It starts again; tentative steps with tender limbs. With no concern for pace or even distance,
just to get out and run, at first for 40 minutes after last Saturday's marathon. I still wear my Garmin Forerunner for
accountability.
This weekend was a treat. Saturday started an hour before dawn with a
ten mile run through the open space. The
trail was illuminated by this year’s Harvest Moon, the full moon closest to the Autumnal
Equinox. The sky was clear and dark
except for the warm yellow / orange / reddish hue cast by the moon. Then night gave way to dawn and the sun came
zooming in.
Frank Shorter said “the key to running your next marathon is
forgetting about your last one.” Apparently
my short term memory extends six days for events like this. I opened the latest edition of Competitor
magazine and saw an ad for a Tour Pass to the full Rock ‘N’ Roll Marathon
Series – 11 marathons and one 10K race. If
circumstances presented themselves, I would run the entire series.
This weekend was also this year’s edition of an annual golf-sushi
outing I have with two of my long-time friends.
The festivities include a round of golf followed by sushi. 20 years ago we played at the municipal course
in City Park then stumbled around downtown Denver looking for trouble. The last two years we have met in Beaver
Creek.
There is nothing like a round of golf to impose some humility. Last year I brought 24 balls and we lost every one, seven on the first hole alone. The final two holes were played best ball because that was all we had left. This year we fared much better. Golf frustrates me. The relationship between practice and performance is chaotic. I invested a lot of time on the putting green and driving range, but those skills rarely exhibited themselves on the course. Improvement in running is linear. The more miles I run, the faster I get; the faster I get, the longer I can run and the better I feel about running and life. It is like a drug.
Moments before we teed off a voice boomed “I’ll be joining
you gentlemen.” The interloper was named
Barrett. He was in his mid-twenties and a good golfer; he shot par on two of the first three holes. But soon enough we had him playing at our
level. Leisurely we made our way around
the course. Our clubs with little skill were
plied. There was much tomfoolery and
occasionally a good shot.
After our vain pretense of golf we had delicious steaks at the Chop House. The sushi restaurant was closed for the
season. It was a time to get caught up
on the happenings in our lives. I admire
these guys for the successes they have had in their careers. One is a partner for one of the Big Four
accounting firms and the other is a managing director for a leading independent provider of restructuring, financial and corporate advisory solutions.. They
are both self-made men. We watched a lot
of football and golf and generally acted like cavemen.
Sunday morning I ran five miles up the trails in the ski
area. Pausing at the Ernie Bender bench;
the investment in effort worth every calorie for the view it affords. I ran back down and met my friends and we
hiked up to Beaver Lake and back down to Beaver Creek Village. The aspen leaves were at the peak of their
gold color. This was the first time I
have ever hiked through aspens during the brief, two week period between the moment
they turn gold until the last leaf falls. There was time for lunch before heading back
to Denver, and reality.
All in a golden weekend.
