How I fell in love...

Being injured for this long (17 months) has given me a load of time be away from running. I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder, and my love of running is more intense than ever. I miss the activity I came to love.

I can remember the day that I fell in love with running. I was twelve years old, and I had just run my first marathon, and I was celebrating with a brunch with my family. It was the only sporting "success" I had ever had, and I was hooked.

When I was a kid, I was one of the shortest kids in my grade. I was dwarfed by the others, and they reminded me of it on a frequent basis. When it came to sports, I was hopeless. I was one of the last picked on teams, and was, on a very good day, pathetically uncoordinated. When we played softball in gym class, I ran for the outfield where no one could possibly hit the ball. It was safe there...far from the embarrassment of dropping the ball and losing the game.

I spoke funny. I had years of speech therapy so that I could learn to pronouce "r" and "l" and not sound like Elmer Fudd (Witto Wed Widing Hood). I was a December baby, so I was developmentally behind my class. This led me to feel rather stupid. All in all, I was not bursting with self confidence.

I remember watching the film footage of the 1976 Olympic Games and thinking that there had to be a sport where little uncoordinated kids could beat the big kids. I prayed "God, if you find me a sport where I can win, then I will work really hard at it." I honestly believe that God answered that prayer, because within a year I discovered running.

I went to a summer camp in Ontario when I was eleven, and met a counselor named Rob Reid (now the owner of Frontrunners). Fresh from a few marathons, he was evangelical in his zeal for running. He soon had a camp full of kids in his "30 Mile Club". Lured by the prospect of earning a t-shirt, kids would run 30 miles over the span of the 3 weeks they were at camp. I signed up, but it probably wouldn't have gone anywhere if I were not intrigued by the marathon thing. Whenever the other counselors spoke of Rob's running, they expressed obvious respect for his marathon running. Not having a clue what a marathon was, but wanting to find out, I asked him if we could go for a run. I figured that if I could get him running, then I would pepper him with questions about marathons...like what on earth a marathon was. He kindly explained that he was training and that the shortest run he did was 5 miles.

To this day, I don't know why I said I could run 5 miles. I mean, the furthest I had run to date was across the school yard while being chased by another kid in a game of tag. It was as close to a lie as I could get, and now I would have to prove it. I took to the half mile loop around the camp, figuring that if I stopped it wouldn't count and Rob wouldn't run with me. It was somewhere around the 8th or 9th lap that the thought occured to me that most of the big kids couldn't run 5 miles. Maybe, this was the sport I longed for.

When I returned home 3 weeks later (wearing a 30 Mile Club t-shirt...fuzzy iron-on letters and all), I was determined to keep running. I went out for school cross country, which involved showing up before school and running around the school yard. There was really no coaching to speak of, but I figured that the longer I ran the better it would be. I soon was running 5-10 miles a few mornings a week. If I won a few races or had some coaching, I probably wouldn't have even thought of running marathon, but my first races had me finishing towards the back. I became convinced that I was a long distance runner and needed to move up to the marathon. Besides, Rob was a marathoner and he was now my hero (incidentally, Rob was no hack...2:22).

When winter came, running became more challenging. I eventually was teamed up with a friend of a family friend who told me how to dress to run in the cold (cordoroy pants!). He eventually helped me run my first marathon in the spring. I was given a very rudimentary schedule of 3 miles, 5 miles, Long Run, day off, 3 miles, 5 miles, Long Run. I would add a "mile" to the long run every week. I say "mile" because my concept of a mile was more like a kilometre. I eventually worked up to a 20 mile run before the 1978 National Capital Marathon. I finished the run in 3:30 and, because I was so young and small, got a fair bit of attention. It was attention that I so badly craved. It was something athletic that I could do that bigger kids couldn't.

Later that day...I fell in love with running. I suppose that it was young love. I would say that I had a big crush on running, not unlike the school kid who kisses the girl in his grade 8 class and "falls in love." I fell for what running could give me...a bit of attention and the chance to be good at a sport.

Now my love has matured. My running is not a crush based on how it can take me to other countries, win me medals or prizes. Now I love running in a more sincere and honest way. I love running for the motion, the wind against my face, the feeling of working hard...the sensation of pushing to the crest of a hill...the taste in my mouth after I finish a hard interval...the satisfaction of finishing a run in really nasty weather, the smell of the forest on a cold crisp morning run. I love the rhythm and sound of my own footsteps. It is now no longer a crush...it is a lifelong love affair. It is like the elderly couple that you see holding hands at the local Denny's...you know that they have been through a lot and yet have emerged with a deeper love.

I miss running.