One of the best runs I ever had was the day Missouri Medicine Editor John Hagan, MD, asked me to write an article about my metamorphose into a runner.
Time flew by during that brilliant October afternoon on a spongy and forgiving Jefferson City nature trail packed with steep hills and leafy Autumn overhangs. Deep in contemplation, the run seemed effortless and the miles and years peeled away. Why do I run?
I’ve always been active and competitive, preferring to be outdoors whenever possible. My second grade teacher discovered I could run faster than the fastest boy in my class and immediately placed me in our school’s track program. For the next eight years, I sprinted the 50- and 100-yard dashes to collect more medals and blue ribbons than I could count. I ran like a bird dog with its nose in the air, and looking neither right nor left, I flew through finish lines marked with tight, white string.
When track collided with high school cross country, I knew I was out of my league. I had trained as a sprinter, not as a long distance runner. High school gave way to college, and long hikes, cycling, kick-boxing, weights, and aerobics kept my heart thumping. Staying active brought me additional rewards: stress relief and sound rest. But long distance running was always elusive.
Those who have visited Missouri State Medical Association Headquarters at 113 Madison Street in Jefferson City know they will get a workout. Our 139-year-old townhouse office building is split down the middle by a 55-step staircase. I have to climb 35 of those to get a cup of coffee.
The real gem of this office is on the fourth floor. Where cubicle panels once separated offices, situated now is a treadmill, elliptical machine, nautilus and free weights, ab contraptions, a step bench, an exercise ball, and a tv/dvd/vcr combo. This gym has saved my soul on more than one occasion and several staff members also take advantage of the equipment.
However, many of my days at MSMA are spent in front of a computer. Even the daily stair-climbing and regular workouts couldn’t keep a 10-year weight creep at bay.
I was working out two, three times a week. I’m tall. I have big bones, big muscles. I didn’t look big, so how could this be? If I was as athletic as I thought, it must be what I was putting in my mouth. Having lost both parents early, one to heart disease, I knew I had to make some changes.
Above, Michele Kennett (right) MSMA Alliance Past President, has been a great influence in growing Liz’s running program. Ms. Kennett’s spouse, Jerry Kennett, MD, a Columbia cardiologist, is also a runner and MSMA Past President.
Both Liz and Michele were finishers in the Roots and Blues 10K/Half Marathon in Columbia in October.
In January 2005 I asked for a Weight Watchers membership for a birthday present. Following the program included attending weekly meetings, learning new dietary habits, and increasing physical activity. I dropped the extra weight in 16 months and achieved my goal. I’ve maintained my current weight for about three years.
Of course, setting future weight goals was important during that journey. While I was receiving encouragement through Weight Watchers, inspiration for improving my inner athlete came from the great outdoors.
My husband and I sail on Mark Twain Lake, a U.S. Corps of Engineers lake just west of Hannibal, Mo. The recreation area includes campgrounds, hiking trails, and of course, fantastic sailing. No wind means downtime at the dock. To stretch cramped muscles, we began walking a short 1.7 mile loop near our marina. On these walks I would ask myself, “What if I was running? I could see more of the outdoors and trails than I could if I just walked.”
Then a torrent of emotions and thoughts would haunt me: What if I failed? What if my lungs collapsed? What if my heart gave out? What if my muscles wrapped themselves in knots? My quads and calves taunted me: we’re sprinters, not long distance runners.
While there is no mystery to running, the secret seemed hidden to me.
Finally, I got disgusted of my own cowardice. Realizing that if I became winded or lurched into a spasm-induced hobble, I could always walk. I gave myself permission to stop whenever I needed. Thus liberated, I started running. In 30-second bursts. Then for one minute. Then a whole quarter mile. A quarter mile, imagine! For a runner on her toes, this was quite an achievement. Building muscle and lung power, I began to run for time instead of distance and looked to expand my running paths.
I explored the lane in front of our house and the “Greenway,” a long, six-mile flat concrete path in Jefferson City. A downtown route would be perfect after work, but this area was studded with hills rising out of the Missouri River bluffs.
At an MSMA Alliance function, I chatted with Michele Kennett, past Alliance President and a long-time runner. I asked her about hills. She must have sensed a budding runner, because she gave me the best advice ever: “Once you run a hill, you can always run that hill.”
That’s all I needed to know. I created a 3.2 mile ‘Seven Hills Run’ in the downtown area, with sweeping views over the Capitol grounds and the Missouri River, and you got it, seven killer hills. With the conquering of hills came more courage. I no longer felt shy about my ability to run only short and mid-distance runs. I asked Dr. Hagan what it felt like to run 26 miles and 385 yards. I chatted with other physicians I knew to be runners to glean kernels of instruction and motivation.
Encouragement has come from every family member and friend. I have gobbled up race advice, studied running shoes, salivated over cool gear, and had my gait analyzed.
