Runner's Destiny

I was recently in a city I had never visited before, completing my 4 mile training run for the Chevron Houston Marathon.  I was diligently following the mileage schedule for my orange pace group and had magically awoken at about 5:30 am to beat the heat and humidity even though the day before had been a full day of work.  While running, I had seen several well-dressed people obviously headed for their wait-staff jobs at downtown restaurants. At about 3.6 miles I asked one of them where I could get a good breakfast, as my hotel only had a continental breakfast and I wanted eggs, bacon and toast before I headed home later that morning. The very friendly gentleman said that I could come and have breakfast at the 4 star hotel where he worked; I nodded in agreement since I knew it would probably be good, but maybe my face said to him "that sounds expensive", which is what I was thinking.  Then he said "but the locals usually eat at the Sweetwater Cafe just around the corner on the other side of the hotel." I again nodded in agreement and thanked him for his help.  He said "just remember, it's the Sweetwater Cafe." I told him "I live in a town called Sugar Land and there is a street named 'Sweetwater' there, I won't have any trouble remembering the name."  The gentleman said "it's destiny then."

Cool Pool at the End of the Run

I'm lucky to have a cool pool in my back yard to jump into after a run in the warm, muggy morning air of Sugar Land.  There is something quite physical about being engulfed in cooling water when I am sweat-soaked, tired and sore. It's not the same as jumping in a shower; that takes too long.  This is immediate gratification, just take off my shoes and socks, empty my pockets of anything that might be damaged by water (I sometimes carry a pocket LED flashlight for imaging those sidewalk cracks and settled-segment steps that are prevalent in some parts of our city), and walk in or jump off the diving board.  Since I usually do the pool cool after a workday morning run, I don't linger to enjoy the moment or stare into the brightening morning sky. The cats are usually out and surveying their domain for prey or a cool spot to sleep. I can hear the traffic on the local highway beyond the commercial building behind our house. People already headed off to, or coming home from, work or running errands before the day gets too hot. I plan the day ahead, grateful that I have been able to complete another training run, whatever the time or pace.  I get out of the pool and water drips from my body and soaks into my towel.  It's no longer sweat but pool water and it feels different.

Runner's Ghosts

When I run I see ghosts. Most of my routes I've run many times. I don't run with headphones on so my mind wanders where it wants to go. Running the parking garage at Sugar Land Town Square, as I puff up the inclines at 5:15 a.m., I remember the ghosts of past hill runs. I remember getting to the top of the garage and running to the wall to touch it before I start down. It was winter time, almost Christmas, and my breath puffed clouds as I looked down on the street decorated with trees, lights and cheery red and green ornaments, swinging in the pre-dawn darkness, waiting for someone to notice. Or it was early fall as I touched the wall nearest the Southwest Freeway and I could see the cars speeding their drivers to work and home, hear the trucks speed breaking on the downward side of the overpass and glimpse the tops of buildings, stores and restaurants just awakening to the day. If I was at home in bed, asleep, this would still be happening, away from my sight and hearing. But I was at the parking garage, both here in the now and there in the past. I round the corner on the last leg into the parking garage from the street and smell putrid odors from the garbage cans at the back of the restaurants, see the early morning wait staff arriving in their white starched uniforms, say "hi" as I run past. In the now and in the past, runner's ghosts.

When I drive around the city, I see runner's ghosts from past runs, we've criss-crossed the city. I've seen almost every corner in the light of the street lamps accompanied by the beep of the timing watch, the breaths of the runners past me, their bodies in rhythm with their footfalls, the smell of wet grass and dewy leaves. Groups of ghosts gathered around the traffic signal pole, waiting for the light to change before we cross Highway 6 at Lexington, Williams Trace at Lexington, Settler's Way and Lexington. So many cars during the day breaking the spell of quietness that had enveloped me that morning at as we had waited, stretching, grabbing a goo, drinking some water, "how many miles to go?", "wait, our turn will come", "cross at the light, with the light". I want to tell my wife and children what it's like to run through the city in the early morning, explain the feeling of freedom and accomplishment, of pain "damnit, my knee hurts" "my foot is blistering" "shit I'm tired", of breathing in and out, of talking about stupid stuff, important things, hopes and dreams we somehow tell a friend but not a loved one. It seems important then but not now. How to put my experiences and feelings into words? I do it now and in the past but the feeble attempts at communication seem not enough and yet too much. Running is simple, why make it hard? Runner's ghosts.

My first full marathon, January 2011. Many tell me that when they cross the finish line they cried tears of joy. In my imagination I see future runner's ghosts, crossing the finish line, falling to the ground, crying elated tears of pain and accomplishment. But in the actual past I wanted to cry at mile 14 "why did I do this?" "if I had stayed with the half marathon, I'd be done by now" "it hurts!" And yet I kept trotting on with my running partners, up the Westpark overpass, pumping my arms but barely inching along, down under the freeway, eating goos and throwing the empty packets on the ground, littering (does a ghost litter?), around the feeder street and onto Richmond then Post Oak Blvd, past Rice Epicurean and down San Felipe, through neighborhoods I'd never seen, a few people still out watching stragglers like me. Or were they watching runner's ghosts?

Being a running ghost, gliding along a sidewalk sweat dripping from my body and glancing ahead to see a wall of fog flowing over the wooden fence onto the street in front of me. Runners emerge from the fog "runners up!" "good morning" "Fort Bend Fit" "Who Ya!". The fog shifts and cools, flows then stops, marks the edge of night and morning, no camera to record it but in my mind I see fog and runner's ghosts.

Spin Class this Morning

Nothing like spin class with Hilary at 24 Hour Fitness to get your day going. I'll be doing spin class on Mondays for a couple more weeks until the training mileage increases.
Later,
Dustinator

Training Starts for the January 2012 Chevron Houston Maraton

I finished the January 2011 Chevron Houston Marathon in 6 hr 1 min 25 sec (an unofficial finish since I did not finish in under 6 hr). A YouTube video is posted here. In training for the marathon I ran the Mother Road Half Marathon in Joplin, MI, on October 10, 2010 (10-10-10). The Mother Road Half Marathon started in Baxter Spring, Kansas, and ended in Joplin. Great experience with my friend Z. The YouTube is posted here. The hotel we stayed in was very close to or inside the part of the city that was devastated by the April 2011 tornado. My training was completed with the Houston 25K in November and the Sugar Land 30K in December. This year I joined the Houston Area Road Runners Association and got into the Chevron Marathon through the HARRA 500, bypassing the lottery. I am looking forward to setting a PR.
Later,
The Dustinator