Remain Calm and Leave the Garmin at Home

This morning I was having a text conversation with Steve and I asked if he was going to speedwork tonight.

Steve:  Yeah of course I’ll be there running laps in a slow fashion

Steve (again): Btw it’s been hell lately trying to get back into the swing of things after my post Racine break.  Lie to me and tell me you’re having the same problem…

RRG: No lie, same problem.  My body feels broken.  And I am supposed to be training for a marathon on Oct 13.   Hahahahaha…

So, there you have it.  It’s been 2 ½ weeks since our half Ironman in Racine and my post-race recovery has lasted every bit of those 2 ½ weeks.  I have done almost nothing since July 21, with the exception of a 35 mile ride with “Grey” on Monday, a couple rounds of boxing and a few miles on the trails here and there. I keep thinking, ok, tomorrow I will jump back on the train and start logging the miles to get ready for 26.2 in Chicago, but I can’t make my body do it.  I just want to sleep all the time.  I mean, the way I figure, if I just accomplished almost 7 full hours of physical activity at one time, I can’t be in too bad of shape.  But I can’t ride that forever.  I’ve been listening to my body and not over doing it, but how long can I do that?

On Monday night I was at work.  My last customer of the day was a kid getting ready to start his 3rd year of High School Cross Country.  He was there with his younger brother and their dad.  The dad, Mark, asked about the tattoo on my right wrist.  And so I told him that I have ivy on my wrist, to match the ivy on my brother’s side, we did that in honor of our dad who’s ashes rest in the ivy at Wrigley Field.

Mark had a tattoo of a tree on his shoulder, in honor of his own dad, who had also passed away several years ago. As his son, Josiah, went back and forth from the fit bench in front of me, to the sidewalk outside the store, to try the different pairs of Nike Pegasus, Saucony Kinvara, and Adidas Glide that I had brought out for him, Mark and I shared stories of our dads.

Interestingly, Mark and I had both started running 5k’s competitively at age 9, both of us inspired and encouraged by our fathers.  I told Mark the story of how when I got to High School, I only ran one season of Cross Country because by then, I’d had enough and I was ready to try something else for a while.

That lead us to a conversation about how sometimes you just have to get back to a love of running.  Sometimes you have to leave the Garmin at home, forget about numbers and just run.

I was fortunate enough to have that opportunity last weekend.  I was back in Kirksville, MO for the 20th reunion of the KHS class of 1993.  (Go ahead and do the math, I’ll wait…but for the record, having an October birthday made me one of the youngest in my class.  Got my age, now?  Ok then, let’s move on)  So, even though I didn’t graduate with that group due to a move back to MI, these were the friends that I went to elementary school and Jr. High with.  Memories of the ‘Ville include things like nights at Leo’s roller rink, my first boyfriends, the beginning of my cheerleading and track career, endless sleepovers with Kirsten, Maria, Stephanie and several others.  On Saturday morning, after a long night at the Dukum Inn and Pancake City, I finally roused myself for a run through my old stomping grounds.  I had intentionally positioned myself in a hotel near my old neighborhood, so I set off up Shepherd Road towards College Park.  I started the Garmin and realized I had a low battery.  Oh well, I wasn’t planning to go far, so it should last.  About a minute into my run a black SUV pulled up next to me, rolled the window down and I heard a voice say, “Lindsey?  Lindsey Jacobs?!  OMG!”  I responded with, “OMG, Jason Barron!”  This was funny because Jason and I had spent several hours the night before having that very conversation, repeatedly.  After agreeing that we would see each other in a couple hours for the rest of the festivities, he drove on and I continued my run.

I looked at my Garmin.  The face was totally blank.  I was at most a half mile in.  I smiled as I considered that maybe that was my dad’s way of telling me this wasn’t a run to focus on the numbers, but rather one to just let the memories come back and enjoy the moment.

