Running single track along the ridge line
I thought about Wayne the other day while out running a muddy single track, in a pouring cold rain, high along the ridge above town. Wayne is one of those people that inspired me when I first started running all those years ago. It occurs to me that everyone needs a Wayne.
As I ran the ridge I flashed back to a cold September morning in my hometown and the Great Cow Harbor race in Northport, New York. On that day we stood in the rain at the starting line with a group of runners: banter flowing back and forth, everyone in constant movement trying to calm nerves and fight off the wet, chilly morning.
I was a kid in my early twenties and the running boom was in full swing. The great thing about it was that all sorts of people, from all walks of life, bonded together over running. I bet we had twenty people standing together in our little group, all loosely affiliated to each other in some way, probably spanning fifty years in age and a whole range of experience.
While we all showed up for the start from different places and perspectives, we all stood on the line together facing the same challenges: the dreaded James Street hill, a punishing down hill by the LILCO plant, an out and back by Crab Meadow beach and the long run down Main Street to the finish. Looking around I began to appreciate for the first time what running had to offer.
“Wayne, you going to run New York again this year?” someone asked. “Well, yeah, I keep showing up, it’s a great race, I’ll give the four hour mark another shot, maybe this year, maybe next, I’ll get there, anyway, it’s not about time, it’s all about training.” He sounded humble yet so full of enthusiasm and hope.
I made a mental note. I could not believe that (a) regular people actually ran marathons (b) a friend of my fathers was running them (c) that he apparently ran a lot of them and (4) he had yet to reach his goal. I had never looked at running in that context before, as a process, perpetual and ongoing. Up to that point I just focused on the race at hand and the beer trucks parked down by the dock for the post race party. It had never occurred to me to look beyond that finish line and past the end of Main Street. Wayne opened the door to possibility.
So here I am. Twenty-five years later. Still training, up high on a ridge, hanging on to the edge of a slippery single track and pushing hard to ward off a chill. Why? Because, it’s all about the training, and I have another marathon coming up in a couple of months, where I will once again try to qualify for Boston.
Maybe this year, maybe next…
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