The Run of a Lifetime

Through a circuitous set of circumstances, I find myself having a quiet cup of coffee at Falls City Market this Monday morning as the city of Louisville wakes up and my family still sleeps.  We've spent a thoroughly enjoyable long weekend exploring the city after Hurricane Michael derailed our planned trip to the beach for Fall Break.

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Saturday evening, Jude, the boys and I waited in line at Iroquois Park, 10 minutes or so outside Louisville proper, preparing to enter the Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular.  As I alternated between standing in line and throwing the Moon Ball with the boys, I slowly began to notice my surroundings.  Suddenly, it hit me.  I think I've been her before. 

And I had.

More than 20 years ago, I drove with a running friend, Vicki Spickard, to Louisville, KY, to race the Kentucky Derby Mini-Marathon.  It was a half-marathon the weekend before the Kentucky Derby and the last road race in Louisville's Triple Crown of road races.  I ran all three races that year and, somewhere in my closet at home, I have the t-shirt to prove it.  

It would have been late April or early May and I was in the best shape of my life from a running standpoint.  I was training hard, putting in a lot of mileage - probably close to 40 miles a week - and I was racing almost every weekend.  The year or so before and after that race was the apex of my competitive running career.  

I was young, brash and seeming indestructible, of course.  And, to me, running was all about getting fast, racing and setting PR's (personal records).  Now, at 52, I run for the joy of running.  To try to stay healthy and in some semblance of shape.  I run because I can and because I love to run.  It's simply who I am and what I do.

As I recall, we stayed at some friends of Vicki's, somewhere in Louisville.  It was a little cool for a spring morning.  Perfect running weather.  I felt good that morning.  I had run four or five half-marathons before including the Thanksgiving Day Half-Marathon in Atlanta w/Todd Blankenbecler two or three years in a row.  Those t-shirts are somewhere in my closet, too.

Again, I was running a lot.  I was training quite a bit in Percy Warner Park and running the  six and 11-mile loops, which are quite hilly.  I've always run hills well and I'd read an article on how to properly run downhill, of all things, in a way that didn't tire your legs out.  I also had read an article on breathing patterns that I had applied to my running.  You might say I was a running nerd.  

My goal that morning was to break 1:40:00 and set a PR at a the half-marathon distance.  I felt pretty good about my chances because I had put in the work, for sure.

I don't recall where the race started but I do recall that I quickly found myself in Iroquois Park running up and down the hills.  As other runners struggled, I smiled to myself.  Iroquois Park bore a striking resemblance to Percy Warner Park.  It was like I had trained specifically for the the race and maybe, inadvertently, I had.  I felt fantastic, like a running machine, as I ran up the hills of the park with ease and effortlessly flew down the hills as I had learned to do and, in the process, putting little or no stress or strain on my quads and hamstrings.  I passed people left and right in Iroquois Park. 

I felt like I could run forever.  And, that spring Saturday more than two decades ago, I probably could have.  

At some point just before we exited Iroquois Park and began to run back to downtown Louisville - which I recall was about half way through the race - I checked my splits on what was undoubtedly my original, Timex Ironman digital running watch.  I think I still have it somewhere.  I did double take and checked them again, doing the calculations again in my head to make sure my projected time was correct.  I was stunned to realize I could break 1:30:00 if I held my current pace of 6:40:00 miles.

I had two choice.  I could play it safe, slow down, and get my under 1:40:00 PR easily.  Or, I could stay on the gas and see just how fast I could run a half-marathon with the risk, of course, being that I could blow up and end up finishing over 1:40:00.  What to do?

It was a perfect day for running and that's how I felt.  Like a perfect runner.  Fuck it, I thought, I'm going for it.  And that's what I did.

The last half of the race is a blur but I remember checking my splits every mile and confirming I was maintaining a 6:40:00 pace.  I was flying and the miles were flying by, too.  Memory dims over time, of course, but I don't remember struggling the four or five miles of the race.  I just remember feeling strong and, well, like I could run forever.

I finished the last mile almost sprinting, or so it seemed, and crossed the finish line in 1:29:48.  I was ebullient and ecstatic, literally on top of the world.  A part of me immediately knew I was visiting running territory I wasn't likely to visit again, I think, so I savored the feeling of accomplishment.

As a runner, I run all year long - some years more than others, but always running - in search of the perfect run.  The run where everything comes together on a run of distance, usually, and I feel like I could run forever.  The running zone, I've always called.

That spring day in Louisville, KY, so many years ago, I found it.  During a race, no less, which almost never happens.

And I've been chasing the memory ever since and enjoying every step along the way.