I ran up Shepherd and made the right turn onto First Street.  I was at the top of the hill that I used to run for hill repeats.  I smiled as I realized the hill I once thought was so big, didn’t seem like nearly as much anymore.  It’s all about perspective isn’t it?  As we grow and face life’s challenges, we find that the things we once struggled with, just aren’t as big in comparison to the things that we face as we get older.

I ran down the hill and back up to turn left into College Park and then right on the very first street in the neighborhood.  And there stood my old house in all it’s glory.  1 Shady Lane.  Now, I ask you, is there a better address anywhere in the world?  I don’t think so.  I slowed to a walk as I passed.  It looked just as I remembered.  I remembered playing in piles of leaves and building snowmen in the yard.  I saw my old bedroom window, upstairs on the far left, where I used to sit and spy on Rick Gooch when he would come home late. He always waved.  The Gooches lived across the street and for years Chad and I were like Dawson and Joey.  (Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.  Who didn’t love Dawson’s Creek?  Especially when adorable tomboy Joey would climb up through Dawson’s window.  Yeah, Chad and I were like that, except Chad’s house was a ranch)

I noticed that our old jungle gym was gone, the one where my brother fell and needed stitches over his eye.  In its place was a garden.  The acre yard seemed to have a lot less trees than it used to and our tire swing was gone.  I continued down the street to the last house on the right, Angela’s old house.  Angela was my very first running partner, she used to run that hill to Shepherd with me.  I remembered all the times we camped out in her front yard in the tents we built with sleeping bags and old blankets, while playing with transformers and trading baseball cards.

Just past Angela’s house, Shady Lane ends at a little lake.  There is now a walking path around it thanks to my mom’s efforts 25 years ago.  I ran along the path, past the spot where we lit sparklers and shot off fireworks for my brother’s July 2nd birthday a whole lifetime ago.  As I ran on, houses stood next to the lake, where there used to be only fields and trees.  I ran to the back of the neighborhood and then returned by way of College Park Drive.  I saw the houses of so many old friends, Andi, Marcus, the Tindalls, the Morascos.  To me, it all looked like not a day had passed.

I exited the neighborhood and went left, continuing on First street, past the Lundburg’s where I used to catch the bus and spent hours playing Atari; up the hill to where Elgin’s house once stood before it burned down.  I turned right on LaHarpe and I realized I had exactly run the old familiar path that had made me fall in love with running almost 30 years ago.

I ran past Stephanie’s old neighborhood and remembered the night we called the radio station to request Jesse’s Girl over and over and over, much to the annoyance of that poor DJ.  I got to the corner of LaHarpe and Franklin, the Truman State campus was in front of me.  When I lived there it was Northeast Missouri State University, where I had packed half of what I owned to go for weeks of basketball camp and cheerleading camp, thinking I was so far from home.

I ran back up Franklin, just before I got back to the Holiday Inn Express, I could see to my left the old Country Kitchen where my dad used to take me for breakfast before school and the Hyvee where my sister used to work.

I entered the hotel parking lot and slowed to a walk, dripping with sweat from the Missouri humidity.  I had managed, maybe 4 miles, probably not even that much, on a day that I should have run about 14.  I have no idea what my pace was, but I’m guessing pretty slow.  And ya know what?  I didn’t care.

That run wasn’t about speed or distance.  Regardless of whether I left the Garmin at home or it just died on it’s own that day, that run was about remembering why I became a runner in the first place.  And Kirksville reminds me that even after all the miles I’ve run and mountains I’ve climbed and the challenges I’ve faced head on, I am still that same carefree, light-hearted, happy go lucky, free spirited girl that I’ve always been.

Although it is now time for me to come out of post Racine retirement and get back to making it happen for the Chicago marathon, I pledge to occasionally forget the numbers and run to celebrate the glory days.  I will remember that I run, first and foremost, because I love it.  I will remain calm and leave the Garmin at home…sometimes.

KHS Class of 1993

KHS Class of 1993

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