Running the Different Roads of the Series By Robert “the Lone Runner” Rayder
We don’t get harmony when everybody sings the same note. Only notes that are different can harmonize.
pit oneself against another competitor to take a coveted spot on the podium. After all, most of the world’s most popular sports have a clear winner and a clear loser. The motivation is totally obvious. The whole idea is to win. But for the vast majority of foot-race participants, winning is the last thing on their minds. The competitive runners who have completed the requisite training and developed the immense talent necessary to earn a trip to the top of the podium constitute the thinnest slice of the proverbial racing pie. For most runners, the motivations to run are far more personalized and complex. To convey the reasons that motivate people to run requires an individualized story, and those diverse stories can almost never be boiled down to a quick and easy answer sought by those who ask us “why.” Instead, when a person answers the question of why he runs, something unique and personal is shared. A runner’s story might paint a picture of an individual journey filled with a thousand small details outlining a path to the starting line. In the process the listener gets to learn something extraordinary about the runner. It is part of the reason I find runners so interesting. No two stories are exactly the same, and each is a tale told in many chapters. Further, the tenor and tone of those stories change depending on where a runner is in “the pack.” The stories from the front, middle and back of any particular race are very different, although they all share the same passion, sacrifice and dedication no matter what time the clock reads when the finish line is crossed. My family has been blessed with runners of many different talent levels, and our stories are especially diverse. Despite their obvious differences, the tales still share that common thread familiar to all runners. Some things transcend the simple concept of “speed.”
— Steve Goodier
I was once asked by one of my non-running friends to explain the appeal of participating in weekend foot races. He was amazed, and more than a little confused, when I told him that I had absolutely no hope or ambition whatsoever to win the race outright. It was a concept that was totally foreign to him. “You mean there are no winners or losers?” he asked with legitimate wonder. I smiled. “Of course, there are. My son Christopher is running in the same race and he has a decent shot at the top spot. There are also things called age groups where a runner might place in the top three when compared to others of the same gender and similar age range. However, this particular race is way too popular for me to have a shot at one of those awards.” My friend made a face of intentionally exaggerated consternation. It made him look like he just swallowed a very bitter pill. “You mean you are going to do this painful thing even though you are absolutely guaranteed to lose?” I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t consider the concept of not having the fastest time as the definition of “losing,” not in road racing anyway. You can be a winner and still not win the race.” He laughed in one of those gruff chuckles that showed me he still didn’t get it, but he wasn’t going to push the issue any further. “OK, Confucius. I give up! You keep on running those crazy running things you do. As for me, give me a good old-fashioned baseball game where at least I know what the score is!” We live in a world where sports are filled either with winners or losers. It is easy to see the draw of high school, college or professional running races, where everyone, in theory anyway, has enough talent to win or at least to place well. People intuitively understand the quest for glory found in absolute victory, the need to
The Front
Chris pored over the list of participants to size up the competition. He knew most of the names of the better local runners by heart, and, of course, was not surprised at all to see many of their names listed there. 16