbelly. Since I was a short person with a small frame, the potbelly made me feel a little ridiculous. For a while, I was in denial about it. I told myself I was reasonably active. I played softball, I biked some, I could keep up with the younger students at roller hockey, and I was fit enough to do other things once in a while when an opportunity presented itself. I'd loosen my belt, leave my pants unbuttoned, and leave my shirt untucked to cover it all.
After a year or two of that, I finally decided it was time to do something about my weight. I cut back on the amount I ate and I bought an exercise bike. For weeks, I ate a meal substitute drink and rice cakes for breakfast and lunch. I set the bike up in my apartment kitchen and I rode it for 15 minutes every afternoon after I got home from work. After I finished riding, I had a small meal for dinner, with the bike there in the kitchen as a reminder to keep me from cheating.
This program was no fun at all, but it worked. After a couple of months, I got my weight back under 140 pounds. But I was hungry all the time, and riding the bike was mind-numbingly boring. I wasn't going to be able to keep my weight down unless I found something that I enjoyed more than living like a gerbil, eating cardboard and spinning a wheel in a cage.
I wanted something I could do by myself so I wouldn't have to depend on other people. I wanted something I could easily fit into my schedule. I didn’t want to buy a lot of expensive equipment, in case I didn't stick with it. I wanted something that I could do outdoors, anywhere I was, but certainly away from the confines of my office and my apartment. And of course, I wanted the exercise to be intense enough so I could eat regularly again and still keep my weight down without spending my whole life exercising. There was only one thing that I could think of that met all of those needs – running.
At first, I ran from my apartment to a large field at nearby Tufts University. A loop around that field was about a half-mile (or so I told myself). I ran around and around the edge of the field until I got tired, and then I ran home. Running on grass was easier on my feet and legs while I built up strength, and I enjoyed it more than running on sidewalks.
My addiction crept up on me. I never made a conscious decision to keep running. After a while, I just began to take it for granted that running was part of my future plans. I started rearranging other activities so they didn’t interfere with my running schedule. When I got bored with the endless loops in the field, I started to trace out running routes of different lengths on the streets in my neighborhood. I started looking for ways to run farther or faster and started thinking about goals. Soon I was entering races and dreaming of running Boston myself.
As an addict, I’m always thinking about my next run. I used to worry more about my speed, but once I looked at it objectively, there was no practical purpose in trying to squeeze out every last bit of my potential as a runner. I’ve proved that no matter how hard I work, I’m not going to be an Olympic champion. I'm still working on accepting that. Maybe in a few more years. In the meantime, I plan each run starting with the basic rule that if it's not fun, I'm working too hard. Running isn’t just about fitness.
Each day’s plan starts with deciding where I’m going to run. I live in Arlington, Massachusetts, a suburban town northwest of Boston. I know the streets in Arlington better than anyone who depends on their car for transportation. From Arlington, I have a multitude of running routes to choose from. The farther I’m going to run, the more choices I have. Every one of these choices can lead to a new adventure. But even if I’ve run a route hundreds of times, there’s still the chance that this time I’ll see something I’ve never seen before. And though I’ve already run many different courses, there are still plenty of new places to go.
I usually just go out my front door and start running, unless I’m meeting up with someone else. Some people like to drive to a park or some other nice area and run there. I’m glad I don’t have to drive to run. It seems counterproductive.
From my front door, I can run through quiet suburbs, passing through the compact groups of shops that interrupt the residential areas. If I get up early enough, I can sometimes see rabbits along the bike path that runs through the fields near the public transit station. For some reason, seeing wild bunnies is usually a portent of a good day.
I can run on calm side streets or wide main roads. Quiet roads let me focus on running or my thoughts, with less worrying about traffic. Busy roads are usually more direct routes to new places, and they’re useful in the winter when they’re plowed and clear while less active roads are narrow and still snow-covered.
