Do you have any idea how motivating a personal best is to a runner or any athlete? If you are a runner you do. It is so powerful that aching muscles do not hurt THAT much. It is so powerful that you cannot wait for the next time. It is so powerful that nothing can ruin your day. It is so powerful you just have to write about it, so I will.
About 3 years ago, while training for my first half-marathon, I achieved a personal best with an unexpected twist, and the twist turned out to be more memorable than the personal best. I am sharing this story because…well, you will understand in a few sentences.
My training assignment that day was to run, are you ready for it: run 9 miles. I am not kidding you. Before I tell you the rest of the story, let me assure you: 9 miles is a long, long way. My wife was very concerned about this feat of daring so I promised her I would run on down Main Street where someone could see me or help me in the event I 'ahem' struggled with the assignment. Like many runners who follow the same course in their training runs, I have memorized every mile on Main Street, so I know exactly how far I have come and how far I have to go, but the 9-mile stuff was a little new to me. Of course, being a planner, I drove the route the day before and realized that 9 miles is a long, long way. On the ride I was having even more doubts about this idea, thinking about excuses or, I’m sorry, valid reasons to not try 9 miles. Wouldn’t 6 miles do? Maybe 7? Is it time to twist my ankle, mildly?
As I left my driveway very early that Sunday morning with the thought that I wouldn't be back for almost two hours (are you kidding me, two hours?), I did what I do best: I put one foot in front of another and was off: hoping this was going to just be me pounding through the miles and bringing along stubborn persistence. I was feeling pretty good as I reached the 4.5 mile turnaround point and started back. In fact the first 5.5 miles were uneventful. No special aches, pains, trips, or slips.
Then I saw it. In front of one of the restaurants on Main Street, there was an American flag laying on the ground. I realized it was one of the town flags that had broken free of the light pole above and because the flag itself was longer than the pole it was attached to, I couldn’t lean it against anything because it would still touch the ground. There was really no place to put it at that time of the morning, almost nothing was open. So…I…picked….it…. up... and…. started…running.
Can you picture it? There I am running down Main Street holding an American flag that is literally flowing behind me. I really didn't know what else to do. I didn’t really want to kill my 9 mile training run time by looking for some place to put it, so I grabbed it and ran and decided that I would drop it at the Police Station, which was conveniently on my route, and only about 3 miles away.
I have anticipated your questions. Did cars honk driving by as the town started to awaken? Actually, dozens of them. Did I feel like a patriot? Absolutely. Did the miles fly by? Assuredly so. I really do not know if I had ever taken a step with an American flag flowing behind me in my life, but that Sunday I took about 3,000 of them and it felt great.
What did I think about when I was running? As the son of a veteran, I could not help but think about service men an women, alive and dead, including my dad, who had run to our flag, with our flag or for our flag. I thought a lot about the symbolism of what I had been doing, and how people driving by must have assumed something about this gray-haired dude running with an American flag. But what did they assume? In America today where there are so many divisions, I sincerely hoped that everyone who saw me, just smiled, and felt good about being an American. They were thinking ‘now there’s a guy who cares.’ As I reached the police station, I hit the pause button on my Fitbit, ran inside, turned in the flag, explained where it fell from, and resumed my run, all in less than 20 seconds.
I missed the flag as s I finished the rest of the long, long route and I started to feel the aches and pains that naturally come the first time you run 9 miles. The running was noticeably harder once I dropped off the flag. Maybe I had been running on air? When I finally crested the last hill and hit my driveway, a mere 1 hour and 45 minutes from when I started, I remember thinking I was proud of three things: I was proud to finish such a long run. I was proud to set a personal best distance mark, and of course, I was proud to be an American. I also wished I had a hot tub, but I took a nap instead.
