Joni Mitchell

In the classic folk song “Big Yellow Taxi”, Joni Mitchell wrote the often quoted “Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone”. While she may have been referring to the environment, she could have been referring to any number of subjects, and certainly could have described the first half of my 2006 running year.

After going through the past three years, which included two marathons, injury free, the final race of 2005, the USATF 10 mile run seemed to be going great for me. As I passed numerous runners through miles seven, eight and nine, visions of a breakthrough time danced through my head. But at just past the nine-mile mark, disaster struck as my calf buckled. Although I wanted to stop, I was too close to the finish the line, and it was the last race of the season, so I hopped through the final ¾ of a mile, still winding up with a season best time.

Although I felt frustrated about the injury, I figured that the performance would sustain me through the long winter and I could slowly regain my traction. The scary part was that the injury was in a calf tendon that made it difficult to push off on the front of my foot. I didn’t run that often through the base building months of January and February but did a lot of cross training and figured I would be ready by March.

There were numerous times when I had what I thought was an encouraging run but it would soon be followed
by a recurrence of the pain. As the racing season started , I was far from ready to do anything more than a 5K and those would be done at a snail’s pace. So I took the easy way out and held off racing. As the club newsletters came in the mail, detailing race results and the results web sites filled up, I found myself more and more detached from what was happening.

Running wasn’t completely gone for me but things I used to take for granted were out of the question. Previous short runs became my long runs. Speed work was not even a consideration. I found myself looking more and more to the elliptical machines that always seemed like a waste of time.

Different milestones of the season went by and still I had not run a race. Less and less did I consider myself a runner and started to rationalize that after twenty years of pounding, my body had told me to stop. If I couldn’t race anymore at least I had gone out with a flourish.

Finally as the calendar turned into June, I started to feel encouraged. The President’s Cup Race in Millburn on June 19 seemed like the proper event to try my comeback. I had first run the race in 1985 and could run the course with my eyes closed. Numerous runners from my Saturday morning group would be there and it was also a big USATF race. I had optimistically joined the New Jersey USATF for two years following the 2004 season and this would be the first chance to use the second year of my membership. There was also an extra over riding reason that may have clinched the decision. I wanted badly to write about the loss of running races, but I didn’t think anyone in this newsletter would want to read about something so negative, so I decided to changed the ending of the original story.

I knew it would not be pretty but I wanted to get back out there and at least see my name with a time beside it.
Unfortunately the weather looked ominous, with a steamy day followed by thunderstorms. Less than an hour before race time the sky opened up but it had the effect of cooling things off.

I had decided not to wear racing flats for the race and to just try and get a workout in and not risk injury. As I started off, I knew I was slow. As one runner who had never beaten me passed me he said “Dave, I know you’ll pass me just a s quickly”, but before I could answer, I decided not to say a thing.

The first mile was about 8:40 and as I headed towards the turn around numerous runners that I either ran with or defeated were on their way back. But I didn’t care and I actually felt god that nobody I normally competed with were anywhere near me.

As I passed the two-mile mark I had almost exceeded my time from my 1985 race. I found myself competing with different runners and as I neared the finish line I was passed my the young daughter of the runner who I had conversed with earlier in the race. My time of 28:07 looked even worse when I saw it on the Internet but I was still happy that I had finally run a race.

We often complain about the difficulties of racing and the pain of it all but when you haven’t had the chance to experience it you appreciate it all the same. With all apologies to the immortal Ms. Mitchell, the parking lot of Charlie Brown’s in Millburn turned out to be my “paved paradise”.