I can run through the more hectic suburbs to my south, right into downtown Boston. Or I can take a less direct route, and loop into Boston from the west so I can pick up the Boston Marathon course and run through the Newton hills into town. When I reach the city, there are more people and buildings to distract and amuse me as I run by, and sidewalks to run on if the traffic is too heavy. I become part of the bustle, weaving my way through all the activity on the streets or along the waterfront. There are plenty of stores where I can buy things I might need, or bathrooms with sinks for refilling bottles and toilets for the usual needs.
I’m a distance measurer. I like to track how far I run each day and watch the numbers mount in my log. Some people approximate how far they run by using the time they spend running and an estimate of their pace, but that’s not accurate enough for me. Actually, I don’t bother to time most of my training runs. If I did time myself, I’d be tempted to turn every run into a race and try to go faster than before, especially if I was running one of my regular routes. Logically, I know that no one can run faster every time they go out, but I’m not always logical. Whenever the watch showed that I didn’t run fast, I’d inevitably be at least a little disappointed, and who needs that?
Where I live, no matter what distance I choose to run, I can put together a flat route or mix in a wide variety of hills. It’s harder to find flat routes – roads that are flat when I’m in a car grow hills when I’m traveling on foot. If I want a real change, I can go to the Middlesex Fells Reservation, where there are miles of wooded trails, ranging from easy fire roads to rocky, hilly single-track.
Since I usually run from my house, I usually run courses that I’ve run before. I have one or more pre-planned routes for every distance up to about 20 miles. When I’m re-running a favorite route, there’s no need to worry about where I’m going or how much farther I have to run. The fewer choices I have to make, the more I can relax and live in the moment, and enjoy running for itself. When I have to keep deciding where I’m going to run next, the temptation to turn towards home is always there. No matter how much I like to run, part of me is always ready to bask in the comfort of finishing, so if I don’t have to think about whether it’s time to go home, I’m happier.
I have one 12-mile loop that I’ve been using for years, almost as long as I’ve been able to run that far. I’ve moved four times since I began using the loop. After each move I was able to continue using the loop from the new house with only minor modifications, even though that never was a priority when choosing my new home. Most of my shorter runs use segments of this loop, which mixes together flat and hilly sections on urban streets and lakeside parkways. They’re all roads that are wide enough to run when there’s traffic, and roads where the plows and cars clear the snow quickly. The biggest danger running this loop is that I’ve run it so often, I can run it without paying much attention. Sometimes I get lost in my head and don’t watch for cars as much as I should. That never lasts long, as the drivers are happy to use their horns to get me to wake up.
When I’m paying attention, I always stop for cars before I cross the street. When cars stop and wave me across, it’s nice, but I have to stop anyhow, since I can never be sure what the car is going to do. It’s quicker and wastes less gas if they just go, and I can always use the rest.
I never jog in place when I’m stopped at a corner. A 7-minute mile with a one minute rest at the corner is still an 8-minute mile, and jogging in place just looks silly.
Sometimes it’s fun to get away from my regular routes, especially if I’m going on a long run. I’ll take my GPS (gotta keep track of the distance!) and head out without a planned route. I can often fool myself into running longer this way. One way I trick myself is to decide to run a certain number of miles, go more or less straight out for half of that distance, then come back home by a different route. Since the out leg is straight, any different route that I take back has to be longer. I’m not really fooling myself, but I always get a little satisfaction out of running farther than I "planned".
If the run is going to be long enough, I’ll bring my transit pass in case I need a ride back. I haven’t had to use it yet, but you never know. If I’m going over 15 miles, I’ll add some energy gel packets to help keep me going, both physically and mentally. The easily digestible carbohydrates in a gel provide a quick lift, but once I take one, I have to keep taking them to avoid a crash once the sugar runs out. I find that if I take one every 5 or 6 miles, that’s often enough.
When I cross paths with other runners, most of the time we just acknowledge each other with a wave or nod and continue on. Sometimes I’ll come up on someone running in my direction at a similar pace, and we’ll run together for a while, usually sharing running stories.
