I've got your back...

   On December 11^th, I noted two things about myself that I wasn’t happy about.  The first was, in thirty-three years of running, I was about to finish a full year without running more than 1,000 miles.  Overall I’ve run more than 40,000 miles in those thirty-three years, but, in 2011 the total was barely over 900.

   Within minutes of noting that disturbing fact, I made my second unhappy observation: I saw myself in a full-length mirror and was slammed in the face with the obvious.  At least half of my running problem stemmed from carrying at least forty pounds of excess weight up and down the road.  

On the spot, I made a decision to run more and eat right.  In case you didn’t notice, that’s not a decision – that is a cop out.  Anyone could run more than I’d been running.  More than next to nothing is simply a bit more than next to nothing.  And, don’t you love the eat right one?  Cokes and Twinkies have nutritional information stamped right on their packaging. 

   Immediately after “making that decision” I missed two nights of running and ate everything I could catch and overpower.  That’s when I revamped the plan.

I committed to my idealized, but never stuck with for more than ten days, running plan.  It’s a simple plan.  I run three days and take the fourth day off.  Each run must be at least four miles.  That means, on a week with two off days, and running the minimum of four miles per run, I would be running at least twenty miles every week.

   My dietary objective was to weigh 165 pounds.  I’m 6’2”.  When I was a high school junior, I weighed 168, so 165 seemed a worthy objective.  I turned my dietary plan over to Christina when I said, “I intend to weight 165 by the end of April.  You’re in charge."

   She smiled and said, “You can do that.”

   So, how am I doing?  I don’t know how much I weigh today, but I know I weigh a whole lot less than I did 33 days ago.  I can look in the mirror that panicked me last month and note that a whole lot of me is no longer present, and I can tell it every time I get dressed, undressed, or go for a run. 

   Last night, I ran for the 33^rd consecutive day (including off days).  So far this month I’ve logged 129 miles.  With two more running days left in the month, I expect to finish January with 144 miles of running.   I wear a Garmin runner’s watch with heart rate monitor and GPS, so I know that I’m getting faster and running further.  I don’t need the watch to know that I feel better, a lot better.

Early on, I had my most severe test of the commitment.  On the fifth day, a day that I was scheduled to run, I was on the road headed for Columbus, Mississippi.  Christina had packed plenty of the right things for me to eat, but rain was in the forecast for the evening and that little voice in the back of my head was suggesting that I skip running and restart the commitment when I got back to Huntsville.

   I had an idea that this might be my last chance to get in the kind of shape I’ve wanted to be in for as long as I could remember, so I screamed the little voice down and stopped at Dick’s Sporting Goods, in Tupelo, and purchased a windbreaker that was labeled, “Water resistant.” 

   In Columbus, work done, I went back to the motel, and took a short nap.  I got up at 7:00 PM and, without looking outside, I began to dress to run.  I slipped through the door and turned toward the parking lot, finally checking weather conditions.  It was raining.  I didn’t even consider canceling the run.  I pulled my baseball cap down lower, zipped my new water resistant windbreaker up to my neck and stepped into the rain. 

   A mile later I was in the center of downtown Columbus, moving well, for a 69 year old overweight runner, and I was soaked.  There is definite difference between water resistant and water proof.  I didn’t care.   In thirty-three years, I’ve run in places you wouldn’t believe and weather conditions you’d believe even less.  I turned left toward the Mississippi University for Woman while marveling at how much water a water resistant windbreaker can hold.

   At the school, the street I was on narrowed from five lanes to a skinny two lanes.  Since traffic seemed to be having a tough time noticing me, I turned right and began searching for a quiet street with a good surface.  After a couple of blocks, I found one that met my requirements and turned left.  A block away from the school, I noted I was in a less than wonderful residential area.
   Frankly, I wasn’t concerned.  I’ve run through San Francisco’s Tenderloin Area, more than a few times – there isn’t a neighborhood that concerns me.  However, I soon discovered that there was someone in Columbus who was concerned for me.

   About half a block before I reached a dark corner, a Columbus Police Cruiser pulled into the empty parking lot of a long-ago closed corner grocery store.  As I passed I waved but the windows of the vehicle were tinted, and I couldn’t see the driver, so I had no idea if the police officer saw me.  I kept running, thinking that the patrolman had just happened to stop at that corner and his presence had nothing to do with me.  That idea went away when a half-block later another cruiser stopped at the corner I was approaching.  Again I waved and again I received no response. 

   I ran another mile along the quiet street before turning south, going one block, turning west, and a block later back north.  In that two mile section of my six mile run, police cruisers stationed themselves at six intersections that I ran through.    I didn’t need their assistance, and I knew it.  On the other hand, I loved it.  In thirty-three years and over 40,000 miles of running, I’ve never experienced anything like that.  

   It’s reassuring to know that someone has “your back,” whether you feel you need the assistance or not.  The best part was discovering, on a cold rainy night, a long way from home, someone cared, and they showed it.

   Whose back do you have?  Do they know it?