Running for the laurels (by Rob Rayder

Running for the laurels

By Robert “the Lone Runner” Rayder This article was originally published in the Jan-Feb 2018 issue of the Roadrunner.

It is impossible to win the race unless you window of opportunity to train for greatness slipped venture to run. away, if it was ever there to start with.

It is impossible to win the victory unless you I’m still not sure exactly when my youth ended. dare to battle. At some mysterious point, people stopped calling me — Richard M De Vos a “young man” and started calling me “sir.” My skin wrinkled, my hair thinned and whitened, my muscles

It was that same old dream again. You know the atrophied. one. Nearly every runner dreams something like it So when I did finally start running again, after a at one time or another. There I am, standing at some half lifetime of neglect, it was part of my midlife crisis. unfamiliar start line. I strut confidently forward. People I trained as hard as I could, and my running skills grew. step aside and a pathway appears through the masses, Over time, my efforts were noticed by runners who inviting me to the very front. would tell me that I accomplished a lot “for a guy my

I toe the line with a quite confidence, and maybe a age and size.” little bravado. Then the gun sounds. I immediately run A part of me rebelled against such sentiments. I out to the front. I sense the other runners behind me just wanted to be fast, without all the qualifiers. As my I’m their target, the guy to beat. I run effortlessly A part of me running skills grew, I managed to actually win a few age-group awards. In one very small race, across the course. Most of my fellow runners fall rebelled against I won the master’s division and placed ninth overall. I thought back, unable to maintain the furious pace. One by such sentiments. that such a lofty finish might be as good as it could ever be one, they fall away. in my running career. I had no

At long last I run alone. The finish approaches real hope of running for the laurels. Then, just when where a crowd has gathered. I cross the finish line, a you least expect it, life throws you a curveball. running champion! Then I wake up. I was still very much in a recovery phase of my

For my entire life, winning a real-world race has training because of a persistent knee injury sustained been the stuff of fantasy. Time to be totally truthful over the summer (while bodysurfing, a sport I used to with myself. I’ve never had enough running talent, even partake of all summer long without any difficulties. when I was a young man, to actually win a competitive Talk about getting old ...). The goal behind my race race. I’m not just talking about winning an age group, frenzy (besides having fun) was to rebuild my speed but to be the first runner overall, the race champion, and endurance because my knee was finally letting me that guy from the dream. put one foot in front of the other without agonizing

I might have had a chance right before high school. pain. I had to get ready for the St. Jude Marathon, I ran a lot then, and showed some promise. But I chose which was about a month away. As you probably know, to be an offensive lineman and inside linebacker for my the first half marathon in the MRTC road race series high school football team. Those were positions that occurs on the first weekend in November. Series races valued strength and size over raw speed. always take place on Sunday mornings, so few sane

After high school came college and professional runners are looking for a race to run the day before. school, where academics were the focus over physical I, of course, following the twisted logic of my crazy training. Then came a job, a family and an impressive recovery plan, was doing just that, and I scoured the waistline. Simply put, life kept me so busy that my local race offerings to find a Saturday race. 12

A new race in Overton Park caught my eye. The There were a few who seemed to know the drill. Caregivers’ Respite / Laura E Carter 5K was the A tall, lanky fellow in his middle years was stretching perfect fit. It was to be run on a course I had run many near the start. A guy in his late teens or early 20s times before. I would know exactly what to expect pushed forward confidently to the first row. I also found over each mile, and that afforded me an advantage I my way to the front, lining up with a kid who was no couldn’t pass up. more than 10 years old, jumping up and down excitedly

I pulled myself out of my comfy bed on a mild to my left. Saturday morning and made my way past the colorful Ahead of us was the biker whose job would be to bicycle arch that marks the eastern entrance to the guide the leader safely across the miles and to make familiar stomping grounds of Overton Park. sure everyone stayed on course.

As I was signing up, I noticed something a little After the pre-race introductions and the singing of peculiar. In most races I can identify the familiar habits the National Anthem, a bullhorn alarm was sounded of a few of my fellow runners. There is a particular and we were off. rhythm to things, a sort of natural pre-race flow. There The course veered downhill, so I decided to open is almost always a cadre of talented competitors high up my stride and push my speed. The 10-year-old ran kicking, stretching and otherwise warming up. They are with me stride for stride and the two of us lead the early usually found hanging out somewhere near the start. race. This was nothing new. I often outrun the pack for

Then there is the mid-pack regulars, of which I am a 100 or 200 yards before the leaders kick into stride and charter member, making the pre-race rounds with words fly past me. of encouragement and bad jokes, all in a desperate A quarter mile into the race, the 10-year-old fell off. attempt to shake off the early-morning doldrums. No one rose up to pass me. I viewed that as strange. I

Finally, there are the walkers and back-of-the- was running right behind the leading bike and he was packers, filled with enthusiasm and vigor, often grouped taking his cues from me. It was disorienting, but I dared together with their running buddies in large packs. They not look back and decided to just keep to my strategy are equipped with water and push the downhill hard. bottles, fanny packs and As I approached the cell phones, ready for Mile 1 marker, the course anything the miles might flattened out and my throw at them. strategy was to slow down

Before this particular and recover some before race, however, there were attacking the uphill ahead. A none of those groupings. group of volunteers popped Most of the participants to life as I approached and wore cotton T-shirts that began calling out, “WATER! advertised things that Need some water?” This had nothing to do with would be familiar territory running. Many wore for me except for one thing. high-top tennis shoes or I saw no used cups, nothing generic athletic shoes spilled on the road. The more fitted to fashion station was pristine, and I than function. Most was still following the lead of them meandered bike. aimlessly around the It was almost beyond starting area, obviously belief. The race was onewaiting for instructions. third done and somehow In other words, these I was still the leader. I were people not used to politely waved off the offers the ebbs and flows of a of refreshment and ran on. running event. They were I was too nervous to look there more to support a back, sure my gaze would be worthy charity than to greeted by a group of “real” compete in a 5K. The author with his first-place trophy. runners swiftly closing in 13