Coach

The tropical depression that brought buckets of rain to the Gulf threw a few tails of storms in its wake in our direction; last night wild lightening storms glittered the sky. I canvased the news to try to decipher if marathon training would take place, even emailed coach Robert about weather. His response? ....we train in the rain...if its lightening, duck! etc. LOL. When I finally hit the bed I figure, see what's happening at 5AM. ...... Skies were clear. I throw on my gear, pack and leave. At the store, my 2 prior running buddies are missing, and in their place is Laura, short, compact, looking kind of fast, all business. Coach asks me, what are you doing? I say, I don't know, I had a hard week. Put in 34 miles, last run felt sluggish, and didn't run yesterday. He says, do 7, go with her- and points to Laura. Ipod wires at the ready, she seems good natured, and definitely ready to roll. As we cut out the door she says, don't worry I'm a 9 minute miler. I laugh; I say I'm just along for the ride, knowing this is faster than me.

The pitch black pre-dawn is heavy with moisture from the night's storms. Another group of runners, 4 milers, are already out ahead. Sure enough, Laura sets out- bam- a beautiful efficient gait that's eating up the sidewalk. For the ride towards the beach I just try to keep her in sight. We pass the group. At the beach we turn south and other groups of runners, bikers, are scattered like troops setting out to distant lands....Laura is by now too far to see. I'm churning down the big sidewalk of A1A, terrified of tripping, unable to see my feet. They seem to land with a plop-plop sound that seems hesitant and awkward. I am not feeling it. I figure we are in to our second to third mile or so heading for Las Olas, and I watch the bigger groups across the road skimming the beach; they look young, confident. I start to hear the talk in my head; what am I doing out here? I get so cocky, think I'm so great, then I make it out here with all these "real" runners and stumble along. I notice this self-talk. I know Laura is long gone. There's a drunk guy in my way, weaving and stumbling. I feel a little scared. I feel alone. I remember I'm supposed to turn right at Las Olas....and when I do, there's coach! "alright then, there you are, keep going straight on you'll see the bridge..." in his british accent. OK! Then I'm immediately lost again, winding through what is probably straight on but feels like I have temporarily fallen into a whirlpool of side streets. But there it is, the bridge over, and off I go! As I round the top I take a minute to look out at the boats in their slips, the few subtle colors of pinks, corals just coming off the sky, reflected in the water, the fairy tale houses that lean over each other on the banks......ah...coming down, I'm wondering ok, how far until I turn? Each right hand turn is a spit by the water. Just as I wonder where in the world I go, I see the lanky figure in his Team Ft. Lauderdale shirt, with his old master's gait, eating up the sidewalk, coming towards me. There you go! and he gives me my next set of points, as he leads me in to the water station at mile 4. Whew!!

From there its more directions while he heads up the road. I stop a good little while and soak up the Accelerade. I'm bushed, its damp, and now just coming light. I look up the road and see lush quiet neighborhood; my kind of running road! So feeling refreshed, I head up.

The silence of residential neighborhoods in early morning is glorious. In this one, the perfect Florida formula of old houses with big, lush landscape inspires me....I hug the water as the street rounds east and catches Victoria Park and north again, past other smaller greenways....amazing what I find in the runs.... sounds of birds, the plop-plop of my shoes....and There he is! Coach has come back down the road and is running me to mile 5. For a short stretch I leave the sidewalk (god i hate sidewalks.......!!) and follow him by the side of the road, watch his gait....it seems he hardly moves and yet I know he's probably going at a snails pace for him....while I try to just keep behind him, in sight. Ok, he chirps, there you are, that's 5, now its down there, up there, over there, and you'll be at the store.....

Coach doesn't strike me as too interested in small talk, as I take his cue, and he loads himself in the van for his next stop. Another lovely stretch, I see mosaic work on walls, the wonderful mix of art nouveau and artsy fartsy that Ft. Lauderdale does so well, with just a seasoning of decline....the sun has come up, the neighborhood is fully revealed as I come up to Sunrise and the shops, early morning traffic. It seems fast, and it felt dreamlike. He wasn't at the store yet when I finished, and the sense of his impression like a figment, my own urban running legend, was strong.

Running is SO mental. The inner resolve is best illustrated by what I know must be for him each week's preparation to keep track of the scraggly bunch of runners we seem to be. The paperwork, the hydration stops, the maps, the mile markers pain-stakingly painted on streets, the very careful keeping tabs....

I am so used to being alone....When my only job is to show up and run, it feels wierd to have someone paying attention. I see this theme play out in my life in many ways. I must live for myself, while realizing others might have a stake in my life as well. Only I can get mself through the course, but there are others ready to lend me directions, offer me encouragement, take care of my needs.

This might be the whole point of 'joining'....to allow myself to 'belong'. I, who never felt much attraction towards belonging in a concrete sense seem to be pulled in like a magnet to circumstances that take fortitude and trust on my part. That's ok, that's good. Those are 2 good and valuable things I have that I can stand to strengthen. A lot. For God knows it's all just getting started...!!