It always surprises me how many people ignore other runners totally. Maybe they’re afraid of strangers or embarrassed by their lack of speed or the way they look in tights, but they just keep their heads down and their iPods turned up, and they don’t act like they’re part of a community. That’s their loss.
Running does attract a greater proportion of loners than other sports. Running meshes well with an introverted lifestyle. The nature of the sport means that most runners spend a lot of time alone. Even if you choose to do a lot of running with other people, no one can run for you. Running can give an introvert the comforting feeling that he controls his own destiny, instead of being subject to the inexplicable whims of other people. And running provides a social framework where an introvert can easily meet people with whom he has something in common. That gives the people who need it a way to break the ice.
I’ve been running for years, and there are still days where it’s an effort for me to get myself organized and out the door for my run. It happens to everybody, even running addicts. On the days when it’s tough to get going, I do whatever I can to distract myself and avoid thinking while I put on my running shoes and get myself out the door to slog through the run. Afterwards, I always feel good because I didn’t give in. I’m also happy that I had a good run, or if the run itself wasn’t great then I’m happy that I got it over with. By running on the days I don’t feel like running, I stay in shape so I can run on the days I do.
When I get tired of choosing my own course, I can get together with friends from my running club, the Somerville Road Runners. SRR has grown from the group of 30 or so of us that started the club to over 400 runners.
Running is often a solitary pursuit, but it changes into a social activity when I’m running with my club. There are all kinds of people in the club. Runners aren’t saints. Some runners look down on slower runners and revel in their own successes at the expense of others. The guy who stabs people in the back at work isn’t going to be different when he’s running. Other runners may not be jerks, but might have issues with socializing, self-esteem, or substance abuse. Running isn’t some magic cure-all. If a runner has a problem, he takes it with him when he laces on his running shoes.
But most people are friendly once you get to know them. There are plenty of outgoing, jovial runners who see running as a way to work off a few excess pounds while they hang out with their friends. Other people love to organize events, and find an outlet in managing clubs and races. There are people who like helping, and running provides plenty of opportunities for them to volunteer. They do their best to help everyone accomplish their goals, and they celebrate other people’s victories, large and small.
I’m always ready to go running with my friends. Running with other people helps make running more enjoyable, and you can help keep each other motivated. If nothing else, running with other people helps pass the time.
We get together outside of running too. For example, Dan Solomon, former club president, is a good friend who was both my divorce lawyer and the Justice of the Peace at my second wedding. Ruth enjoys telling her friends that one of our early dates was when we went to my divorce lawyer’s wedding.
The club has track workouts on Tuesday nights. A track workout is a great way to run precise workouts geared to your particular needs and goals. On the other hand, running in small, flat circles on a track can get tedious. Ruth went to the Tuesday workouts when she started running and that helped her in her races, but I find that I get hurt more often when I go to the track for my speed workouts.
Instead, I usually use the club’s weekly Thursday night pub run for my version of speedwork. It’s a free timed fun run that we’ve been doing every Thursday in Somerville since 1995, regardless of rain, snow, traffic, Thanksgiving, a fire that closed the bar down for a year, or other impediments. The run actually pre-dates the formation of SRR. A group of us were showing up regularly on Thursdays and we decided that we might as well get organized and start a club.
The run is open to all, not just club members, and we advertise it on running calendars, so we get a variety of people showing up. We get people out for a fun run, regulars looking to hang out with their friends and maybe improve their time, and out-of-towners looking for someone to run with. We’ve even had a Kenyan earning his living in this country from road race prize money show up for a couple of between-race workouts.
For years, we’d gather every week at Khoury’s, a local dive bar, troop outside to the fire hydrant by the front door and listen to any pre-run announcements with Winter Hill looming over us in the distance. Then we’d take off on the 4.13-mile loop. The first mile of the course climbs up the hill at a steep 5% grade, and then it rolls on from there, finally flattening out for the last mile or so. At the finish, you’d get your time, cool down, and hang out outside for a while, talking and cheering in other runners, until it was time to go back in the bar for more talk and perhaps a beer or three.
