During my youth in Anchorage, AK, I discovered running. Like most kids, I resented what the coaches made us do in school. In my case, I was fat and lazy in the first place. High school PE was just about tolerable, but one semester the new coach decided we could take advantage of our school being near a large wooded area. Twice each week we were supposed to head out into the woods on a guided jog of about 1 mile on some trails. One day he didn’t guide us, and trusted a couple of athletic students. Being the arrogant jocks they were, they took off, leaving the rest of us to find our way back.
A bunch of us did not, since we weren’t fast enough to keep up. It turns out the trail system was quite extensive, used for district competitions in Cross County Skiing in winter, and Cross Country Running in warmer weather. A small group of us got really lost following the markings for the most recent races. We got back to the practice field just before class was dismissed for showers. I was embarrassed and angry with the snickering jerks, but this was hardly new.
Later, it dawned on me I had run that whole hour, and only afterward did it really hurt. From there, I read up on it in the library, and began distance running on my own. It was one of the few physical activities I could pursue which didn’t hurt so bad, especially once I got into it. I kept running all through college, though I was never good enough to compete in anything. I didn’t care. I ran because I loved it.
Keep in mind, I have a broad, chunky build. It’s really easy to gain weight and get too heavy. I also enjoyed lifting weights, but running was more fun. I never played in sports much, just one semester of intramural flag football. I was a star player, but only because most everyone else was even less fit — mostly Baptist preacher boys with varying experience levels from tiny country high schools, at a college with no varsity football. Very few of these guys worked out after high school graduation. I kept running, and did some lifting when I had time.
So when I enlisted in the Army, leadership often thought I was too heavy. Yet, I never fell out of formation on even the longest morning runs, and always scored well on PT tests. I remained utterly non-competetive, but always raced against myself. It continued during the long break between enlistments. When I decided I needed another shot at the Army, I trained even harder, because I knew exactly what to expect. However, during that second time in service, my knees came apart, as it were. Right when I was just starting to train for a marathon, the medical system discovered I had serious knee trouble — Patella Femoral Syndrom. Basically, it’s where the kneecap drifts laterally out of the track, and the underside of the kneecap chews up the cartiledge. By the time they found it, my knees were pretty chewed up inside. My records were marked with a strong indicator I was just barely fit to stay in service.
I left service for the last time, then. The problem got worse, and I ended up in a wheelchair by 1994. Eventually I got surgery at the VA Hospital, but the pain hardly declined. I was in and out of the wheelchair over the years. Finally, about 2005, I began walking some on the country roads near home. I was also riding a bike someone gave me. I was still a very long way from recovery. In fact, there were several times it all came crashing down, and I was unable to exercise for long periods.
The miracle came two years ago, about this time of year. I had been praying for the better part of a year about how I could stay reasonably fit, since I then weighed about 265 pounds. Suddenly, the pain abated and I felt driven to exercise. There was a trail system in the parks near my apartment, and I began using them. Eventually, I was able to jog just a bit. There were periods of set-backs and improvement both. Recently, I was stunned to discover I could jog four miles without stopping. Something in my body told me I was coming back. I’ve been at 225 for two months, now.
It’s been some 17 years since I was able to run much. I’ve been trying to stay consistent, 4.5 miles every day except Sundays. It’s entirely possible I’ll get back to running 10-12 milers again. We’ll see. There’s a lot of miles between here and there.
