Beginning to End of the Miles of the Journey?

A new life and eventually a new lifestyle was launched on this Thanksgiving Day in 1982.


In the Beginning


Several times when I was young I came close to dying from asthma, pneumonia, or the medication itself. Many times I really wondered if I was going to be able to take that next breath. In those days treatment options were quite limited. Consequently, prolonged bouts with this stuff seemed to keep me in an emaciated physical state. At age fourteen I weighed just seventy-eight pounds and was four foot, eleven inches tall. There were many nights in my life spent sitting up in bed just trying to breathe. My back grew bowed and one side of my chest protruded out much farther than the other. I looked deformed and I guess I was. For me, playing sports was quite limited. I was always the last one chosen for a team.

After adulthood and years of treatment, my health improved somewhat. Eventually, I grew out of my deformed chest; but still, I was occasionally besieged by bouts of severe asthma attacks. It seemed that being an asthmatic was my lot in life, my own piece of hell, a curse from which I would not be set free.

Thanksgiving morning, 1982 found me once again suffering from an asthma attack. Having been up most of the night trying to breathe, I was a man much out of sorts. Somehow though, on this one day in time, a whole lifetime of frustration seemed to culminate right then and there on that Thanksgiving morning. I was just fed up. I was just angry—very angry. For some reason, I just wanted to run. Absurd as that reasoning might sound, I just wanted to make my lungs suffer, to strike back at something, at anything. “Enough is enough!!” I thought. If I were going to be gasping, struggling for breath, and wheezing, well by golly, I might as well have a good reason for it. I was going to run! What was I thinking? It was crazy, I know. Could be I was just a little bit over the edge at the time?

I had no shoes to run in so I laced up my hunting boots and started a slow jog down the dirt road in front of my house. I was going to run the quarter mile to the end of that road if it killed me. It very nearly did. In fact, after only a few moments, after less than a hundred yards, I was bent over with my hands on my knees, seriously struggling for air. Asthma had beaten me again, I thought, as I walked slowly and dejectedly back to the house. Surprisingly though, sometime later after I had fully recovered, it seemed that I could breathe a little better than before. And some of that anger—no, a lot of that anger—was still in there bubbling, simmering around inside. I would have another go at it the next morning. This wasn’t over.

The next morning I got a little farther down the road than the day before, but it was still a suffocating experience. Beaten again. But, I had gone a few feet farther. It wasn’t much farther but there was some small satisfaction in it. Afterwards, I again found I could breathe a little better than before my run. The next morning and the next and the next found me making similar attempts and being met with similar defeats. But, with each effort I was getting a little farther down the road. Anger had matured into firm resolution. My mind and spirit now had “missile locked” on someday getting all the way down that road, the whole quarter mile. Finally, one day I just hung on, suffocated more than I ever thought I could, and made the whole quarter of a mile. No, it wasn’t an Olympic finish. No bands were playing. No crowds were cheering. No one cared, but I knew. It was just my own ecstatic experience, a private victory on a little dirt road in the middle of nowhere.

No stopping me now; I had tasted it. My asthma was getting better almost daily. Finally, one morning I ran all the way back to the house—a half mile. I was elated! Then the day came when I ran a whole mile. Like a prisoner breaking out of his jail cell, breathing fresh air for the first time in a very long time, there was no containing me. I was out of control and still am, I hope. Thank God!! I traded my hunting boots for slip-on deck shoes and, when my long runs got to around three or four miles, I finally bought real running shoes.

The rest of the story is about longer runs: 5Ks, 10Ks, Half Marathons and, in 1987, my first marathon. Sometimes, even now, having completed over thirty marathons and many triathlons, it is still hard to fully comprehend. To think that I did all that, yet knowing all the time I am really nothing special, just a no talent, ordinary person who hung on. I am so grateful! I feel so blessed!! May I never lose that childlike wonderment at all this. May I never forget that first frustrating Thanksgiving morning in 1982. But even more importantly, may I never forget to give God the thanks, that I can run!! From the book, I HEAR FOOTSTEPS, by Marvin Dittfurth


I did run: 32 marathons and countless miles in training. In this year of 2015 I ran 890 miles, swam 75 miles, and biked over 7100 miles - slightly more than across the United States and back again. In adding it all up once I found I had ran aroung the world a couple times. I have had a good run of it in life.

That first run in 1982 was pure misery and I am glad I continued on trying to run. Today and yesterday, my short runs were just as miserable, if not more so than that first one in 1982. The pain was almost unbearable. So, is the the end, the last mile of this wonderful journey. It sure feels like the last miles I want to run. Is the journey over? Right now, it feels like that. God will sort this out over time. But, in the meantime, no running any more miles of the journey.

