Lapped By the Sun:
By John Prohira
The Gifts of Optimism, Honesty and Acceptance
Isn't it great being here tonight honoring the Rochester Runners of the Year? Witnessing Bill and Carolyn's induction into the GRTC Hall of Fame? Thank you for letting me join you. I've never spoken like this before but I feel very comfortable. I knew I would for I am in the company of kindred spirits. Do you recognize the feeling? Being in a room full of runners? I remember reading something that the running philosopher George Sheehan once wrote about that sentiment. He said that telling him someone was a runner told him more than anything else could have about that person. Whether I know you personally, by sight or reputation, whether we are old or not yet friends I find comfort and validation in the fact that we share this appreciation of running, our play involves exercise, using our bodies and minds and imagination moving towards and doing that which we love. We have so much in common with one another, whether we run track, on trails or road. Whether as runners we finish at the front or back of the pack. Whether we have our efforts timed with a stopwatch or with a calendar or not at all. Our shared experience is that we run and recognize the value in that effort. I agree with what an ultrarunner and zoologist from the University of Vermont, Bernd Heinrich, thinks about running. In his book "Racing the Antelope" he explores the human desire or need to run. He writes, "The human experience is populated by dreams and aspirations. For me the animal totem of these dreams is the antelope, swift, strong and elusive. We chase after the antelope and sometimes we catch them. Often we don't. Why bother? I think it is because without dreams antelopes to chase we become what a lapdog is to a wolf. And we are inherently more like wolves. The communal chase is part of our biological makeup. We are "hardwired" to run".
Through running and exercise we strengthen muscles, hearts and lungs. But there are other exercises performed each time we practice our passion and run. Optimism, honesty and acceptance are three that come to mind. This experience we share involves struggle and reward and it demands that we begin believing that we will finish. We must be honest with ourselves. A good run or race is one in which I do the best I'm capable of, only that. Some degree of pain and discomfort will have to be accepted. On a good day I can appreciate the challenge. Lessons will be presented. The finish line is not a given, it's earned. Many of you inherently know this stuff. I on the other hand am a slow learn. I'd like to share with you how I came to understand the real value of running in my life. Running has made my world bigger. It was Rochester runners and members of GRTC who first planted the seeds of fruitful running in me.
I'm an accidental athlete. One lucky enough to stumble into this by running away from a two pack a day cigarette habit. Running daily was the only way I managed to put them down. And that's just one wonderful gift I've received. 9 1/2 years ago I stopped smoking and began running. And as soon as I was able to run 5 miles without throwing up on my shoes I entered a local race. Then another and another, I met some of you then at the Freezeroos, at the Shamrock and Lilac events, at Corn Hill, at races in Irondequoit, Fairport, Pittsford, and Rochester, in LeRoy where I live. Middle of the pack at best was where I finished; yet I took pride in my efforts. I considered the shirts that came with race entries to be badges of accomplishment. I read about famous runners, about Pre and Bill Rodgers, studied the how-to books and magazines, thrived on Sheehan's "Runner's World" column. When I ran I felt better but never wondered why. I took it for granted. After a couple of years of 5 and 10K's, the marathon beckoned but not before my introduction to Bill Hearne and his posse in Bushnell's Basin. With them I was offered an up close view of runners not intimidated by races 26 miles long. They dragged me up and down every hill within a 12-mile radius of the Oven Door Bakery and taught me the value of long distance and hills but more importantly lessons in camaraderie and friendship, they showed me how to feed off of and revel in the goodwill and energy of others engaged in like pursuits. Now it was races beginning with the names of cities - Buffalo, Columbus, Virginia Beach that I entered but never Boston. I worked hard but never came closer than 10 minutes to the required qualifying time. I tried and tried yet this prize was denied me. A valuable lesson in acceptance was being offered. But I didn't know that then.
I continued to pursue that which I thought would certify me a real runner. Training hard and long, truth be known I probably could have worked harder but didn't. In the midst of frustration with the Boston chase I stepped back and asked myself some questions requiring honest answers. I was running more and harder but enjoying it less. The favorite part of the running week came when doing the ritual "long run" on weekends leading up to the marathon. To be perfectly honest with myself I enjoyed this long time on my feet much more than the marathon itself or it's aftermath. What to do with this realization? On a summer's day and night I watched our own Greg Brooks perform what I thought magic as he ran over 100 miles in 24 hours on a 400 meter track at a U of R during a fundraising event. How odd I at first thought. The more I watched the more intrigued I became. I wanted to know how the world looked through his eyes during and after something like that. Seems that I was hooked on ultrarunning before I even began.