Khoury’s always had a sleazy reputation, and recently the city closed them down. We’ve moved the pre-and post-race activities down the street to Casey’s, another local bar, and continued the run every Thursday without missing a beat. The move to a nicer bar and the addition of free post-run pizza has helped bring in a new group of people, and the tradition is hopefully set to survive for another 14 years.
Over the years, we’ve added other weekly events to the Thursday night run. Tuesday night track practice came first. Then in 2009, the club started another weekly run from a bar in Davis Square in Somerville on Mondays. This run is 3 miles, and hosted by The Burren, a bar that’s even nicer than Casey’s. The Burren provides free Guinness beef stew and vegetarian pasta for the runners.
The Burren is only two miles from home, so I often warm up by running there and cool down by running back. Casey’s is four miles away. I can run there and back, but sometimes I’ll run there, run the course, and then ride home with Ruth. That way I can spend more time hanging out afterwards, eat some pizza, and avoid running home with a full stomach.
Another benefit of belonging to the club is that it makes it easier to find companions for my long, slow training runs. I love to run by myself, but I also love to go out with a group and let the conversation and the momentum of the pack carry me along.
SRR doesn’t have regular "official" long runs at the same time and place every week like some clubs do. Instead, especially during the spring and fall marathon seasons, someone will volunteer to host a run and share some of their favorite running routes. Anyone who’s interested meets at the home of the host, and then people split up into groups according to their distance goals for the day and head out, dividing up further by pace as the run proceeds. The runners trickle back in after they’re done and sit and rest for a while, greeting the rest of the group as they arrive and refueling from the spread of healthy and not-so-healthy food provided by the host. If Ruth and I are hosting a run, she’ll make some delicious home-baked goodie, while I’ll whip up a batch of fruit smoothies, my ideal refueling comfort food.
Other times groups of friends get together informally to put in their miles. We’ll meet at a home or at a local landmark, maybe a transit station, and head off. Sometimes we’ll stop in a coffee shop afterwards to recover with a pastry or two, or sometimes individuals peel off from the group one-by-one once they’ve run enough, until the remaining few decide to pack it in and head for home.
SRR puts on four "real" races, with registration fees, numbers, t-shirts, and the works, along with the runs from Casey’s and The Burren. A ton of work goes into putting on any decent race, no matter how small. Luckily, there are people who willingly take on the responsibility and build all the events that fill the yearly race calendar.
The An Ras Mor is a flat, fast 5K in Cambridge in March. It’s a St. Patrick’s Day race, hosted by an Irish pub. We provide free beer and food outdoors afterwards. Sometimes we don’t need coolers to keep the beer cold, but everyone still has fun.
The Summer Steamer is our oldest race. The first one was held in 1991, before the club was organized. It’s run on the Khoury’s Thursday night course, only this time it’s an official race, so runners get a chance to see how fast they can go when they don’t have to watch out for cars. It’s a small race with free beer and food (notice a theme?). The numbers get a boost every few years when the race is part of the New England Runner’s Pub Series or the Hocomock Swamp Rat Grand Pricks series.
The 24 Hour Around the Lake is an ultramarathon run on a 5K loop around a lake in Wakefield. It starts at 7PM on a Friday and continues, often in brutal summer heat, until 7PM on Saturday. You can choose from four events. Three of the events start Friday night at 7PM: the 24-hour ultra, a 12-hour overnight ultra, and a flat, fast marathon. There’s also a 12-hour ultra that starts at 7AM Saturday for those that prefer sleeping at night or running in the sun. It’s a challenging event for tough people who are strong enough keep running and ignore the tantalizing call of the cool waters of the hotel pool when they pass it by at the end of every loop.
Our largest race is the Gobble Gobble Gobble. The race has grown each year, and now there are well over 2000 runners showing up to run the 4 mile course on Thanksgiving morning. The Burren provides space for the usual free beer afterwards, but sadly, only a limited few can crowd inside. Everyone else heads home with their hunger sharpened for the big feast.
