Racing Not to Win

I was doing my normal morning run when I saw another runner I know, and we stopped running and began chatting. He is about my age, but I got to know him because I knew his son, Gray. I said, “I will be running a race with your son.” He said, “How long?” I said “50k” He replied “Wow”.  I later said he could join us, but he said that was too long. Even though when I talked about doing a shorter distance, he was still a definite no.  Eventually he said I am not very competitive. I don’t race. I have been running for fifty years and maybe did two or three races.”  I was stunned but I respect his philosophy. He just likes running and believe me if I had to choose to only do races or just daily runs I would definitely choose just the daily runs. I did mention to him that “I don’t race to win but I like races to see new places and meet people.”

While I like to race, I have seen people who are the opposite of my friend who are so dialed in to place in the top three or some other time goal, that it borders on being obsessive. Marathoners are often that way, rating each other by the time whether it is three or four hours. I am definitely not that way. I don’t remember what my times are for any of my races.

Don’t get me wrong, I am competitive, but my competition is with myself not others. You see I have the luxury of being in my mid-sixties so I know I can’t win against the much younger runners. So, while I push myself to my limits, I have no anxiety over where I finish.

Now don’t get me wrong I am not laissez faire about the races. If I hear footsteps behind me, I instinctively pick up my pace. If I see a runner in front of me that I think I can pass I make that a goal. Yet I know that I will get passed by other runners and that I will pass others. I am however running faster than on my normal morning runs. The other runners motivate me to go faster and be my best.

The other thing I like about races is to add to what I said to my friend. I love running in new places, especially trail races. I have explored so many parks in New Jersey that I would not have visited without entering the race. I now have entered trail races in other states and have thoroughly enjoyed those runs as well. Sometimes I know that the terrain will be difficult which only makes it more attractive as a race because it will push me even more. In those races even though I am well behind the leaders I feel like I share in the accomplishment of just finishing.

The other reason I race is just the vibe of a race.  Almost all races, whether they are a road race, or a trail race are a festive scene. Runners a very supportive of each other. For most of us it really is not about winning but doing our best.  On a couple of occasions, I have slowed down my pace to help another runner get to the finish line. I finished much further back than I normally would have but I made a friend instead. A great trade off.

A short while later I was at that race with Gray and another friend Dan. Both are young enough to be my sons. It was my first race in a couple of months, and I was returning to that race scene vibe. It would be a very difficult 50k. It was the Febapple Frozen Fifty by the NJ Trail Series. The trails were almost completely ice.  I strapped on my Yaktrax and put my brand-new trekking poles in my backpack in case I needed them. I have never used them before, but the icy conditions made me think they may help.

As if Gray’s dad had somehow put a spell on this race to turn it into a run, the race director announced that his timing system was not working and that he could not give us times. He followed that up by saying the trail conditions were bad and that if anyone wanted to, they could drop down to a shorter distance. For us that meant a twenty miler or even a ten miler.

It was a good thing that I was not racing to win because that first ten-mile loop went as bad as any I had ever had. Not even a mile into the run I took a spill, and my trekking poles flew out of my pack, and it took quite a bit of time to take off my pack and readjust everything. Then in a series of mishaps both of my shoelaces came loose and needed to be retied. My one Yaktrax broke. I missed a turn and wasted time. I again fell hard. This time, setting off an alarm in my Garmin sending for help. Who it was sending a message to I had no idea because I didn’t even know I had that feature. I realized a little later that the alarm had also stopped my GPS so I had no idea how far I had gone.

It was at this point I said to myself “This is not my day maybe I will drop down.” Yet I decided to continue on. I had a long run at the Grand Canyon coming up and I needed to persevere. As I came to the aid station to start my last five miles there was my friend Dan. It was a welcome sight. A friendly face when you are struggling always helps. Gray, who is much faster than either one of us, was six miles ahead and had finished already.  Dan and I would do the last five miles together. I think he was just as happy as I was to have someone alongside him to help get through this difficult race.

It wasn’t pretty but we finished. Our time was at least an hour and a half slower than it would have been under normal conditions. The icy terrain had really tested us. I had overcome all my gear issues and falls. I had almost decided to quit. In reality, I was not really running but slogging up and down icy trails. I know I said that I don’t race to win but somehow this finish made me feel like a winner. I had persevered. That is another reason I like racing, you can feel like a winner even when you don’t win. Maybe I do race to win.

