Book Excerpt: After the Last PR

A lifelong runner reflects on the virtues of living a runner's life

January 24, 2011

I was hurting, but no more than the other runners in the lead pack.

We had been climbing for nearly half a mile, about 200m from reaching the turnaround of a 4-mile race. The course was merciless, mostly downhill for the first mile and uphill for the second, and then reversed on the way back. The pack was bunched around me, all holding on and needing the relief that would come at the turnaround.

It was my final race of 1984, and I was finishing a breakout year, running several races that were perhaps the best I'd ever run. My running log still has a note on the inside cover showing the goals I started the year with: 32:15 for 10K and 54:00 for 10 miles. I had met one and come within seconds of the other.

When I look at that running log today, I wonder how I managed the mileage and the workouts. I long to feel the fluid motion I remember, as one run reinforced the next.

I was hurting on that hill, but I knew I had less pure speed than some of the other runners in the lead pack. On the downhill, they might use it to pull away, so I did the very opposite of what my body wanted me to do.

I sprinted, using the rest of the climb to put distance between us, and by the time I turned around they were scattered behind me, still struggling to reach the crest. They all looked at me with desperate stares, and I knew the race was already mine.

The adrenalin high on the descent was magnificent. The pain was gone. All I felt was freedom, as my legs moved on instinct. Near the base of the hill, I heard the footsteps of another runner, and he caught me briefly, but he had labored too hard to catch up. He was gone as soon as we began to climb, and I raced alone for the rest of the glorious way.

I know many would say that I'm lucky to have had the opportunity to win races, and I have to agree. In another respect, though, winning that race wasn't a gift; it was a return on investment.

Great opportunity doesn't present itself often. Sometimes, when it does, it will pass by untouched or even unrecognized. It is only with preparation that we can grasp a fleeting chance, and turn it into something great.

Running is a proving ground, a place where limits are tested, and capabilities are discovered. Through running, principles are learned that can be applied on race day, but more importantly, in life.

That's true for each and every runner, regardless of ability, because speed is a relative thing but moral fiber isn't.

Some say that life has defining moments, but I think that's a misnomer. We are defined by the decisions we make, the work ethic we employ, and the discipline we display in the years before the moment happens.

It was 4:00 on a Friday afternoon, and I decided to leave the pressure of the workweek a little earlier than normal. I grabbed my running bag and walked towards the locker room in my office building.

I was celebrating a promotion, a milestone I didn't think I'd reach in my career, and a short run at the end of the workweek seemed like an appropriate self-indulgence.

As I began my run, I had no company on the pathway except for the flock of geese that scattered as I approached. They flew to the middle of a large pond, and as they hit the icy water, I was glad I wasn't one of them.

I didn't have any particular route planned. Instead, I wandered from place to place. I ran past the track where I've done some of my hardest workouts and by the trail where I've found peace away from many hectic mornings.

I was running easily, trying to reflect on what I had just accomplished, and in the middle of the run something unexpected occurred to me. My run wasn't as much a celebration as it was a tribute to the thing that has contributed more to my personal success than anything else I can name.

Based on my education and background, I've climbed much higher up the corporate ladder than I ever should have, and I have the discipline of running to thank for that.

I never once believed that someone or something else was responsible for my success. Running taught me long ago that there's danger in that kind of thinking. The moment you leave your future in the hands of things outside of your control is the moment you place it in the hands of circumstance. And circumstance doesn't much care about your success.

Running has also taught me that adversity is better faced head-on than avoided. The hill in front of you won't go away, but it's easy enough to put it behind you if you just press harder for a while. Call it discipline or call it determination; without it you won't get very far.

That lesson isn't taught enough, and too many people never realize that sacrifice is a requirement of life. You either sacrifice today to reach tomorrow's goals, or you give up your dreams in favor of the fleeting comfort that's distracting you. The pleasant reality, for those who choose the former, is that comfort is abundant when long-term goals are achieved.

When my run was finished, I went back inside and took a quick shower. I walked back to my office to grab my briefcase before heading home. I said goodbye, wondering if anyone even noticed that I had been gone during my run.

The following Monday, when I arrived back at work, I looked outside my office window and saw the geese gathered around the pond. I watched them for a few moments before getting my day started.

As I went about my morning, I faced pressing challenges, gave guidance to the people around me and tried to create a vision for what lay ahead.

Then, when lunchtime rolled around, I grabbed my running bag and spent some time strengthening the disciplines through which I've earned the privilege to do all those things.