Unless we’re out of town, Ruth and I always volunteer to help out at SRR’s races. We figure working races four times a year instead of running is the least we can to do to give something back to the community. The races also make enough money so the club has been able to donate more than $100,000 to area charities.
If there’s going to be a club to put on races, someone has to manage the club. Club administration can be a thankless job. A core group of people make the decisions and carry out the tasks that are necessary to keep things running. I used to go to most of the meetings, and I was the club’s first webmaster, but I did my time when the club was smaller and the jobs were easier.
Plenty of other volunteer opportunities exist. The club has sent people to help with area cleanup opportunities, collected money for charity efforts, and provided support for races put on by other organizations. I hooked up with another running club through SRR, the group at the Medford Boys & Girls Club. Weekly, when the weather allows it, I help the club staff take any of the kids who are interested out for a run. We might herd them along the streets for a couple miles or take them to a nearby park for relays, freeze tag, and other games.
There are many other activities to keep everyone busy. The club charters a bus to the start of the Boston Marathon, and has arranged group travel to other races or for fun events like ski trips or hikes. The club has a holiday party every year where we present awards for things like "Most Improved Runner" or to members who attend all of the races chosen as the SRR "Race of the Month" or who represent the club in all of the USATF Grand Prix races. Club members have formed "The IT Band" (named after the leg’s oft-injured illiotibial band) to play music at the holiday party and at charity fundraising events. I’ve run through the streets of Somerville at Christmastime wrapped in battery-powered flashing LEDs as part of a group of runners and customized bike riders visiting the best home lighting displays.
There are special events at some of the weekly Thursday runs. For the "Double Die", runners do two circuits of the course. On PR Night, we start a countdown timer slightly before the highest PR and each runner starts their race when the timer hits their PR. Slower runners get a chance to win for once, and there’s usually a larger cluster of people finishing at about the same time which makes for extra excitement for the runners and extra headaches for the timers. The yearly "Birthday Run" marks the anniversary of the club. A prize is presented to the runner who comes closest to running the course in his or her birthday suit, a special challenge in New England in February.
Lately we’ve been adding to the usual post-run feed with cooking contests. Contestants compete to see who can make the best apple pie, chili, or chocolate cookies and hungry runners flock to Casey’s to enjoy their efforts.
The members of the club have been powerful enablers of my running addiction. Once I started to spend a lot of time among runners, I started to accept things as normal behavior that used to seem unusual, things like getting up early to run 20 miles in a downpour.
When I’m away from home and my friends, whether I’m traveling for work or for vacation, running is a good way to get to know my destination. I can run by myself, or I can get out and meet other runners by entering a race or showing up for a run hosted by a local club or a running store. Runners are everywhere, so there’s usually something going on.
Almost anywhere I go, I can find a local Hash House Harriers kennel to run with. Hashers call themselves a "drinking club with a running problem". There are thousands of local hashes all around the world. If I want to find the local hash, I can check the Internet for schedules or ask the drunkest person at any post-race party.
Some hashes focus more on running, others more on socializing and drinking. There are cities with multiple hash groups and runs almost every day of the week. Anyone with a thirst for beer and a taste for harmless juvenile behavior is welcome to drop by.
Local traditions vary, but hashes usually follow a similar pattern. Each week, one or more "hares" plan a new trail and announce the location where trail begins to the rest of the pack. When it’s time to run, everyone gathers at the start to socialize, and maybe down a beer or two. The hares leave to mark their trail, and after a little time passes, the rest of the group (the "hounds") head out to track the hares by following their trail marks. Usually, the trail is deviously marked in a way that forces the fast runners to slow down and puzzle out the true trail. That keeps the fast runners from getting too far ahead of the slower runners and walkers.
Each trail has one or more "beer checks", where the pack stops to rest, talk, and quench its thirst for beer. At the end of the trail, more beer is consumed, silly (often profane) songs are sung, and there’s food (and more beer).
