Running for my life

I had no way of knowing some 30 years ago that I'd still be running. After college, I put on a pair of Stan Smith tennis shoes and decided to hit the streets of Queens. I ran track in high school and detested any workout that even approached a mile. Shin splints, a pulled this or that, is what my long-distance running mates complained about all the time.

But after taking a job out of college, I started getting in a few miles two or three times a week and found that I loved it. How could I have gone from an 18-year-old who wouldn't run a 5K to a 22-year-old who looked forward to his five-mile run?

Many, many years ago I made a lifetime commitment to running. I pictured myself moving slower in my 70s and 80s but still getting out every other morning in all sorts of crazy weather.

Just the other day I was once again reassured I had made the right decision way back when. I was in a meeting, after which several of us hung around to talk. One of these people, a guy I've known for 25 years, began to complain that he was turning 50 later in the year and really needed to get into shape.

"I can remember what it felt like to be in good shape," he said. I could see how upset this made him. Shaking his head, he made that face you make when you drink sour milk. Then he turned to me. "Scotty, are you still out there all year long running like you used to?" he asked.

"Yeah, man. I ran this morning. I still love it and I still need it," I said.

A young friend of ours in her late 20s was in the room and asked me how old I was.

"51 years old, Stacy," I replied.

Obviously surprised, she said, "I've known you for 10 years and I always thought you were younger than you are. You look great."

Well, that made me sit up in my chair a little straighter. And I smiled. My accidental plan, now three decades in the making, was still paying off. This time it came courtesy of a pretty blond mother of two young kids.

About the same time I began running on a regular basis, I decided to forego marathons and such. Instead I aimed for what I considered an equally lofty goal: Running my whole life.

There would be no training for races and often no wearing a watch. Some of my running mates over the years would be shocked to see me go join them for 20-mile runs. Sure, they gave me a hard time for not entering races with them. I just noted that how you run is like how you eat: it's a matter of individual taste.

Sadly, many of them no longer run. Some stopped because of injuries. Some got lazy and others burnt themselves out. I still see most of them and they now look at me with awe and perhaps with a bit of jealousy. I also have my share of annoying pains and injuries, but my mental state regarding running has never wavered.

We all lace our shoes, set our courses and pound the pavement, treadmill or track. Each of us has our reasons and goals for running. My goal, by running four to six miles every other day, is to just keep going. I'm now well into my second time around the planet and show no signs of stopping.

Marathoners, triathletes, ultrarunners and such are dreamers; men and women who actually think they can put their bodies through intense training and complete a highly punishing physical endeavor. I admire them greatly for their tenacity. Yet, I occasionally wonder if they - the "real" distance runners - see me running outside with a friend in January in Milwaukee and ask themselves, "How do they do that?"