I took the lessons learned on the roads around Rochester, your examples in optimism with me as I ventured into this foreign world of the ultramarathon. I began to enter races where the distance began where the marathon stopped. Now the rewards that came with my running where found in the woods and along the banks of the Potomac River and on the Civil War "killing fields" in Virginia, near Manassas and Antineim. There was plenty of time during these races for making new friends; they showed me what they thought distance was. They exemplified perseverance, strength and determination. Their distance allowed for time spent inside my own head. I began not to be afraid of going there. As one hour added on to the other during these long races I was introduced to the man I was and to the man I was becoming and I began to like him. More reasons to feel comfortable in the presence of runners. I was being shown the value of hours spent chasing the sort of spiritual food that the ultramarathon offers. I found the glow that meal provided sustaining, more than worth the effort. At 40 years of age this was nourishment I desperately needed.
Just as there is often a progression once a runner from the 5k races to the marathon, in the world of ultramarathon it's the move from 50k to 50 miles then 100 miles. Why 100 miles? It is a really nice round number. Maybe it was just an attempt to know what Brooks knew. Woodstock, Vermont is where I lost my 100-mile virginity. On a July day and night in 1998 at the Vermont 100 Mile Trail Run I used 29 of the allotted 30 hours running and walking the course containing over 14,000 ft of climb and an equal amount of descent. The world I saw that day, night and next morning was one full of wonder. I met and ran with men and women aged 19 to 75, some from as far away as Japan, Germany and France. Yes, there were wonders to be seen and felt. Like the tuxedoed pianist to playing his instrument under a canopy 1/2 hour before the race. What an odd contrast that was to the smell of Ben-Gay in the air and the eccentric and eclectic group of runners waiting at 4 a.m. for their journey to begin. Once again optimistically I had entered an event. It was faith more than any training that would assist me most. Faith in my Higher Power and in the good will of others. A friend of a friend would meet me just before nightfall, at the 68-mile mark and act as guide and pacer throughout the night. This gentleman, Dan Wittemore has become a mentor and friend but before that July evening all I knew of him was that he was a runner. That was all I needed to know. In his care I moved forward when it seemed more logical to stop. His gentle coaxing and honest assessment of my performance and chances of finishing helped me find the required inner strength. This was the man who showed me the importance of looking about at the world through which I was traveling that night. He taught me to appreciate that altered state I found myself in and when the second dawn of the race greeted us he had me stop and witness that sunrise and remember it. I did and I do. 50 yards before the finish line my new friend stepped aside, off the trail and bellowed to those waiting, "Look! Here comes a 100-mile runner!" The people there, many of them runners finishing hours before had waited and they acknowledged my effort. Stepping across that finish line 100 miles from where I'd started, wiping tears from my eyes I thought..."Peace." It felt so very good and right.
That was the first time that I was lapped by the sun, but not the last. I liked these ultrarunners. Although their practice of running might seem odd, I realized that they were not foolish; they were aware of how tired and cold and hungry and frightened and discouraged and disorientated and how possibly injured they might become. They knew that they would face great physical, mental, emotional and possibly spiritual challenges as they made their way to the finish. That was what they were racing against. That was their challenge. That was what I admired in them.
Running has helped me reeducate my mind and spirit and helped ease my way into middle age. As I mentioned earlier I am a slow learn and it took lots of time and distance for me to begin to see some of what Sheehan meant when he wrote that, " the runner need not break four minutes in the mile or four hours in the marathon. It is only necessary that he runs and runs and sometimes suffers. Then one day he will wake up and discover that somewhere along the way he has begun to the see the order and law and love and truth that makes men free." Soon after that first long race I began trying to apply some of what I learned on the trail to my real life.
I've been shown so much while long distance trail running, How can I adequately describe watching two sunrises, of twice seeing morning's fog lifting from the Shenandoah River Valley, later a sunset, and a moonrise all during one race? Throughout the night lovesick whippoorwills serenaded from both sides of the rocky single-track trail. Night running in the northern Ontario forests wolves were heard off in the distance howling at the full moon, calling to one another. Other running memories include sights of meteors raining down towards earth, and of bats darting in front of my face, feasting on moths and other insects drawn to the lights I wore. I was in Ohio, under a cloudless star filled sky last June when the space station was seen moving across the Little Dipper. In the Haliburton Forest we were issued bear bells and asked to wear them so as not to surprise and startle large forest residents. I find nature's experiences like these meaningful and humbling. I believe there's great strength in humility.
