Maybe We Ain't that Young Anymore

I awoke early last Saturday morning, rising with the sun as I typically do. As I bounded about my apartment, I knew that the muscular fatigue and staleness that had nettled me earlier in the week had subsided. The skies were clear. The temperature was warm. I was competing in a collegiate track, and it would be a great day, regardless of the race's outcome.

After a morning of lounging, I gathered my gear, negligently leaving behind my track spikes, and walked to the car. Driving north to the Johns Hopkins University track, I inserted Springsteen's greatest hits and instinctively skipped to Thunder Road. While I favored Born to Run, a rebellious anthem, when I was in my twenties, I now prefer its thematic companion, a song that champions redemption and hope.

In Thunder Road, Springsteen meditates on social conceptions of youth, as the song's narrator confronts his lover, Mary, about the limitations she imposes on herself: "So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore."  Springteen's message resonates with me because, like Mary, I have at times restricted my aspirations and doubted my potential for fear that my youthfulness had dwindled. As competitive runners, like athletes in most sports, we are hyper-aware of the deleterious effects of aging: once fluid joints become frictional; muscles degenerate, reducing our strength and speed; recovery after workouts, and especially from injuries, is prolonged. We attained great fitness, and with it much joy and fulfillment, because we are so keenly attuned to our bodies. However, our physical self-awareness also can be detrimental when it generates negative thoughts. Someday, we will no longer improve at our beloved craft, and we will begin a digressive process that culminates in the inevitable - the day when we can no longer run.  Haunting indeed.

Since graduating from college over a decade ago, I've raced intermittently at collegiate track meets. I usually return to the track only when it serves a utilitarian purpose and fits within a seasonal build-up to a peak road race. And for these reasons, I chose to race the 1500 at JHU. As noted in my previous posts, my target race for this season is the BAA 5K on April 19. To sharpen, I needed to a race, or at least simulate a race, of a shorter distance. JHU's 1500 seemed ideal, exactly one week before the 5K.

I experienced trepidation in the weeks before the track meet.  Racing the 1500 against college runners was intimidating, considering that I have spent many years focusing principally on distances between 10K and the marathon. Furthermore, most middle-distance runners - specialists at distances between the 800 and 5K - peak in their mid-twenties. At 32, I was probably one of the oldest, and perhaps the oldest, runner competing at the meet.

My fears proved unfounded after the race began. Racing in the third of seven heats, I was not among the fastest thinclads at entered in the 1500. Still, I immediately was off the back of the pack, running in last place for approximately 500 meters.  This did not perturb me in the least. Once a headstrong "youth", I knew that many of my competitors would squander their precious capital in the first 800 meters. I also was content to watch from a safe distance as the race unfolded violently, rife with collisions and contact. My miler's instincts, honed long ago, led me through even splits of approximately 66-seconds per lap.  I eased my way through the field and surged hard the final 200, ultimately crossing in 4:07.55. While the time is much slower than my personal best of 4:02 (2003), the race served its purpose, and I exceeded the goal I had set in advance.

Most importantly, the race corroborated what I have long believed, or at least tried to believe, about aging and decline in distance runners.  Compulsively dwelling upon perceived physical capabilities and the personal histories we've recorded in race results and running logs, we often prematurely pen our own obituaries.  When we impose an arbitrary shelf life on our abilities to excel, we limit both our aspirations and capabilities.  More damaging still, we fulfill our dire prophecies, misinterpreting correctable problems as the inevitable result of an aging. We misdiagnose injuries, burnout, and chronic fatigue, attributing these issues to a body that experienced too much wear and tear. I, too, am a perpetrator, and thus a victim, of this mentally. Like all forms of negative thought, it is a hard pattern to break.

I am not advocating that we gleefully neglect the aging process. To progress, we must be ever cognizant of the many changes our bodies undergo during the course of our careers. Physically, we are very different people than we were a year or decade ago. Our needs change. Our training preferences change; workouts that once elevated us to the pinnacle of fitness may leave us flat.  However, lamenting the loss of days gone by only limits what we can achieve and who we will become. At its best, the social construct of youth inspires us to live fully and utilize our talents and resources. And we should do so prudently by conserving our bodies, adapting to change, and eschewing self-imposed limitations. The end will come. But we shouldn't hasten it. 

I've devoted this racing season to celebrating my youthfulness and testing limits. In doing so, I challenge myself physically and psychological - to make fitness breakthroughs and to break through stifling paradigms. This track meet was incredibly fun, and it has prepared me to compete well on April 19. Had I passively accepted that I was too old to still compete and excel at the middle distances, I would have missed this opportunity and resigned myself to more modest endeavors.