To my astonishment, I tend to choose hilly terrains with forced changes of pace over flat routes, which are rather tedious.
I also discovered I enjoy trail running. In addition to giving my heart and lungs a workout, trail running has improved my sense of balance. It works nearly every muscle from my shoulders down because I have to be aware of where each foot is landing to keep my pace going. It takes more concentration to run trails. I can’t just put my mind on autopilot, like I can on roads.
I’ve run to bust stress, burn calories, and to behold beautiful places my husband and I have traveled. Running has unveiled spectacular city skylines and charming historic districts. I’ve darted through festivals and parks and skipped across sun-lit beaches, listening to the music of lakes and oceans. I’ve bounded like a deer at dawn through forested hills and rolling fields. Running has truly uncovered some amazing places in this world.
What I’ve discovered is any day you can run is a good day. But when I can’t, I’ll rotate in a fitness DVD and work up a sweat on the fourth floor. Weekly pilates sessions and strength training have also boosted my form, strength and stamina. Running makes me aware of the mantra, “calories in - calories out.” While I’m a Weight Watchers Lifetime Member, I’m not cured. I still track my intake. Stretching my culinary boundaries, my philosophy is to eat as close to the earth as possible.
As Stephen Covey, the author, said, “The best way to predict the future is to create it.” As you get older, your “firsts” become further apart unless you intentionally make them happen. Your first kiss, your first car, your first child, your first 5K.
I knew I wanted to run competitively. Not so much to see how fast I could finish, but to prove to my dear quads and calves they had what it took to take me farther than a 10-year-old’s 50-yard dash. I trusted that my sprinter’s heart would beat for as long as it took to make it happen.
After competing in several 5Ks, including the inaugural American Medical Association’s Ron M. Davis Memorial Speaker’s Run in downtown Chicago last June, I completed my first 10K this fall in the rain with a girlfriend who was the original inspiration behind my first 5K. The following week, I notched another “first” - a first place trophy in my high school reunion’s 10K. My next goal is to complete the woman’s-only Disney’s Princess Half Marathon.
My runner’s heart is always surprising me. I have discovered you can’t keep running to yourself. Running is too big for that; it is infectious. A runner recognizes a runner. All that support and encouragement with which I have been blessed I could not, by right, keep to myself.
I’ve gotten to know a fellow athlete who is in law enforcement. His job dictates that he stay fit, so we discuss our workouts, diets, and trade ideas for improvement. I learned he was born with a bicuspid aortic valve, diagnosed during a doctor’s visit 10 years ago. He’d always been athletic, but his performance was never affected. Once the condition was identified, his heart valve had to be replaced within five years. Now, nearly two years after a Ross procedure performed by Nicholas Kouchoukos, MD, a thoracic surgeon in St. Louis, my friend can breathe easier and workout longer. Running for him has now become a personal challenge.
His physical therapist taught him to “smell the cake, blow out the candles” to regulate and measure his breathing. While he claims he’s not built like a runner, by incorporating running into his life, he feels better and doesn’t get sick as often.
Does he worry about his heart when he runs? Nope. His children are his biggest motivation, and the whole process has taught him to enjoy every minute of his life, including ice cream.
Like many runners with a family, finding the time to run is a challenge. Maintaining speed and pace frustrates him, as well as hills. Hills, I ask? Hey, once you’ve kicked that hill….
Like Michele and others who could see the runner in me, I could sense his inner athlete just waiting to burst out of the blocks. We chatted about pronation, the advantages of yoga, endorphins, and wicking fabric. I turned him on to mapmyrun.com and shared copies of Runner’s World magazine.
I began to encourage him to run a 5K. Be competitive. Prove to yourself you can do it. I admitted to him my failings as a runner and how I’d climbed those hills grimacing and sweating and loving the fulfillment at the top. Frankly, I was afraid I’d pestered him about it so much that he was going to decline when I handed him the registration form for the Thanksgiving Day Pie Run.
“It doesn’t matter what your time is. It doesn’t matter if you can’t run the whole course. It’s important to finish. To prove to yourself just what it was you overcame to reach this place.” I told him.
Thanksgiving morning dawned cold and damp, with a fierce 25-mph hour west wind blowing down through the Missouri River bottoms. He was there with his dog, Hank, his sister and her dog, his dad and mom, who is a cardiovascular technician. They’d all signed up with him. I gave him a thumps-up and off we ran.
It doesn’t matter what my race time was. I was there at the end cheering him on, and Hank, too, with a big goofy, doggy grin on his face. I’m no expert in running but I know a grin when I see one.
As I run through the hills and valleys of my life, I thank my heart for its strength and its loyalty. It’s merely doing its job. The least I can do is mine.
Biography
Liz Fleenor is the Managing Editor of Missouri Medicine and a runner.
Contact: lfleenor@msma.org