The ultramarathon showed me that there is no magic without honesty. I took a case of plantar fascisitis with me to a race in Texas and was consigned to the role of non-finisher and spectator after 60 miles. There's no room for BS on these trails, in reality much less room for it in my real life, sometimes I recognize this character flaw in me when it surfaces, others times I don't. But I never used to see it at all.
Through running I've learned to laugh at myself and see value there. I got off trail one night during a race and found myself standing, then sinking into a very large mound of cow manure. I'd pull one foot up and the other would go down, only deeper. As I tried to tread cow-pies I wondered just how deep this pile of crap was and whether my obituary the next day would read, "Western New Yorker drowns in manure".
One afternoon I ran along a stream leading to a gorge cut eons ago by retreating glaciers. 10 hours into this race I was engrossed in the beauty around me. These trails were so secluded, so enchanting that I expected to stumble across leprechauns or fairies playing on the slippery banks next to the meandering streams. I had just climbed the Wall, an embankment made of wet sandstone and interwoven with the roots of an ancient hemlock tree. The soil surrounding the root system of this old tree had been washed away leaving 15 foot of exposed roots that was used as a ladder while climbing out of this magical little valley. So hypnotized by the sheer majesty of the scenery that I didn't notice the half dozen teenagers playing in the water. As I approached one asked if I would take their photograph while they waved from behind the waterfalls. What? Didn't they realize I was engaged in a race? Couldn't they see the spirit-filled man I was busy talking to my God? No they didn't. They were kids busy celebrating life in their own way. And I could help them by being a little less selfish and self-absorbed, by just changing my point of view. It only took a couple of minutes for them to pose and smile pretty then I was on my way, much more richer for the experience of the valley because of them.
Watching an ultramarathon has got to be as exciting as watching paint dry. It's hard for my wife Lisa to see what I look like coming back after a day and a night in the woods. While alone on the trails I think about those I love most. Have any of you ever experienced running on a cool day then passing through a spot of warm air? Feels nice doesn't it? A much more spiritual experience than passing through warm spots in a swimming pool. One autumn afternoon during a race I was treated to that phenomenon. It was chilly and we ran deep in the forest and at one point streams trickled down the mountain on both sides of the trail filling my world with stereo effects. It was a bright and cloudless day and that sunlight danced in through the trees painting the landscape with patterns of gold, yellow and orange. At one point I ran from the chill of that day into a warm spot. That envelope of warmth reminded me of hugs and kisses from my beloved. And I smiled then as I do now. What an unexpected reminder of love. So even when my loved ones aren't there, they are. At one race just before nightfall my family surprised me as I came from the woods into an aid station. Imagine my joy seeing them, my daughters munching on aid station M & M's and drinking flat Coca-Cola. I put on my headlamp and jacket, filled water bottles and readied for the night. There was time enough for quick hugs and kisses, gently and gingerly offered and received, a function of my aroma and overall appearance and then I was gone. The kids aged 7 and 9 at the time thought nothing unusual about that. That was just something that their Dad did. Their acceptance of what I do is so cool. A gift. I believe it's the same gift of example you all offer your loved ones. They watch you go out and play, using your bodies, celebrating life, practicing being good animals. That is what you do. And they know that that is a good thing.
Trail running is better than a lot of stuff. But sex? Not completely but here are ten reasons why trail running is better than sex. They are more than a little bit true.
- Sex doesn't last for more than twelve hours at a time
- It's easier to explain the injuries
- Trails don't get jealous of other trails
- You can freely discuss when, where, and how many friends you were with when you lost your ultra running/trail running virginity
- You actually want to remember when, where, and who . . .
- It isn't embarrassing when people find out you train a lot on you own
- It confuses the hell out of jealous spouses who can't figure out what they are jealous of and why it is so much fun
- Nobody tells bad trail running jokes on prime time television
- You don't have to hide your copies of Running Wild and UltraRunning
- It's good even if your running partner goes too fast for you.
