When I was up in NYC last week, I was drinking some coffee and flipping through the January ‘10 issue of Runner’s World when I stopped to read an article by John “The Penguin” Bingham.  Our subscription to RW just started a few weeks ago, so this was my introduction to John Bingham. Imagine my displeasure when I found out the guy wasn’t going to be writing any more columns for RW, as he was jumping ship to write for The Man over at Competitor.com.

I’ve been looking for a link to the article, because it literally almost brought me to tears. Sure, he’s been running 17 years longer than me…BUT, this has not been an easy road so far for me. First off, I started running just as the Texas heat was rearing its ugly head. I was slow…very slow. I was 37 and probably a good 20 lbs. overweight. I twisted my ankle four weeks into the Couch to 5K program, which sidelined me for a month.  I couldn’t find the right shoes to handle my over-pronation and flat feet, and what I thought were the “right” shoes wound up giving me problems elsewhere; i.e., shin and ancillary leg pain. I experienced the return of exercise-induced asthma, something I thought I’d sloughed off 15 years ago.

But, I also ran four 5Ks.  My doctor introduced me to this miracle drug (LOL) called Symbicort, which allowed me to run four consecutive miles last month.  I made it a third of the way through the training program for my first half-marathon (which included a long run of six miles) before my left hip began giving me significant problems.  At first I thought it was a bad groin pull, but now I know that isn’t it. Now I’m trying to find a doctor I trust, one that will help me to diagnose why I can’t walk without a cane at this point. I have an appointment on Friday, and hopefully that will set me on the road to recovery…whatever the prognosis.

So after all of this…and after having my hopes raised and dashed about a half-dozen times over the last eight months, John Bingham’s words were both encouraging and bittersweet. I’m at a weird crossroads in my fledgling running career, where I’m wondering if I’ll ever be able to run again…much less break that elusive 11:00 min/mile marker.  I’m not exaggerating when I say that as soon as I overcome something that seems to be The Reason why I’m having problems running…something else takes its place. It’s frustrating as Hell.

Since I can’t find the article online, I’m retyping it and posting it here. I think every runner who’s wanted to just pack it in should read it, as should anyone else who has ever just wanted to give up on something…even though you know the overall rewards will always outweigh the penalties (real or perceived).

I ripped the page out of the magazine, folded it up, and am carrying it around with me. I’m not done, yet. As I’ve said before…I’m slow, and I don’t care. I enjoy running, and want to be able to do it for the long haul.  If I have to start back over in two months walking five minutes and then running for a minute…rinsing and repeating, that’s what I’ll do.

On the Road Again

As my eighteenth year as a runner comes to a close, I find myself reflecting back on what I’m most proud of.  Given that I’ve spent my running career in the back of the pack, you might not think there’s much to brag about. But there is.  I placed second in my age group once, at a small duathlon in Indiana. Never mind there were only two competitors in my age group and the first place guy finished an hour ahead of me – a trophy is a trophy.

I’m also proud I’ve completed 43 of 45 marathons I’ve started. Not a bad finishing percentage. I walked off the course in Huntsville, Alabama, because it was cold and windy and with nine miles to go, I just didn’t have the heart to finish. And I limped off the course at mile 20 in Tucson after it became clear my IT band was not going to cooperate for those last six.

I’ve set PRs along the way. A 4:35 marathon in Dallas. A 1:51 half in Nashville. A 24-minute 5K in Kentucky. As special as those were, it’s not the PRs or awards that make me most proud. I take the greatest pride in the fact that I’ve kept coming back to running even when it would’ve been easier to give it up.  And for someone like me with limited talent, there have been lots of opportunities to quit.

I could have quit before I got the third cortisone shot in my hip, or the second in my knee.  I could have told myself I just didn’t have a runner’s body, or that it was too late for someone like me to become a runner. I could have. But I didn’t.

Every time I had to start over (which was always because I pushed too far or too fast), I started over. I’d open up a blank page in my log and begin from scratch.

I knew, at some level, that running was both creating my life and saving it.  After 25 years of smoking, drinking, and eating more than my share, I realized that running was the only path that would lead to a new and better me. and I never wanted to stray from that path again.

Eventually, though, I realized the cycle of starting over, training hard, getting injured, recovering, and beginning again couldn’t last forever.  I feared there would come a time when I couldn’t start over. I had to recognize that while running was a healthy activity, my obsession with it was just as unhealthy as every other obsession had been. It wasn’t as obvious as smoking, or abusing drugs or alcohol, but the damage I was doing to myself by not listening to my body was similar.

The great lesson that I learned from running – because I wanted to run for the rest of my life – was that I had to accept the limits of my body. I had to adjust my goals to match the reality of my abilities. I had to understand that if I wanted to run forever, I might have to not run today. Taking a day, a week, or a month off, if necessary, might be hard, but it wouldn’t mean giving up.

For someone who has quit jobs, left relationships, forgotten dreams, and often quit when the going got tough, running has been the exception. I haven’t quit. I’m not going to quit, even if I take a break. And in that I take enormous pride.

Waddle on, friends.

Written by John Bingham, originally printed in the January 2010 issue of Runner’s World