Five Ambassador's Hill Repeats

I am finally reaching a point where running is feeling more a comfortable part of the rhythm of life. It has taken about 6 weeks, but my legs are feeling less like squeaky wheels and more like…well, I can’t take that metaphor to its logical conclusion, as the correct term is nothing close to “well oiled machines.” But I can say that daily running is feeling more like a given, as opposed to a daily slog I have to wring out of a lethargic soul. When I get moving, it takes less time for me to get into the running mindset than it did even a month ago, and I am actually enjoying the running part more and more – instead of just anxiously awaiting its end.

Yesterday as I was running I was thinking about how lucky I am to be aware of the phases my body and mind have to progress through in order to get to this point. If I didn’t, I would certainly capitulate after the first few painful runs. I totally understand how beginning runners try and quit; I simply count myself lucky that I was stupid enough to refuse to give up running despite the loneliness and misery during those first months of my first marathon training in 1995.

The running journey – mind, body, soul – is so enigmatic and difficult to explain to others. During coaching for the Austin marathon, I remember begging my first-time marathoners who were threatening mutiny after 3 weeks into the program: “Give it 8 weeks. Please!” Why, they would ask. Will the pain go away? I would always feel at a loss for words, and stumble out with something true but hardly comforting: “No. But you know all those things that feel terrible and painful now? You’ll be happy about them then!” Eyebrows raised, more than a few were known to back away, as you would in the presence of a crazy person, and never return.

And rightly so. It is kind of crazy, this evolution that happens when running regularly becomes -- well, regular again. Somehow, I start associating morning soreness with a positive feeling about myself. I relate constant hunger to an active physical engine. Oddly enough, even not-so-healthy sensations – getting lightheaded when I get out of a chair too fast in the afternoon after a hard morning run, for instance – reminds me that I am pushing myself past what is comfortable.

And strangely enough, that feels normal.

I was thinking about all this yesterday as I ran 5 repeats of the Ambassador’s hill, which I have christened such because its last 10 meters pass the house of the American Ambassador to Malawi.

You might think that, being in the 11th poorest country in the world, the American Ambassador’s house in Malawi would be a bit understated. This, however, does not seem to be the case, unless you consider 1970s cheesy architecture to be inconspicuous. The house is a one-story lodge-type building, with some palm trees and tennis courts out back. About 5 SUVs hulk in the driveway. The best way to share the image with you is to hearken back to the 2005-2006 season of “24.” Remember President Logan’s pad: The sprawling one with lots of rooms? The one with wood paneling on the ceilings and walls that seemed to be there simply to muffle the conspiracies? Not that I really have any idea, since my encounters have only occurred when I am about 100 meters away and in a hypoxic state.

But anyway, all that is to say that there is a killer hill just outside his house. I am now reinstating a mid-week medium-long run with some hard running in the middle – hill repeats now, and probably progressive pace or speedwork later on. So yesterday, I sandwiched the hill repeats between two segments of easy running.

I made it back to my car after an hour and twenty minutes. When I got there, my legs were tired and twitchy, the bottom of my face was covered -- beard like -- in dirt, my eyes were stingy from sweat, and I was dehydrated.

The dominant thought in my mind as I stood by the car, tying to catch my breath? How nice to feel normal again.