Need for Speed

Admit it. We’ve all seen it and God forbid we should be guilty of it ourselves. A runner crossing the finish line, checks his watch and, depending on his temperament, either shakes his head disapprovingly or fiercely stomps away with noticeable indignation. “ Hey, says the casual spectator, didn’t that guy just blast the competition in a time of 16:03? What’s he so upset about?” A legitimate question indeed, for what causes a runner to bemoan a 16:03 but salivate after a 15:59?

As runners, we will eventually be confronted with the question of why we run but I wonder how many have struggled to answer its corollary: Why run so fast? After all, John Bingham from Runners World Magazine in his monthly column “ No Need for Speed” is famous for advocating the theory that slow runners are happier, less frustrated individuals than those ego-maniac, pedal to the metal type runners who feel running in the absence of pain is a contradiction of sorts. With all due respect to the penguin, I tend to side with the opinion of men such as Frank Shorter who when asked why he found it necessary to run so hard responded: “ Because running fast is more fun than running slow.”

Simple enough, right? Well, not so fast ( excuse the pun)! Our fascination with the sheer roundness of racing times and mileage totals suggest they could represent barriers which we eclipse much like rungs on a ladder. Ascending to the sub 40 minute 10K class or joining the 4:20 mile club are feats of accomplishment in our battle not against flesh and blood but against Old Man Time. Regardless of who toes the line with you on race day, this fellow always shows up with concise predictability and daunting consistency.

There are two types of runners you are likely to meet. There is the recreational runner or fitness jogger, if you will, who would be hard pressed to recall a workout they completed 10 days ago on an obscure afternoon. Then there are the true craftsmen of the sport who will not only tell you what workout they did but also how the previous night’s meal affected their run and how that sock he put on his left foot caused it to blister badly.

To run fast is to disregard the speed limits imposed by age and weariness over time. It implies a defiance of mortality, a refusal to be counted among those timid souls who go gently into that good night without leaving behind a blaze of glory that others can look upon and marvel at. Granted, running outside our comfort zone can be painful, some might say, downright masochistic at times. But show me a runner in the midst of setting a personal record and I will point you to the substance of which he is made. For some of us, running becomes the crucible or rite of sanctification upon which our indomitable spirits are tested and become hardened. Instead of fearing pain we come to master and subdue it by recognizing that it is nothing more than weakness leaving the body.

It is this striving that in the end will define us, not the times attached to our names in the results page. So the next time you’re cruising down the road and hear someone yell out, “ On your Left!” don’t be surprised if you see me pursuing or being closely pursued by Old Man Time. Because whether you’re the hunter or the hunted, it’s all about the thrill of the chase.

So waddle on friends, but if you prefer, FULL THROTTLE AHEAD.