Outrunning the Coronavirus

As I write this, I'm sitting on my back deck, sipping a glass of a good cabernet, listening to Wayne Shorter's classic, "Speak No Evil" (recommendation courtesy of my favorite professional drummer/barista, Anthony, from Honest Coffee Roasters).  I'm grilling pork tenderloin.

Jude and the boys are at Beaman Park, a recent Metro Nashville Parks discovery of ours.  Joe took "crawfish nets" and a few minutes ago, Jude texted me a photo of a crawfish in Joe's net.

I'm content at the present moment and, frankly, I haven't felt too much contentment lately.  So it's nice.

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For more than 30 years, I've been a runner, as anyone who reads this blog knows.  I run to stay sane.  I run to get rid of stress, personal and professional.  I run to process grief - especially the last few years.  I run to feel better about myself.  I run to try and stay fit and youthful, so I can keep up with two young, active boys, 12 and 8 years old.  I run so I have time to think, and think deeply, about things that are important to me.  I run to feel closer to my creator.  

I run because, well, I have to run.   

Running is a form of meditation for me.  It always has been.  It still is.

Early on in the coronavirus crisis - and, for me, that was probably early or mid-February - I began to joke, sort of, and say I was going to outrun the coronavirus.  My thought process was that since the coronavirus seemed to hit hardest were those tragic people who had diminished lung capacity, preexisting health conditions, obesity issues, diabetes, I needed to get myself in the best shape I could.  So, I figured, I would run more, longer, and faster.

Not that it's logical or makes any sense but I thought if I can pound 4, 5, or 6 miles at 8 minutes or so per mile - like I could in my late 20's - that would prove my lungs were in good shape and I was healthy.  Then, if I got the coronavirus, I would have a better chance of surviving and maybe, just maybe, the symptoms I experienced wouldn't be as horrible as advertised.

In other words, as usual, I was running to stay sane.  

This morning, I got a text from one of my oldest and best friends, Mike Matteson.  Normally, he's a go to they gym, weightlifting kind of guy, at least 5 days a week.  He runs occasionally but not regularly or seriously.  However, for the past month or so, with his gym closed, he's started running a lot.  Anyway, he texted me a photo from his running app, probably Strava, that indicated he had run four miles at an 8:00 minute per mile pace.

I had planned to run four or five miles later, anyway, but Mike's text got me fired up because, of course, I'm competitive.  Very competitive.  

When I laced up my Saucony running shoes early afternoon and walked outside, the weather was perfect.  Low to mid-50's, sunshine, and an unimaginably blue sky.  I adjusted my wireless Beat earbuds, selected my favorite playlist - the Haunting - on Spotify, and off I went, thinking I'd run fairly hard to Elmington Park off West End Ave., and back, and that I'd just see how I felt.

No pressure.  Okay, some pressure, knowing I was going to push myself.  But that's a good feeling, too, a real good feeling.  Not all of the time on every run because it would be mentally exhausting.  Sometimes, though, it's nice to start a run, knowing you're going to push it, knowing it won't be easy, and knowing you might feel a little pain.  That's the part - for me, anyway - that I love because it makes me stronger.  

My Runkeeper App tells me where I am, distance and pace, every 5 minutes.  I crosscheck what Runkeeper tells me with my Suunto watch.  My first 5 minutes, I was running under 7:45/mile, and after that, I just started pushing harder and picked up the pace.  I ran hard up the hills on Fairfax and coasted down the hills, letting my legs do the work. 

I ran fast and I felt strong.  Having run for so long, I intuitively know what kind of pace I'm running 

and whether I can hold it.  I decided to run 5 miles at 7:30/mile or under.  A hard pace but not a race pace.  I could have gone faster if I had wanted to really push myself, but there was no need.  

In the end, I finished near Portland Brew on 12th Avenue and clocked 5 + miles at a 7:19/mile pace, with gas left in the tank.  I felt great when I finished, endorphins flowing.  

This is why I run, I thought.  So many runs, so many years running, searching for a run like this.  They don't come often but when they do, it's special.  A "top ten run," I call them.

So, a great run yesterday, maybe the best of the year so far.  And I'm going to outrun the coronavirus.