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Thursday, May 26, 2005

Running One Unit at a Time

So I'm quitting smoking and yesterday was my big run.
My neighbor and I decided last week that this week would be the week we started running together. Richard is a tall sinewy Native American looking man with gaunt cheeks and long inky hair. Veins are visible throughout his forearms, neck, forehead, hands, and legs. His frame, along with his head, is aerodynamic, as this man was built for speed. And apparantly, so was his mouth; Richard talks non-stop.

I was checking my mail yesterday dreading Richard pulling into the driveway next to mine. Mail in hand, I quickened my pace towards my apartment, when a loud maroon Blazer whips in flush with the curb. "HowdyAndrew,upforrunningtoday", he said at warp speed, nearly leaping from the car.
"Yeah man, just knock on my door when you're ready."
"I'mgonnaeataturkeysandwichthenchangeclothesandI'llknockonyourdoor," at Mach 3.

I'm not kidding when I say that in less than seven minutes he was at my door. His knock sounded like a machine gun, or the back beat to "Surfin' USA". I invited him up, as I was not not finished changing from work to play. I walked into my bed room and left Richard in my den, and began changing from dress pants to shorts. "Nice Unit," Richard said.
"Huh?"
"Nice Unit.......I like the hardwood."

It was only later, after he told me he liked the size, structure, and reach of my unit, did I realize he was talking about my apartment. He talked about how he preferred a wider unit to a longer one and I'm in my room silently screaming.

Richard is more than a novice runner. He ran track in college, and logs about 20 miles a week now that he's 32. He comes from a long line of marathon runners, as I later discovered, and it is apparant by his build and physique that running is in his blood. 'He even talks fast,' I kept saying to myself, 'I can't wait to see him jog.'

So we went out to Vaughn Road Park, and walked a lap which is 0.6 miles. After that, Richard says, "OkAndrewyouready??" And I was ready, I was ready to run. I have smoked for 5 or so years now and haven't moved a muscle in about three. It was time I exerted myself. It was time I grunted and groaned. It was time to sweat and perge and push. I was ready. I was reving my engines, my batteries were charged, I was ready to do this, ready to R-U-N. "Go!" I yelled under my breath, and Richard broke into what I can only describe as not walking.

'What is he doooing?!' I thought to myself. Richard looked like the cross between a wounded ostrich and a pack animal. His trot wasn't so much herky jerky as it was deliberate and measured. At one point we had to run beside the path so that the old black women pushing strollers could walk past us. Children pointed and laughed. It was humiliating, but i noticed that I was actually doing it and keeping up.

About a year ago, I decided to run around the block. I didn't make it a mile. I was wheezing, and coughing and my esophogus felt as though I had swallowed boric acid. Yesterday, however, I made it the whole 1.2 miles. It was tough, don't get me wrong, but with Richard's odd pace I managed to pump my legs and swing my arms and breathe regularly and finish. My goal was to make it one mile today. I made it 1.2.

I sprinted the .2. Richard came up behind me, "CongratulationsAndrew! Youdidit!" and he smiled warmly and handed me a water bottle. For a small moment in time, I felt accomplished, like I was the champ. I had finished something, but moreso, this was the Season of Accomplishment. I had graduated from college and finishing this mile somehow edified me. Reaching this mile mark was confirmation. My legs ached, my head hurt, my lungs were full of tar, and my stomach was on fire, but my heart felt nothing but wonderful pride. And for this one small fleeting moment I was more proud of myself than I had been in years. Then I saw Richard.

I have never seen a man move that fast for that long. His long ink black hair flapped behind him, never once touching his broad shoulders. He was the wind. A fluid, and mechanical wind. He ran like a gazzelle. My moment dissolved into one of awe, and then quickly into humility. I had been running with a former track star, a former marathon winner, and oh yeah, a current iron man competitor.

He finished his laps as I casually walked around the track to catch my breath. I couldn't help but smile everytime he passed me. He was truley something to behold. And here I was, walking with my own head held high for running a mile. I didn't feel any less proud of myself, only now I had a little more perspective on it. I thought how funny it is that as soon as you feel like you've run the 4 minute mile, there comes some one who can do it in 3:55.

It would be easy to look out at the mountains others have climbed from the hill you stand upon now and feel a little inconsequential. A little under-accomplished, but when you consider the scope of your own life, and the turns and dips you've had to personally over come it all still seems worth it. And you don't feel so small anymore, because you know that if you made it up this hill, that one day, you'll make it up the mountains as well. We'll get there in our own time.

Riding back in the car with Richard, he told me he wished he had moved into my apartment years ago, long before I had rented it. He had mentioned before how much he liked it and how the land lords and him were such good friends, etc.. He then continued his story of how he ran the Washington D.C. Marathon in only a few short hours. This story seemed to last longer than it took for him to run it.

'That may be true Richard' I thought as the wind hit my face as I leaned far out the open passenger side window, 'but I've got the bigger unit.'


Anderopoloid