Day 100 Had the Sweetest Taste

I knew the day was fast-approaching and some preparation was necessary. Some days I enlisted my friends while others were solo efforts. I knew, though, that all the work would pay off, would be well worth the work during the buildup. If you were there, it was certainly a memorable experience. If not, you'll likely be a bit envious. And while you, dear reader, may think I'm discussing the dulcet tones I generated along with friends and family (thanks to TonyN, AJ, KN, and Mrs. RB) at a recent wedding, I'm actually referring to day 100 of my current running streak, which took place Father's Day 2020.

When I started this daily run streak, the marathon I was due to run at the end of April 2020 had been postponed (see you April 2021, Kentucky Derby Marathon!) on account of our common enemy. So for my mental health, I decided to get up and run every day. (You can read about that, including my self-imposed parameters, here, to see that I had not specific number goal in mind.) My longest streak before starting the 2020 edition had been forty-three days, set between Memorial Day and Independence Day 2019, but I hoped not to attain that this time around. So as I neared day seventy around the end of May, the century mark started to come into focus. What? 100 straight days of running at least thirty minutes? I had to do something to commemorate the milestone.

Before we get there, let's back up just a little. My friend Bruce hosts a podcast, Youngstown's first running-centric podcast, in fact. And I've had the honor of acting as both guest and co-host a few different times. During Ohio's stay-at-home era, Bruce took to inviting more widely known members of the running community to appear as guests. (Deena Kastor, Ken Michal, and Dave MacGillivray--on the day 2020 Boston Marathon was officially cancelled--to name but a few.) Early in May, Bruce asked if I would (virtually) co-host an upcoming episode, and I immediately agreed, seeing how everyone's calendar had effectively been cleared. And when he told me we'd be interviewing Bart Yasso, I was elated. I mean, aside from popularizing what has become known as the Yasso 800s, this guy had recently retired from the greatest job in the world. (If you're reading this, anyone from Runner's World, I'm available to fill that vacancy.) Now, when I get the opportunity to interview people, I hope to ask something that very few, if any, have asked in previous conversations, and I knew just what I wanted to discuss with Bart. In addition to inviting him to run the Youngstown Marathon and go for pizza afterward (he accepted!), I remembered that Bart had written about running a 5k at a nudist colony. (I'll let you read about it and listen to the episode where he advises me to "Don't tell people what you're going to do; tell them what you did.")

And so, with day 100 approaching, coinciding with Father's Day, I began to make my plans: I was going to recruit a couple friends, drop my shorts, and streak for one mile.

My biggest concern in preparing for this adventure was encountering a woman along the way. It's not that I was worried about another person seeing me naked, I simply would hate to generate fear in any person, let alone a woman, in the gift that is the Green Cathedral.

We arrived at our arranged meeting place separately that morning, and the first words I said after getting out of the car were, "It's a lot brighter at 6:30 than I thought it would be." My friend REI got out wearing only shorts and his running shoes which caused the third and final member of our party, ST, to say, "Wait, is [REI] streaking, too? Am I streaking, too?!" I responded, "If you're here, you're streaking. Get ready." As we heading down the (fairly) secluded road, I noted, "These houses are much closer to the road than I remembered."

About a quarter-mile into the run (which we started and finished fully-clad), I stopped, and the three of us stripped bare, but we left our shoes on because we're not weirdos. It may or may not have been the fastest mile I've ever run (probably not, because I was prepared to sprint in the opposite direction if we happened upon another soul), but we finished running it, shorts in hand, sans clothing. During the naked mile, REI even screamed, "FREEDOM!" unnecessarily drawing unwanted attention to our antics. (Thankfully, either no one heard or no one responded.)

Since telling that story a few times, even to people I didn't mean to hear it (sorry to my kids...sort of), some folks have asked if I felt terror. Others have asked if I felt exhilarated. The truth is neither, maybe somewhere in between. I mean, we didn't commune with nature or get arrested, and neither of those things was the goal. It was an odd sense of celebration of an accomplishment, something silly to do with my friends. And my sweet wife continues to say she's glad I did it. After all the stress over the last few months, being penned up in the house, wondering and more wondering, we refused to take ourselves too seriously and found an act of much-needed catharsis.

(Answers to a few questions I've received: I'm not ashamed of having run naked through my park. I'm glad we didn't get caught. I have no plans to do it again, but I wouldn't immediately reject a repeat performance. Chafing is real, but you can prepare for that. And what's weirder than three grown men streaking in the park? One man streaking in the park.)

Warring Against Apathy

As we approach day forty of the stay-at-home (or quarantine or lockdown or whatever-you-want-to-call-it) era, I've noticed a bit of a shift. Maybe you've noticed it, too.

Remember a few weeks ago when you received regular text messages, phone calls, invitations to video chats, and the like? Maybe you even created a schedule for checking in with friends and family. This, of course, came after the initial panic subsided. Remember the panic days? The "oh crap, people are going to start rioting over toilet paper" days? When you probably started looking around your home to see what you could use as currency when cash or debit/credit stopped being an option? No, you moved beyond that and could start thinking outside of yourself, making sure your loved ones had what they needed, including some semblance of mental health.

So part of your routine included these check-ins. We've become familiar with Zoom, Google Hang-outs (or Meetings), Microsoft Teams, Skype, et cetera. My wife and I have participated in a couple virtual happy hours and even a virtual game night (thanks to Hollywood Paul, not Paul Hollywood).

