TPB SPRING TOURNAMENT
To Quinn: Run if you like.
A letter to my speedy son
Dear Quinn,
I can see you’re the fastest one on the team. I see you speeding down the field at wing where Coach put you, because you can run the edge of the field, goal line to goal line, countless times without tiring. I know that look. Your facility with the ball is decent and soccer is fun, but honey, what you really like to do is run.
That was me too, at one time. I liked soccer, field hockey, lacrosse, and crew — mostly for the running. I finally wised up and joined cross-country, then track. Good move! After that it wasn’t all uphill, even though as it turned out, that’s exactly what I liked.
Sometimes I see other young people like you. You aren’t in the majority, but you aren’t rare. You join a sport in your youth and enjoy it reasonably enough. But in that moment when the team is ordered to run perimeters before practice and the rest of the team starts groaning, this is when you punch the air with your fist in your mind and say, “YES! Perimeters!”
Honey, you and I, we’re runners.
Cool Shoes
But why do you have such a long face when I say that? It’s a good thing.
Is it because it’s not glamourous? Not splashy? There are no brackets, no big tournaments? No cool equipment, stadiums, or cheerleaders? No mascots or t-shirts or commentators?
No, there are not. But the shoes are pretty cool. And the crowds are first-rate when they’re there. The volunteer folks helping on the sidelines are angels of the highest order. And depending on where you run, I’d trade the scenery for a stadium any day.
But I’m not going to oversell this. Instead, let me take you around back and show you the inner workings of this sport one step at a time.
An Outdoor Party
Running, at its core, is an exhilarating adventure. The longer distance you run, the bigger the adventure. It’s an outdoor party, but also self-imposed torture — but that’s like any sport — and it’s a real trophy once you’ve survived it. In 35 years of running, I covered tens of thousands of miles which afforded me more adventures, more torture, and more trophies than I know what to do with. But I know what to do with it. I hold them dear.
I had local adventures. At five in the morning, I’d sling a small pack around my shoulders with five bucks, a couple of gels, and water. Then I’d quietly step out the front door, run around town, arriving home hours later, before anyone was up in the house. I’d stop at 7–11 for snacks or water, and run to neighboring towns with barely a car on the road. I’d run in the middle of the road like a head of state. When I’d drive those same roads later in the day among traffic, I’d sit in the driver’s seat gleefully over my secret. People, I owned this road while you were sleeping.
But mostly, I had faraway adventures, where the journey took me into woods and deserts, up mountains and along rivers (and through rivers) that stretched far from civilization. These were bigger adventures, more exciting, juicier. They were epic poems of bravery and quiet songs of humility. Running in the wild, self-supported, a small moving dot among the majesty, the earth so perfect without you: your ego bows.
And there were all kinds of races: 10 kilometers, 50k’s, marathons, ultramarathons. Some I won. Some I trophied. Some I DNF’d in agony, nausea, injury, or having bonked which is when you have no juice left to spare.
Practice and You
If you like the sound of any of this, you will need to practice and learn. In a life of running, there is much to learn. There is proper gait, stride length, turnover rate, and shoe technology. There is nutrition, nutrition, nutrition — meaning carbs. There is hydration, but just the right amount, and no need to measure. Your body is precisely able to nudge you to drink so that you can enjoy the sights and watch your step instead. Just remember to drink. There is navigation, planning, strategy when you race, and knowledge of all the faraway, cheapest, grungiest hotels doing business.
Finally, there is you. There is so much of you that you will forget you’re even there. There is hanging out with you for hours. There is being in your head, which is the usual precursor to not being in your head. And then, when all the planets align in the most heavenly way, there is the zone: the most special place you will ever find yourself in and running has this in spades if you are practiced enough. It is the cherry on top, the prize, the thing that will bring you back again and again. That, and the scenery, and your running pals, and the birds and trees, the sky, the blossoms, the pine needle trail and the rocky downhills, the taste of watermelon at Mile 70 in the heat of the summer, the ethos of decency, the speed, the rhythm, the moon and stars, the peace and solitude, and the pure satisfaction.
If you think you might like to try it out for a stretch, let me know. I sure would like to run Mile 1 with you.
Love,
Mom
Here are two really wonderful stories I’d like to share from TPB:
From Jeremy Pratt on his running of the Moab 240 ultra. So real, so authentic. https://medium.com/@jeremypratt_10526/moab-240-2020-f47751213db5
From Brian G Gilmore, a letter to his daughters about the local basketball court he learned to shoot hoops on, and about the sport he’s handed down to them. https://medium.com/the-press-box/jesses-court-12c8fcf6247e
