Sometime during the first cross race each year, I recognize that my waddling gait will not assist me in covering the topography, and that the “form running” that I’d been doing to get ready for the non-bicycle assisted aspect of this esoteric type of racing comes nowhere near to the actual demands placed upon feet, knees, ankles and hips during the event.
In the weeks after that first event, I scoot out before dinner, slinking around the neighborhood and trying to find two-legged, toes-on-pavement speed. Through it all, the mantra repeats, “I godda start runnin’ sooner (pant) I godda start running’ sooner…”
Worse, if I mange to make it through the cross season undamaged, my running improves to the point where it should have been roughly at the start of the season. I can feel the slight lightness in my heavy-boned step, and don’t immediately feel my pulse in my ears, hands and throat.
Of course, the smart bunnies all got running back in July, so by season end, they have found verdant fields of speed that I only see in my dreams. In the races, I feel as clever as Wile E. Coyote, who cobbled together some perfection of Acme-isms that enabled him to gain that vital velocity, so he could get oh-so-close to the Roadrunner.
As those familiar with this specific example will know, that moment is followed by the Roadrunner sticking his tongue out a couple times, then disappearing down the road in a dust-followed blur, well in excess of any mortal speed. Bad things invariably happen. It may be a metaphor…
But, here’s the goofy thing: I actually got out and ran a couple weeks ago. Yep, my calendar shows June also. Only went for about 15 minutes or so, but it’s the earliest start I’ve mustered. Then I followed that up with another run a couple days later, and another a day after that. I’m taking it super-easy, working up from a walking pace to a decent run, then easing back down. My joints are kinda putting up with me - the way you sometimes wait out the neighbor’s barking dog; knowing things will just calm down and get back to normal if you can be patient enough. Oh sure, they’ve sent some suprisingly direct reminders at me, but so far they are sharp and short.
I’m certainly not saying that actual race-competitiveness will follow. Honestly, by the time people get to be my age, they usually accumulate enough sense to realize that golfing is easier, and watching NASCAR requires even less effort. So, the folks that still race usually have some speed and some chops - in other words, they are the Roadrunner to my Wile E. Coyote impersonation.