Feedback

The hours of daylight are in decline.  Winter is “officially” still a month away, but my tights, hat and gloves are out of basement storage.  There are about ten weeks until the day Punxsutawney Phil determines the arrival of spring.  A glance at the calendar displays four bleak months of snow, ice, frigid winds; weather a polar bear would like. 

Needing an ember to stoke my running fire, this week I received the following: 

“It is our pleasure to extend you an offer to be a part of the 2015 Runners Roost Team.”

I feel a bit like Sally Field at the Oscars.  You like me.  You really, really like me.

For those who believe in Sports Periodization, I am in the Transition Phase.  This phase is used to facilitate psychological rest, relaxation and biological regeneration as well as to maintain an acceptable level of general physical preparation.  It allows the body to fully regenerate so that it is prepared for the next season.  The feedback my body is telling me is to rest, but who’s got time for that. 

For the past three weeks I have been participating in No Shave Movember, where men grow mustaches to raise awareness for prostate cancer and to promote manliness.  The feedback I’ve received has been enlightening.  My family hates the mustache.  Close friends and co-workers find it amusing.  “Ah, No Shave Movember” they say.  Acquaintances I see infrequently give me a puzzled look until they realize there’s a caterpillar-esque growth on my upper lip.  My appearance makes total strangers feel really uncomfortable and they can’t get away from me fast enough.   What’s your feedback?

 

Are You a Runner?

That question caught me by surprise.  “Uh, yeah” I feebly replied.  I had just plucked a bottle of orange juice out of a tub of ice after finishing the HRCA Backcountry Half Marathon and one of the volunteers was guarding the drinks.  After a few seconds I was able to add “Some days more than others.”  The volunteer stood her ground.  “I didn’t see your bib.”  She clearly wanted proof that I had registered for the race.  I pulled the warm-up jacket I was wearing to reveal my bib and finisher’s medal. 

It reminded me of the time I wandered into the local vitamin store looking for some supplements.  The salesperson gave me the once-over and asked “Do you exercise at all?”

Maybe I’m reading too much into the question, but what was she implying?  That I’m not fit enough to run?  Didn’t the salt stains running down my face confirm my exertion?  Didn’t the dried boogers and Cliff-Shots on my face also validate my participation? 

But the question hits a deeper nerve.  Are you a runner?  The short answer is “heck yes.”  I am a runner and I live my life as such. 

And what does it mean to be a runner?
Is it defined by the pace we move?
Is it the volume of miles or finisher medals we accumulate?
Is it the 1,000 yard stare we perfect?
Is it the study of blisters and lost toe nails?
Is it the satisfaction of setting a goal; the struggle to overcome obstacles; and the joy of achievement?
Is it the bliss of living the good life?
Is it spending time with the nicest people you know?
Do you run because you like the way your body feels when you are moving?
Does your mood brighten when you think about the run you just did and the one you are about to do?

If you think of yourself as a runner, then you are one.

Are you a runner?