I'm A Runner

Years ago my family was driving around and we passed by Jim Ryan on some back road in Kansas. He was running. I thought how impressive to be running alone on some out of the way road in the boonies.  For some reason that stuck with me

When I was in junior high my gym coach got angry with my class for leaving a few towels out in the locker room and for punishment led the entire class on a so called “fun run.” We ran over rolling hills on the school ground, through the athletic fields and even past a few classrooms. I loved it.

A friend and I began to do our own fun runs. We loved running long distances, seeing various neighborhoods and passing all sorts of friends and strangers surprised by two running kids (this was before jogging was a thing).

I continued running. Obviously, I ran while participating in various sports, but also ran on my own fun runs. Jogging not just to stay in shape for sports, but because running felt good. I could think clearer. I felt uplifted. Often great ideas for stories came to me. Or maybe I was stuck on a scene and the jog would present how to write out that scene. 

I'd run around nearby neighborhoods, if I saw something in the distance that looked interesting, I'd run toward it. If I noticed a hill that looked difficult, I'd test myself. Pushing myself to make it.

After I got out of the army (82nd Airborne, where we ran as a group,  but I'd still jog later on my own) and came back to Texas, I kept running. Often would do it twice a day. I remember telling a friend that I liked running in the heat, even when it was 90-100 degrees. “It makes me tougher.” (See my macho blog)

As much as I loved sports—I got a degree in physical education—I never joined a running type team. Never took part in races. I just ran. I ran every day until I got older and decided I was getting too many little injuries from over training. As I mentioned, I loved sports, so it wouldn't be odd for me to run during two games of soccer in a day, then do a short night jog just to unwind. Yeah, that may have been overdoing it.

In 1999 I was riding my bike to the Posse East. A bar I liked to hang out at to drink beer and write stories and some of my books. A car hit me while en route.

Both my legs were broken, I had numerous cuts and scrapes and a light concussion. My left leg had a small break to the fibula.  The doctor didn't even set it. However, my right leg's tibia was broken in five places. The doctor put a rod and appropriate screws in to rejoin the bone. It's still there today as once the bone had healed, he didn't think it was worth another surgery to take it out and wouldn’t bother the leg to remain.

After about five days in the hospital (during Christmas no less) and  around ten days in a rehab hospital I went home. I could barely walk with crutches and used a wheel chair around the house.

I feared that I would never run again.

On a follow-up exam with the doctor, who just so happened to specialize in sports medicine, I asked him if he thought that I'd be able to run once the bone completely healed and I regained my strength in the leg. He said that was up to me.

And so I became determined to run again. I did rehab. I did extra exercises on my own at home. I walked with crutches longer and longer distances no matter the pain. As a gained strength, I went to a lap pool at my gym that was only about five feet deep and walked back and forth, practicing how to move my legs without the aid of crutches. I also watched movies for inspiration. No, not whole ones, scenes of running.

There was a scene in “Rob Roy” (1995) where Rob and his clan are running up a hill to escape the British invaders. The music crescendos as the men desperately scramble up that hill. It's a great scene, well, except where Rob's brother gets shot. I played that over and over. I may have seen that scene 1,000 times.

Another inspiration was a scene from “The Last of the Mohicans”(1992).  It's at the beginning of the movie where Hawkeye and his blood brother Uncas are hunting. They're hurtling through woods, jumping over ravines and scrambling up hills, again with stirring music building as they approach their prey. Yes, that probably got viewed 1,000 times too.

After a number of months, I could walk without crutches. I began with easy walks, then lengthened them. In the pool I would run (as best as I could against the resistance of the water). I finally decided I needed to try to run, no matter if it hurt. So I went to a nearby sports complex that I knew had perfect fields. Long, well-groomed grass that I knew would be like running on a cushion. I ran five feet. It was a little painful, but not excruciating. I walked a little ways and did it again. Basically, I did intervals. I advanced to ten feet, then twenty. Each day I'd extend the distance, alternating with walking. Eventually, I could do a complete lap around the field, then the entire complex.

 

So I soon was back to running. My fear that it would never happen overcome by determination and inspiration. 

A long time ago while running around an indoor track at the gym, I noticed an old man running. He must have been 80 or more. No, not a speed demon, just a steady, slow pace. Years from now if you encounter such a man, who may be one step from his grave, look closely. It'll be me.