Six days ’til the Crim 8K. Here’s the fourth installment of my essay:
Tonight I’ll be on that hill `cause I can’t stop
I’ll be on that hill with everything I got
Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost
I’ll be there on time and I’ll pay the cost
From “Darkness on the Edge of Town” by Bruce Springsteen
This line from what I consider to be among Springsteen’s best has become a mantra of sorts in my life and running with MS. It hits my “Running” playlist as I finish stretching and transition from warming up to running my regular route.
I finish stretching, make sure the iPod is turned up all the way, and reset my Garmin so I can monitor my progress and pace during and after my run. Before I push “Start” on the GPS-enabled sports watch, I always pause to remind myself that after I begin, I’ll be doing nothing but running hard for approximately the next 33 minutes. That is, unless I can cover the remaining 4.1 miles in less time today.
“Bring it,” I say as I simultaneously push “Start” and skip-step into running my route. And even though I move forward with a strong and confident stride, I still hear MS say that he’s already brought it.
“Yeah,” MS says, “so you think you’re so tough with your $125 running shoes and superstar sports watch and wannabe runner apparel that wicks the moisture away from your body. Whatever, Dan. You go ahead and push forward with your paltry route, and, heck, finish it in record time for all I care. When your precious little run is over, I’ll still be here. Like you said before, Dan, I’m not leaving anytime soon.”
So I pick up my pace to spite MS. But I quickly remind myself that I’m not going to let him get into my head. If I push myself too hard, I’ll never have the energy to finish. Then, MS will be able to claim victory. “Not today,” I say, as I reign in my anger and stride back down to the pace of the song at hand.
I’m like every other person in the world who runs in that we all get tired and worn out the longer and harder we push ourselves. But unlike every other person in the world who runs, I’m pushing the limits of both myself an MS. I truly think I have it in me to someday run a marathon, but I don’t think he’ll let me. I imagine I could do the 26-mile challenge, but I’d have to run at a pace slower than I would like so that I could accommodate MS. He’s such a pansy and starts to freak out anytime I try to pick up my pace or throw an extra mile onto my regular run.
When MS has had enough with my running antics for the day, my left foot starts to drag a little and has a tendency to clip even the slightest protrusion along the road or trail. My left leg is a little weaker than my right, so MS likes to pick on that one first. This is why I wear out the sole in the toe of my left shoe so quickly, why my wife, Jennifer, lovingly reminds me, “Pick up your feet,” before I go for run, and why I stick to running on flat paved surfaces.
My MS-badgered left foot also is the reason why I’ve fallen several times running my regular route and why I fell facedown onto the brick streets of downtown Flint three years ago in the closing 50 yards of the Crim Festival of Races 5K.
It’s like MS is trying to teach me a lesson each time I fall, and each time I always confess to MS that he taught me well. Lesson learned. I need to maintain my focus and push myself even harder next time.
To hell with MS, I’m testing how far I will let myself be pushed.