Running Rocks

With the traveling I have been doing for the better part of the past month, I definitely have to pause for a minute to think, not only where am I heading next, but where the heck am I right now.

In what can only be described as a "layover" in my town of residence, Salt Lake City, I spent all of 19 hours in the 84105 zip code after coming home from the Brooksie Way Half in the greater Detroit area. Then I boarded a plane for the greater DC area to prepare to be the 2008 Charity Chaser at the Baltimore Marathon. In between, I had to unpack, try and fix my clogged kitchen sink, repack and try to remember what climate I was going to next and at what elevation. But most importantly, I wanted to get a run in before I left. With a jam-packed schedule once I touch foot in DC, lord knows when I was going to find time to lace up my newish Brooks (acquired at the Akron Marathon) and head out for a run.

I have sung the praises of the 1.5 mile loop surrounding the park across the street from my apartment on numerous occasions. Quick, convenient and measured, it allows for easy access to fast miles without much thought. Today was going to be no different. I wanted a run and I wanted it done before I hopped on the whole different animal of Frontier Airlines.

My go-to run when I do not want to figure out anything new this year has been three loops around the park, which when you add both the to and from my apartment is a nice even 5.25 miles. I have done this run 75 times this year prior to heading out the door on this one day. That means a full 26% of the time I have put shoes on my feet to run anywhere and anytime in the entire United States (and Korea) this year, that run has been three loops of Liberty Park. Of my 2211.6 miles run until that day, 393.75 were spent sailing past the tiny Ferris wheel, noisy Tracy Aviary, dread-locked-wearing-bongo-drummers, guy selling his handmade glass roses and ridiculous-amount- of-mothers-with-at-least-three-children-in-tote.

Ironically, however, in all these miles, at all times of the day (often around the same period of time) I rarely see the same runners. Six different Thyssenkrupp Elevator trucks carrying six different Thyssenkrupp Elevator workers will be parked in the parking lot having lunch together at a picnic table. (Way to carpool, guys. I wonder why Salt Lake City has an air pollution problem). I see the same handful of lunch-break walkers. I cross paths with the same rollerblading guy with a rubber ball who will inevitable lose control of said ball and have it careen at me while he does a u-turn at mach 3 to get the ball, nearly taking my feet out from underneath me in the process, never once having said "Whoops. Sorry."

But I rarely see the same runners/walkers. Not the really cute girl with the pug. Not the super fast thin kid who made me feel like I am out for a stroll. None of them. Are they all one and doners? Or are we simply missing each other in a cosmic anomaly? I see a few people that I think I may recognize but I cannot say hello to them as they are plugged into their iPods or other music device and oblivious to the world.

Luckily for me, I like running loops and I can zone out. I can often tell how a run will go by the initial warm-up of .375 of a mile from my door to the top of the loop at the park. Usually a smidgen under 3 minutes, sometimes in the 2:50 or under range, I more or less know if the run is going to be an easy run as scheduled, a run-faster-than planned-because-it-feels-good run, or a "I could cut this to two laps and call it a nice 3.75 miler and go eat Kit Kats" day.

Today, I hit the top of the loop in 2:38. Holy crap. Wearing new shoes I purchased at the expo for the Brooksie Way Half, mostly because they were $14.95 and had pretty funky orange highlights, I simply wanted to see if they would be good lightweight track shoes. Apparently they had wings. I ran the first 1.5 mile loop, always the slowest as I ease into the day, in 10:08. Not too shabby. Let me pick it up some. Second loop flies by in an even faster time. I begin to think. What is my PR for this 3-looper. Is it 35:High or 35:low? Doesn't matter. I am not here to race today. I am one day removed from a week-long cold and allergy-filled trip. I am back at 4500 feet of elevation after being in Akron and Detroit for the past two weekends (both maxing out around 1,000 feet). Just enjoy the crispness of the 58 degree weather (which will turn to snow this weekend while I am gone and then return to 70 degrees the day I get back) and go, I think.

However, the third loop goes by in a 9:29. I place my foot on the dividing wall which keeps traffic from driving straight through the loop and push off. Seventy-five percent of the time, I will leave the park and be slowed down by a traffic light before I can cross the street and do the two-block sprint to finish at my door. I lose momentum and never really feel like pushing it. One-quarter of the time I hit the light perfectly, and almost invariable will cruise home as the Doppler Effect of barking coming from startled dogs follow me as I pass.

Well, on this run, I am in that better percentile today and get the light in my favor. Not even pushing hard, knowing I don't want to do anything dumb and get injured, I must have push hard enough. I hit my watch as I passed my apartment, not even wanting to slow down to come to a stop, but rather running through the "finishline". 5.25 miles. 34:38. 6:36 mile pace. I quickly run in and check my log. I bested my fastest 3-looper by 38 seconds. I would have high-fived my roommate or wife if I did not happen to live alone or be single.

And that, both running friends and non-running friends, is what running is about. My marathon PR has a faster pace than 6:36. I know people who would be beyond pissed if any of their slow runs averaged a 6:36. I have friends who would be happy if they ever ran one mile in a 6:36. But there was no race today. I did not even have a partner to push me. But in my 76th running of a very similar course, I ran the fastest I ever have on that particular course. In the middle of the morning. On a Tuesday. In October. The most non-descript of days where I left my home just a tad over half an hour previously. Now my day was made. So much that I am writing two pages to describe to you how much my day was made by an ordinary, run-of-the-mill, run through the park.

You ask me why I run. I ask you how the heck can you not.