For the Love

I started running a year ago.

Okay, so that is not remarkable. What is remarkable is that I’m a fly fisherman. 50 million Americans fish on a regular basis. About 58 million Americans run on a regular basis. Only about 5 million Americans fly fish, so I would say that’s pretty remarkable.

Yet my running is remarkable to me, as perhaps your running is to you. I’m a construction worker. I lived the middle American life, with the mid-life slide into mediocrity and obesity. Whenever I passed runners on the road I would think, or even shout, “run faster!”

I’m 44 now. I went through my midlife crisis. I detested my weight gain and bad habits. I got over the idea that I was going to die, or that life would end, at 40. I realized that I didn’t want my life defined by weight gain and loss of mobility. I was always the skinny kid- where was he?

I have also always been strong despite being slight of stature. People always underestimate me. But when I injured a leg on a backpacking trip into the mountains of Colorado, at the peak of my weight gain, it was a wakeup call. I had always been the strong one, the one carrying the extra load, the one helping others. We were on a strenuous hike for sure, with sixty pound packs and a steep climb of 4,000 feet over 8 miles up some very tricky terrain. But I had never had to be rescued before. And it was my own fault. I had let myself go.

What had happened to me is what happens to all of us. When we are young most of us (at least from my generation) took being thin and fit for granted. We rode our bikes everywhere, often several miles a day. We played tag for hours, running our hearts out without a thought.

In our twenties we went to college, hung out with friends, went clubbing, dated, and were too poor to pay too much attention to food. We also played hockey or basketball or football or all three. In other words we didn't eat much and did a lot.

But in our thirties things changed. We got married. We had kids. We had careers. In the perfect storm of adulthood we settled down, stopped running around, settled into careers and became sedentary. We could finally afford good food and lots of it. We didn’t plump out all at once- we gained a few pounds every year. 

By the time I was 38 my 5’7” frame weighed 195 pounds, up from a healthy 155. When I bent over to tie my shoes I would get out of breath and red faced.

The answers did not present themselves immediately. I knew that I was unhappy and needed to change. I did the Adkin’s diet and lost 37 pounds. I gained a good share back, but not all. I went through and survived my midlife crisis.

Then I started a partial love affair with veganism. Now mind you, I have been a life-long hunter and fisher. I take pride in my smoked butt. But I started realizing that having meat, eggs, cheese, sour cream, and more cheese in every meal wasn’t healthy. And I love vegetables. Then one of my customers, a chiropractor, said that they are vegan in the evening- all veg for dinner. This made sense to me- cut meat and animal products out of one meal a day and you have eliminated a bunch of calories, saturated fat, and cholesterol. I did that and loved it. It took a while, but I started to realize I didn’t need meat in every meal.

Then I dated a vegan. But that’s another story.

She did get me running. Or I should say she bought me running shoes. I have always been self-motivated. No one can make me do anything, especially not a significant other. I had been looking for a simple form of exercise that would get me going, help me lose some pounds. I was into biking in my teens and so I bought a bike and hated it.

But when my girlfriend bought me those shoes a gong went off in my head. It was too simple to be true. Plus I knew I’d hate it.

She got me to go on a run a week later. I pushed through that I’m-going-to-die feeling and ran 4.5 miles. My first run. I haven’t looked back. I ran my first half-marathon Memorial Day weekend this year.

I love running. I love it for its simplicity. All you need are shoes, shorts, socks, a shirt, and desire. It doesn’t matter how far you go, or for how long. It only matters that you do it.