Going to a hash is a good way to find some fun and get some exercise too. Hash often enough and you may get your very own "hash name", usually something you wouldn’t want to share in polite company. If you do go to a hash after reading this, when you’re asked, "Who made you come?" (you will be asked) be sure to say that "Boner in the Circle" sent you.
I started hashing on business trips, then spent a few years regularly attending my local hash in Boston. I’ve followed (or set) trails in some unusual places, wearing unusual gear (or not wearing any gear at all). I’ve run with the hash:
Wherever I went, I met fun people and found copious amounts of beer.
Sometimes, business travel leaves me in a place where the running isn’t terribly pleasant. I’ll be in a hotel surrounded by office parks and other hotels on a boring grid of wide streets filled with cars constantly streaming by at high speeds. The only place to run is on the hard concrete sidewalks, with nothing to look at other than the signs on the buildings as I pass by. Even so, there can be little touches to make the running something more than just keeping in shape. I might find a nice little restaurant tucked in among the offices that I might otherwise have missed, or a railroad right-of-way that has been converted to a multi-use trail. I fondly remember coming back from a run in the Virginia heat and being greeted by the Ritz Carlton doorman with a towel and an icy bottle of water.
Other times, I can find better places to run with a little effort. I used to travel to the Washington, DC area regularly for work. If I was there on Tuesday nights, I took the Metro into the city and ran with the Potomac Runners. Their group meets at a parking lot near the Capitol and heads out for a 6-8 mile run. The Washington Monument, Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, Reflecting Pool, and other historic monuments provide unique scenery along the way. I needed that sometimes, to distract me from the swampy DC summertime weather.
Another business trip took me to San Diego, where it was consistently sunny (after the morning haze burnt off), dry, and between 65 and 70 degrees. I went there for a conference, and I extended my stay so I could run in the Rock and Roll Marathon the following weekend.
When I checked the Web for interesting running groups and places, I found a trail running group that ran on Sunday mornings from the Movin' Shoes store in La Mesa. They met at 7AM, which wasn’t too early for me, since I was still on Eastern Time.
The Sunday I ran with them, we went out to the Cuyamaca Rancho State Park. The park had recently reopened following some massive wildfires the year before. It was a good hour away from the city, but it was worth the trip.
San Diego is a port city, but as soon as you drive away from the ocean, you’re climbing up into the mountains. By the time we got to the park, we were up around 4500 feet, well above the morning clouds that covered the city. It was a beautiful day for running, sunny and in the 60s.
This was the first time the group had been back to the park since it had reopened. There were four of us: me, the organizer from the store, and two regulars. We headed out on one of the main trails, where we met a couple of park rangers on horseback. They warned us to stay on the trail since the park was still recovering from the fires. We assured the rangers that there’d be no problem, but what we didn’t know was that we were about to run out of the section of trail that had been restored after the fire.
We ran across a meadow, and then the trail began to get more "natural". Since there hadn't been much rain, in many places the underbrush hadn’t grown back. This made hard to pick the approved trails from the surrounding dirt. Soon we were off trail, bushwhacking uphill while wading in a soft, deep mix of dirt and ash.
The runners who'd been there before were amazed at how things had changed. The fires had consumed most of the park, and blackened trees were everywhere. The underbrush that had grown back was well fertilized by the ash and much taller than usual. The wildflowers were sparse, but colorful and intriguingly different from what I was familiar with from back east. Once we'd climbed for a while, we had magnificent views of the park and the Laguna Mountains, with colors and shapes nothing like what you see in New England.
We finally gave up on finding more trail and worked our way down to the road so we could get back to where we'd left the car. It ended up being about a 9 mile run, mostly at an 8-9 minute pace, with numerous pauses to figure out where we were and to stare at the scenery.
When we got back, we were all a dusty grey from the waist down from the ash. One of the guys told me to be sure to wash well when I got back. It turned out that we’d been running through another plant I wasn’t familiar with: poison oak. I was warned not to scrub too hard, so I wouldn’t rub the poison in, but I looked down and saw I had a number of bloody scratches from running through brush. If the poison oak was going to get in, it was already there. I ended up with a mild rash, but the trip was worth it.