My hobbit friend (you may remember him as the guy who called me at mile twenty of his first--and only--marathon, walking in circles, doubting he could finish) recently asked me how I was doing with the pandemic and staying at home. After a moment or two, I responded to his text with "warring against apathy."

On a family walk in our beloved Mill Creek Park, my teenage son and I were discussing this very thing, kind of reflecting on our mental states. As he tried to articulate his emotions, he looked at me and said, "Is 'apathy' the right word here?" "Exactly," I responded. (I'm regularly impressed with and proud of my kids, but sometimes they really get it.)

See, we're all--like, the entire world--working through the stages of grief here. Everyone is mourning a loss, after all, whether it's the loss of a loved one or simply the former way of life. And I believe most of us are currently in the depression stage, the place where we feel numb, exhausted, and certainly empty. Maybe you even feel hopeless, maybe helpless. It's the stage where people withdraw, hole up somewhere, and wonder whether or not it's worth charging ahead. (It's mile twenty when you call your friend from the marathon course.)

But I say charge ahead, friends! What you feel is not always true or reliable. Take up those text messages and phone calls again. Schedule another round of virtual game night. Take a walk or go for a run (by yourself or only with the people in your home). After all, when asked several years ago by a nascent runner what I do when I don't have the motivation to run, I answered, "Discipline is motivation."

Be light; be Light

Much has been said, researched, and written about running mantras. Over the years, miles, and races, I have used a few. "To the end." "Finish." Even the affirmation "You are strong." At my most recent marathon, I simply told myself to "Spend it."

When I started running, as has been documented in these pages, I struggled just to tie miles together. Some of that was because I didn't understand disciplined pacing. Some of it was because I was out of shape and felt like I was going to die with each step. But the more I chased after the ever-elusive "runner's high," the more I started to consider my form, or what I later discovered was called "running efficiency." One of the factors in running form, bad or good, is the foot strike. The best, or most efficient, runners land on the mid foot. I didn't even know I had a midfoot!

(Mrs. RB, on the right, worked hard on her running form because of an injury. Here you can see her proper midfoot strike versus our friend's heel strike on the left. I know it was hard for her to change that, so I'm proud of her. Both of these women are powerhouses in every way.)

As I continued my research, reading articles and watching youtube videos (mostly watching videos), there were two things that struck me: First, proper running looking a lot like prancing. Second, these people looked light on their feet, and it had nothing to do with their weight. They are hurtling themselves forward, like a child careening toward certain doom!

So I started telling myself, "Be light."

This is something I have told the me in the photo above, from the 2017 Mill Creek Distance Classic, a beast of a half marathon. Two of the men in the photo had never completed a half marathon before that day, but they had been diligently and sacrificially training for that day since January. Leading up to that race day, we had spent several hours, and miles, together, talking about running, sure, but life in general. Navigating our way around the glorious Mill Creek MetroParks, reflecting on our experiences and learned truth. Even the night before, we shared a pre-race meal (handmade pasta is the best!) and didn't feel the least bit self-conscious about our group foam-rolling session on my family room floor.

The Great One, Roberto Clemente, said, "If you have the chance to accomplish something that will make things better for people coming behind you and you don't do that, you are wasting your time on this earth." In helping these friends, these brothers, prepare for something equal parts monumental, insane, and minuscule, like the Youngstown Marathon, I hope to do just that: to be Light. More than this, though, is my desire to be Light in a deeper sense. Surely Clemente wasn't just talking about helping athletes develop. As you may know, he died in a plane crash en route to provide supplies to victims of an earthquake in Nicaragua. He saw his life as an opportunity to help others. He he'd been blessed in order to be a blessing to others. Of course I'm flying over this, omitting tremendous details, but Roberto Clemente was Light.

This is something I hope to do: to be Light. Some days it takes more effort, which makes it a mantra. "Be Light, RB. Be Light." That's why running with people becomes important to me--we are Light for one another. If you know me or have read these entries before, you know I love Rescue Mission of Mahoning Valley, all of their work, staff, volunteers, especially the clients. They are Light in my community, helping people see and no longer fear the darkness, helping them know that the Light has overcome it. Some of the clients, my friends and neighbors, are in deep for a variety of reasons. They need real recovery, a Light. And so next month, with some help from RMMV staff and volunteers, we're launching the first Rescue Mission Discipleship Academy Running Club (name pending), helping Academy clients train for and run the 5k race at the inaugural Youngstown Marathon. So I ask for your prayers, that we might be a Light to one another.

I like to run, and I prefer to run long distances. So when people tell me they want to start running, I usually ask a few questions (about shoes, goals, time commitment) that regularly ends with an invitation to join me on a run. After some years and thousands of miles, I know that running breaks down inhibitions, and group runs often can turn into hours of silliness as well as intense conversations, sometimes pseudo-psychotherapy sessions. A friend recently added "reluctant friend" and "preferred hermit" to my list of titles as we discussed the idea of my ever-expanding qualifications, and the necessity of an accordion business card. I've learned, though, that people keep showing up, and I've been charged to be Light. So however reluctantly (and, honestly, the intensity of that depends on the day), I'll keep going, I'll keep saying "yes." After all, whatever blessings I've been given are not solely for me. They're for my family, my friends, my running partners, my community, even complete strangers.

And when their bodies feel heavy, I'll tell them to "be light."

(Above: heel strike. Below: the heavy impact of that heel strike.)