IN
THE BEGINNING
IN
THE BEGINNINGA few Sundays ago some important personal business had to get in the mail as soon as possible, so I jumped into the car and headed for the local branch Post Office. Around the corner and in the next block a neighbor had just began an 11:30 a.m. run at an estimated nine-minute pace.
The guy was in his mid-30s and didn't appear to be in bad shape, or at least he didn't appear heavy. He wore mid-thigh-length baggy white shorts with pockets and belt and a collared buttoned shirt. On his feet were white high-topped shoes and sweat socks pulled up over his calves almost to the knees. His running form was characterized by exaggerated cross-body swinging of the arms and feet kicked high with each step. He seemed to rise almost six inches into the air as he launched with each step only to impact a few feet down the sidewalk on the opposite foot. Memories of past brushes with shin splints, plantar fasciitis and runner's knee drifted through my mind.
On the way back from the Post Office about five minutes later, my neighbor was now about one-half mile into his run and laboring up a long but mild hill. An agonized expression was deeply etched into his flushed, sweating face. His posture was slumped forward, the rising and falling was gone and his slower paced advance was almost a stagger. A walk break appeared imminent, although this guy appeared determined to reach the crest of the hill.
Ah yes, the beginning runner. I remember my own beginnings so very well. It was the Fall of 1971, I was having a mid-30s weight problem and the jogging craze was in full bloom. So I started jogging around the San Diego State athletic fields. The loop was about a half-mile around. And around and around. Being outdoors was nice and watching Don Coryell getting his Aztecs tuned up for the weekend games was always interesting. Without question, two months of jogging helped the weight problem, but it gradually became an onerous task. In late October, when daylight savings time ended, the scheduled half-hour was thrown into darkness. That was it. I breathed a sigh of relief and didn't run again for nine years.
Evidently my early experience is a rather common one. Out and away from the running community and in the more normal part of our society, there are far more ex-runners than runners. Their stories are filled with accounts of a wide assortment of injuries and woeful tales of boredom and burnout. How sad. My running friends aren't at all that way. They feel bad if they miss a single day of running and can hardly wait to get to their next race. And they seldom seem to have serious injuries. Evidently there must be some type of barrier or threshold in an individual's running history. Running is a real struggle until that threshold is crossed, and then it becomes an enjoyable and nearly essential part of living. It's almost an addiction, but a very positive one. Most beginning runners simply never manage to cross that threshold.
Of all the people who begin running in San Diego County, have you ever wondered how many ultimately join the Track Club? Probably precious few. The percent might be about the same as that of high school baseball players who go on to play professional ball.
It seems easy to dismiss or even scoff at the efforts of the beginning runner, but most runners don't feel that way. Inside every dedicated runner there is a coach willing to offer all sorts of advice on running form, clothes, shoes, diet, training, good running places and what not all. Besides, from a more practical point of view, every runner realizes that we need a continuous influx of beginners to keep the running population above a critical mass essential to the maintenance and well being of our sport. And who knows, unlikely though it may seem, this beginner could be one of our masters champions in five years. So beginning runner, whoever you are, keep at it. Keep struggling to get over that threshold. Come join us in a great adventure.
May 1991
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