Another time, Ruth and I went on a week’s vacation to Bar Harbor on Maine’s Mount Desert Island. We checked the Internet and found the Crow Athletics Running Club site. When I posted to their message board to ask about runs, they told me that some of the Crows were getting together in the town center on Friday the week we were there to run the start of the Special Olympics torch relay. I decided I’d meet up with them and run with the torch for a while.
When I got to the run, Crows Gary Allen and Peter Keeney were there. Gary is heavily involved in the local running scene. He’s the director of the MDI Marathon, and he’s the sort of person who runs 100+ mile weeks while living on an island that has only 3 ½-miles of paved road. Peter, another running fanatic, had run the entire 65-mile torch relay the previous year. Luckily for me, the Bar Harbor police chief and a few of his officers were also there to support Special Olympics. The run would be at a slow pace to accommodate the police, whose lives didn’t necessarily allow them the time for a lot of training.
We ran from Bar Harbor, across Mount Desert Island, and off the island to Ellsworth. A support van with an enormous electric sign saying who we were followed us. The van carried food and drinks and was there for any runners who needed a rest. Gary, Peter, and I made things easier on the rest of the group by passing the torch between us while we ran and told running stories.
In Ellsworth, there was an exchange point with more food and drinks. The Bar Harbor police dropped out and other officers joined in as the relay headed on towards Augusta. The Crows and I kept going for a total of 30 miles. Then we let the relay go on without us while we called in for a ride back to Bar Harbor.
Florida is one of my least favorite places to run. It’s hot, and in many areas all the available routes are straight, flat, and boring. Runners go out early in the morning or late at night to avoid the heat. A lot of them wear jackets to protect them from the "cold" temperatures in the mid-60s, something I always find amusing.
On one business trip to Florida, I entered a "Beat the Sheriff" 5K. I had to get up early to get there in time because the race started at dawn. I finished third in my age group, so it was worth setting the alarm. My prize was a bronze medal shaped like a sheriff’s badge. At the airport baggage check on the way home, security pulled me aside and I had to open my bag and show them the medal. They were concerned that it might be a ninja throwing star or some other weapon. Good thing this was well before 9/11.
On another Florida trip, Ruth and I were visiting her mother at the same time that they happened to be holding the 4th Annual Turtle Trot 5K nearby. We signed up and were joined at the 7AM start by Ruth’s brother Matt. The race is run on trails in Lover’s Key State Park. The course was flat, except for a "38-foot mound" that the race organizers warned everyone about. Good thing they did, otherwise we wouldn’t have noticed it (it’s no Winter Hill). On the other hand, it was humid and well into the 80’s, the no-seeum’s were out in force, and I had taken most of the previous month off due to an injury, so we weren’t expecting to take full advantage of the flat course.
The race was chip-timed, so the results were up quickly. Ruth finished in 26:55, 6th of 35 in her age group, and one place ahead of her brother. I ran 22:44, which put me third in my group, in line for a medal. I had my modest face all ready to go as we waited on the beach at the finish for the awards ceremony. Unfortunately, there were some late registrants who were hand-timed, and when they added in those results, I ended up 4th out of 20. No medal for me.
Winning a medal would have been nice, but I do what I do for all kinds of reasons, and not necessarily for reasons that matter to anyone else. I run for the comfort of cruising yet again through mile six of my familiar 12-mile loop, the wonder of running parallel with a deer on a path across a West Virginia field in the early spring or watching the fog roll in through the open bar door after a San Francisco hash, the excitement of standing knee-deep in a flash flood while holding onto the aluminum poles of the timing tent in a lightning storm or dodging snowplows on the run in a snowstorm, and even for the struggle of running a 10K in the heat of an Indiana summer. Whether I’m at home or on the road, the more I run, the more reasons to run I find.