Ultrarunning is simple but not easy, another reason to like it. Here is the start and there is the finish all that is required to get from here to there is to put one foot in front of the other. I've mentioned earlier that it was in the woods that I began to understand the nature of spirituality. Confused by these feelings I consulted my dictionary for the definition of spirit finding - "the creative and animating power of God, the vital essence or animating force in living organisms, or energy". And spirituality - "something incorporeal". While long distance running the evidence of God's creative power is overwhelming and so obvious. Running like this I am humbled by the distance, by the challenge, by how bad I feel during parts of the race, by the terrain. Humbled by the power required to make a mountain or a river or to make a flower, a tree, humbled by the sheer beauty of a glowing sunset or the raw power of a thunderstorm. I'm in awe of the resurrection of sorts that occurs when the sun rises on the second day of a 100 mile race, amazed at how quickly I can go from feeling absolutely horrible, from the depths of despair and fatigue to feeling again strong and capable. It's more than physical strength that enables a person to complete long distances. These long distances demand so much but the return is grand. And in the end they make one more human. In the months leading up to my first 100-mile run I wondered did one have to become obsessed in order to run like that? No, not obsessed just enchanted. Enchanted, from the Latin, incantare, upon + cantare, to sing, to sing upon or about . . . in order to create. It's related to the word for chant. It speaks of entering onto mysterious ground with one's wits intact. This is quite the opposite from having one's mind frozen by an obsession. That's how I felt the next time I lined up for an ultrarun, as if I were again entering mysterious ground. I came to run and sing and create, in a sense remake myself. I'm a work in progress.
Immersed in the physical effort required on the trails I have opportunities to pray and meditate. For me praying is talking to God and meditating listening to Him. While running my senses become honed, sharpened and receptive. Like the Buddhist monks who find after their fasts and rituals that they can hear ashes fall from incense sticks and smell food prepared miles away. The monks claim that their sight is vivid and clear and that they come back into life radiant with a vision of ultimate existence. Sometimes in the woods I think grand thoughts. But then other times its stuff like this that gets caught in my head and played over and over again. Poetry...well close enough. Who knows this one?
"The moon was out and I saw some sheep
I saw some sheep take a walk in their sleep
By the light of the moon, by the light of a star
They walked all night from near to far."
-Dr Seuss
Still it's cool. When not reciting poetry, pondering my God or thinking about my family I consider others who touch my life. Folks like Bill Hearne who unconditionally welcomed me into the ranks of the Oven Door Runners one Saturday morning. And Carolyn Smith-Hanna, a world-class lady who also happens to run world-class fast. At the Sweet-Heart 5K one year this champion made the effort to talk to my children and then share with them part of her first place finisher's award. Bill and Carolyn's gifts of time and attention are so grand and meaningful. All I can say is thank you. You are what come to mind when I think of heroes.
I came to ultrarunning to regain some of the rewards I'd lost from running. Something important was missing. I came to this frustrated by a lack of a Boston marathon qualifying time, disappointed by my lack of speed. I sought long distance trail running expecting to obtain some form of satisfaction doing the unusual, something different. I searched for that which would set me apart and place an individual stamp upon myself. Surprise, surprise. What I found was totally unexpected, maybe an example of my Higher Power's grace or sense of humor. On occasion I'm offered the privilege of looking into the eyes of another ultrarunner as they approach the finish line. I look for it all the time now but the first time I saw in the eyes of a man crossing the finish of at the Massanutten Mountain 100-Mile Trail Race it almost knocked me off me feet! I looked into his eyes, into his soul so I thought. I was amazed! I saw that I was him, that he was me...I understood that I was connected to, not apart, and that felt so right. This realization went deeper; I understood that I was connected to him not only as a runner but also as another human being. What I saw in his eyes reminded me that as a part of humanity I had all the frailties and strengths that everyone else had. That comforted me. In an instant, I recognized the immense capability of man. This was shown me as that runner's 36-hour journey ended. He was my dream totem. His was an exercise in optimism and I was reminded of all the wonderful things we can and do accomplish everyday. This is what draws me back to the ultramarathon, how I practice my running passion, this is how I satisfy my inherent need for the communal chase. For me the rewards are on par with the effort. Finishing 50 or 100 miles requires a complete emptying of myself. I empty all that is John out in the process. Then I have the chance to refill myself with better stuff. It doesn't happen perfectly. Most of the old stuff, the old behavior and attitudes come rushing back in ASAP. But as an unexpected reward, perhaps as a gift of my God's grace only 99% of the same old me comes back in, not all the pettiness, jealousies and resentment fill in. The other 1% is the good stuff, simple and kind. The stuff I want to be made of.
Thanks for allowing me to share some running thoughts with you. For letting me share with you my love for our common passion. I've learned and you have all helped show me that honesty, optimism, faith, acceptance, recognition of good, perseverance, strength, determination and most of all spirituality are the requirements for finishing what we start when we run and race. And all those things just happen to be rewards waiting at the finish.