  

Running Back to my Roots

Where one grows up as a child is a place that even if you try to forget, is always with you. You may not return to your childhood home, but it is in your memory bank sometimes influencing all your decisions. We can try and convince ourselves that we are adults moving forward with our lives and not the awkward kid who was so unsure of themselves and the decisions that they made. Yet that awkward kid still looms somewhat, at least that is true for me.  I am a runner and can outrun most people in a run. Yet I cannot outrun my past. I am running in front of my past, but I can hear and feel the footsteps behind me like one does in a race when you feel another runner behind you. Except unlike a runner in a race the past never pulls in front or falls completely back. It is a constant companion.

My 97-year-old mom was not in great health, and I needed to stay with her for a few days. While I knew that I would have to curtail my running, I did not want to stop running for those days either. When traveling I love running in a new location I have written about this before in my blog about Running in Strange Places. Yet this would be the strangest place even if it was very familiar. Before I ran, I had been watching the news reports of the devastating fires in Los Angeles County, California. More than a couple of reporters mentioned that this was a neighborhood where they grew up, but it was now nothing but rubble.  This fire was more personal. As if part of their youth was gone. This motivated me to look at this run as an opportunity to see my roots.

I spent the first 39 years of my life in the town of Lincoln Park and was very involved in the community having served as a council person and on the planning board as well. So, I was more than aware of how the community has changed over time. However, when you traverse a place on foot for miles you get a different feel.

On this run while I noticed the buildings that had changed over time when I was running it was not about the buildings as it was about the people I had known in my youth. I was running by homes and roads that I had walked to school on or rode my bike to a baseball game on. While I will mention a few names, believe me every turn brought an old memory and family. It was a slew of people.

At first it was the buildings I noticed as I ran up Skyline Drive passing by the townhomes that I sat on the planning board when they were approved. I noticed that the sidewalks and roads were no longer newer and that those new developments were well over 30 years old. I ran by my old elementary school which was completely renovated and expanded. The lyrics of the school song started popping into my head “Pinebrook, Pinebrook - Every time I open up a book, whether here or on vacation I thank you for my education.” I can’t believe that I remember that.

However, as I ran past the school through the houses nearby, I remembered the last names of those kids in elementary school Nowacki, Tanner, and Zammit. Then I headed down the school path towards the development I grew up in. It was called Ernstville at one time. I am probably the only person left who knows that. The houses were all different colors and landscaped differently from when I roamed the area. I ran by the Miller’s home as well as the Smith’s. I saw my friend Jimmy DelGuidice’s home. I was not seeing the house as they are now but going back in time. The Millers were dark brown, the Smith’s dark green, and my friend Jimmy’s house was light green.

Before I got to my parent’s old house, I ran by what used to be a sandlot where all the boys in the neighborhood played baseball and football. This is where I hit my first home run which also broke a window of a house. I was proud and aghast at the same time. Now it is a playground with slides and tubes. Nowadays, kids don’t do sports on their own, it is all youth leagues. We, however, were like the kids in the movie Sandlot. We played on this lot like those kids no set teams just dividing up the kids who came into what we thought would be equal teams.

I could barely recognize my parent’s yard as I ran by. I noticed some houses were no longer there. The area was in a flood zone and the state sometimes bought the owners’ home and razed it, then left the lot vacant. On my way back I had extra time, so I went up a dead end to check on my friend Sam Bundz’s home. I used to carpool with him to football practice in high school. To my shock I could not remember which house was his. They were all the same design and the same color.

The next day I took a different route to another part of town. While I was in college I worked at a local pharmacy and did deliveries all over the area. I used to know the area better than modern day GPS. I went down Ryerson Road and couldn’t remember many of the side streets. I went into the Lyn Park section and thought of all my high school friends from this section. Then I headed back and around the small neighborhood by my old middle school, Chapel Hill.  I ran pass a house and I remembered that it was Dorna Johnson’s. I had a crush on her in eighth grade but was too chicken to ask her out.

When I left my mom’s, I reflected not only on my run but the memories that it had stirred within me. They were for the most part very positive memories. Yet it was a time that is in the past and of another era. This generation would probably find it more amusing than important and our lifestyle close to archaic. While the run was filled with nostalgia it felt very strange.

The next day I was home and did my early morning run in my neighborhood. It felt so comfortable. I was running in the present, not in the past.  I realized that this is now my home with a new set of memories. All those names and people who I remembered on the run are like me. They too have new homes and memories. Though we have shared roots in Lincoln Park.