The New Challenge

"Inactivity is cowardice," someone wrote. Hoping, praying for healing, and trying to rest injured body parts has made me more inactive than I have been. Not being active is a new challenge for me. It feels unnatural. But, being inactive during Christmas season does give diversion to this new challenge. This is not something I can train through. It is bigger than that and will require the discipline of inactivity. But, it feels like cowardice.

And I don't want to become accustomed to this lifestyle. I have seen the physical demise of others who succumbed to the tempation of inactivity. As a prescription I would say inactivity is good in small doses and do not take any more regularly than you absolutely have to. The side effects can be quite debilitating.

So my new challenge is dealing with the small doses before it becomes cowardice.

Inspiration: Am I Really?

Over the years lots of people and triathlete participants have told me what an inspiration I am. Although, I am not sure of exactly why. Of course, the obvious: I am over 70 years old and still doing swim, bike, run. But, in my own eyes I see myself a little differently. I hurt at times. I am hurting now. I go from wondering if I can keep this up and injuries bring serious doubts. It seems my triatlon life now is a day to day waiting for the axe to fall ending all this. I am afraid to go to the doctor for a check up because at my age, he might find something.

It takes more to keep moving forward through all the pain, discomfort, and fears at this age. Although on a day to day basis I feel like a beat up old man at times, but from an overall perspective, maybe there is really a cause to say that I am an inspiration. After all, I fight these old age demons and am still standing at an age when many have relegated their passion to finding a bargain at Walmart. Inspiration? Perhaps to some, I am.

At "Nevertheless"

7000 miles on the bike was my goal for 2015. 900 miles running was the other goal for 2015. I am only 32 short on the bike and 12 short on the run and 2015 will be a success or so it would seem to be. But my New Years song might not be traditional but instead be my version of "Happy Trails to You," the old Roy Rogers song.

This back and hip pain has made me make the following resolution: complete this years goals and not do anything as far as training, until 2016. If my back and hip are still not good enough to support training, I will be moving on to something else. Still not sure what that might be but God will provide, challenge, and empower the next thing He would have me do. Of course, I would like to get well, to continue triathlon, but I am also ready to move on if that isn't in His plan for me.

My efforts lately have only been a semblance of training; half efforts which undermine my own self-respect and are a insult to the sport itself. Like that famous line from the movie SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION: "get busy living or get busy dying." The verb in both those options is "get busy." And so I will. Wish me well in however this comes out. The point has been reached where I can honestly, sincerely say to God, "Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done." Perhaps that was what He was trying to bring me to in the first place and now that I am there, it is time to move one? Whatever - I am at "nevertheless." Merry Christmas - Happy New Year

Christmas First

Holiday season and the weather is great. The clear blue sky, the frost on the top of the grass, the chill in the air, the fire crackling inside, and, of course, the Christmas tree, mostly decorated by my grandchildren; all of this beckons me to sit back, take it all in and enjoy. This stuff doesn't last. These moments are passing by like yesterday's parade and I need to train. It is a conflicted state. If I don't train I will miss getting into the kind of shape I want to be in to take on the new year's rigourous training for the goals that are set. If I don't take in these holiday moments, I might miss precious moments that can never be duplicated. At the end of this season do I want to be found missing something?

The yearnings may be complicated but the answer is simple and obvious: Christmas first. I can recover from diminished training but I can never recover, never bring back the moments of Christmas. So, I resolve to protect the most precious, and in doing so, possibly protect the better part of myself; that part that God can use to push me into the harder training of the coming days.

Whatever

This stuff will beat you down. So much stuff hurt that I was going to cut my planned 7 mile run to 4 miles. But, I have been at this so many years, have faced this down so many times, that at 4 miles I just kept going. The trails were muddy with no way to pick up speed even if I were physically able. Nothing got any better, not even my outlook. All this pain and discomfort bodes badly for my future. What does that hold? It was not one of those excited, giddy, and inspiring accomplishments but eventually, I made the entire 7 miles. This was not a good day.

How many more of these will I have? If this is an every day thing, do I want to go on doing this? Can I change and do something else. If this is all God's plan to teach me humility, I think I got it; made the honor roll, 4.0 grade point average in humility 101. Whatever, "nevertheless not my will but thine."

Day 82: No More "Days"

Early Saturday morning before daylight. My back is no better, but no worse from yesterday's 10 mile run. Sometimes I think this is how it will be; that from now on the cost in pain for physical activity has gone up quite a bit like everything else. Not sure what the training plans are today, but I will try to loosen up the back as best I can and do something. I will pay the price today and probably tomorrow, and the day after and so on - it is worth it.

So to keep this blog from degrading into "how my back feels today" posts, I am ending the "Day" format of this blog. From now on it will consist of various subjects - unrelated to my back - within the context of the "Miles of the Journey." And, I see the first hints of daylight and the journey goes on. The journey is the same, but the vehicle traveling it is a little different.