Running Stories (0): Mount Up with Wings Like Eagles

I suppose many people see running as a test of physical ability. When it comes to long-distance, people may add that running is also a test of mental toughness. Recently I read an article entitled "There Is No Atheist At 26th Mile", in which the author stated that when one had to stretch his or her body and mind to such an extend while running a marathon (measured at 26.2 miles), it also became a spiritual experience.

Running a half-marathon in Monterey this morning (November 16, 2003), I had to call it a spiritual experience at the end. What I mean, however, is somewhat different from what the above mentioned article indicated. I didn't wait till the end - when I was supposed to be extremely tired - to call on God. My strategy of saving a lot of energy at the beginning paid off handsomely; in fact, I ran my last 3 miles 5-6 minutes faster than my first 3 miles. I invited God into my running much earlier in the race by repeating this verse from the Scripture:

But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength
They shall mount up with wings like eagles
They shall run and not be weary
They shall walk and not to faint
(Isaiah 40:31, NKJV)

It fit perfectly because instead of running straight like the last race I entered (and didn't totally enjoy), I incorporated walk breaks throughout. As it turned out, I averaged a faster pace during today's 13.1 miles than I did in the last race of 12K (or 7-plus miles) at Bridge-to-Bridge in San Francisco. Walk breaks proved to be very effective.

4-5 miles into the race, I was already able to comfortably maintain a pace that would beat my own expectation. From that point on, I stopped worrying about running anymore. I began to see everything around me. The blue sky. The ocean wave crashing on the rocks. The cypress trees. The cheer crowds including local residents and race volunteers. There was Irish music playing. There was a team of drummers. A few violinists were playing a very slow tune; I didn't think they were helpful. Some runners were so fast (yes, those Africans) that they were already meeting us on their return route while most of us hadn't reached the half-way mark; and a man about my pace kept telling every one of those fast runners his or her overall standing. A few others were shouting "way to go" at those same runners. After the 10th mile, all I was doing was passing people, most of which only had energy left to walk. Knowing that I would finish a good time by my own standard - plus I began to tire myself - I enjoyed a few moments of intentionally slowing down to run with, typically, an older lady and give her a few encouraging words. And of course, the moment of exhilaration when I sprinted across the finish line. Constantly talking to God was one thing (which I enjoyed completely), while being able to appreciate every detail and every moment of the whole race - instead of only thinking about running and finishing - was what prompted me to call it a spiritual experience.

Perhaps I can use this space to recount my running stories - from past to present - to demonstrate how running has evloved from a physical experience to a mental experience and to a spiritual experience in my own life.

Running Stories (1): The Last Straw

I began my distance running at the age of 13. At the time, I was living in the dormitory of a middle school in Nanjing, China, my birthplace, only going home over the weekends - which didn't include Saturdays at that time in China.

As far as my physical condition was concerned, I was basically in a vicious cycle. On the one hand, since I constantly got sick and quite weak in general, I hardly participated in exercises or even just plain games with other kids. On the other hand, lack of exercise didn't help at all in improving my physical condition, so I continued to get sick roughly once every other week. It would have been easier had I stayed home, but since the middle school - one of the best in the nation - was far away, I had to live in the dorm most of the time. My mom would visit me at the dorm once a week to bring extra nutritious food like eggs, as well as some Chinese medicines that doctor had suggested me to take to improve my kidney condition. But after a year living in the dorm, no sign of improvement was shown.

Meanwhile, I could only get a passing grade in the P.E. class - not based on my performance, but because of my obedience and courtesy to the teacher. I literally failed every test on running, jumping, or throwing. I couldn't even compete with some of the girls.

Outside track and field, the situation was just as bad. Unable to run fast, I was often left out when it came to basketball or soccer. Well, the only position I could play in soccer was probably the goalkeeper, then of course no team would give me that chance because it would be too easy for the other side to score. Strangely, I didn't mind to be left out; I was perfectly fine to just watch from the sideline.

One day just before the winter break, which was around the Chinese New Year, my roommates at the dorm sat me down and offered me an advice. There was one last thing I could try, they said, and that was long-distance running. "This is the only event that doesn't require skills or special abilities to get started," they said. They wanted me to give it a shot over the winter break.

I didn't think that was a good idea. Just not long ago during school's annual New Year's Day street running race, I finished last with two "fatties" among the 90 plus boys in our grade. Those two boys were unusually heavy, considering most people didn't have much to eat during those days in China, and they were known for running slow. To finish last with them - in fact, the boy finished just ahead of us was way ahead of us - was almost embarrassing. I just couldn't run.

But just like my roommates said, I had no other choice.

The winter break started. Some neighbor kids got together to run in the mornings, and I joined them. We went to a nearby college to use its track. For me, running one lap of 400 meters (or 1/4 mile) at my top speed was my maximum distance, and that was what I did at the beginning. Then I began to add a little bit more, then a little bit more. By the end of the winter break, when almost all the other kids had actually quit, I was able to complete three laps. I was thrilled.

Running Stories (2): Boy on the Bus

After the winter break, I went back to my dormitory life. Things began to change now because every Sunday morning, while I was home with my parents, I would go to that college nearby and run on the track. I focused on 3 to 4 laps because that was what the school required the most.

My roommates began to see the changes, and they were happy for me. I still couldn't run fast, nor jump high, but at least I became "physically more reasonable." I no longer had to worry about being blown away by a gust of wind.

As for running, I didn't think that I had the prospect of running longer distance. I felt that I had reached my limit. Or in a sense, I didn't see the point of running longer. Then, quite by accident, I changed my view of myself.

It was a Saturday afternoon in the hot summer. I was on my way home. On that day we got off school early, and I went for a bus route where I could go to my favorite bookstore. Coming out of the bookstore, I had only 10 cents left in my pocket (in China, 1 cent is 1 fen). I wasn't sure about the exact bus fare from there to home, because this was not my usual route. Sometimes they charged me 5 cents, sometimes 10 cents. I decided to take a risk, because I really wanted to spend 5 cents to buy an ice stick. It was so hot! Before I could finish the ice stick, the bus arrived. I jumped on the bus with the ice stick still in my hand, and what I feared to happen happened.

The ticket collector, a young woman, asked me to pay 10 cents for the ticket. I said I only had 5 cents left. She said I need to pay 10 cents. I said the last time I paid 5 cents. Then all of a sudden, she exploded. She seriously thought that I had more money on me, or I wouldn't buy that ice stick. When I insisted that the last time I paid 5 cents, she began to accuse me of lying. That got me. I stopped saying anything, because if I tried, I would cry out aloud right there. The bus just waited, letting this girl threw all her emotions on me, with every passanger watching on. After who-knows-how-long, which felt like eternity to me anyway, she finally stopped and took my 5 cents. The bus took off again.

Then to everyone's astonishment, I got off at the very next stop and started to walk home!

Actually, I could take the bus a few more stops, as far as the 5-cent fare would take me, which would be only one stop short from where I wanted to get off. (Yeah, she could have been more flexible!) Then I could walk, and I would still "defend" my innocence. But obviously I was very mad. Not only I was mad about being called a liar, but I was mad at myself too. I knew 10 cents would be safe, yet I took a chance. Anyway, I was mad and I was walking fast. I walked for at least two hours.

When I got home, I wasn't that mad anymore. Then a thought hit me. It was almost stunning. I WAS NOT TIRED! After walking for this long, I wasn't tired! I said to myself, hey, maybe you are made to run long-distance!

That revelation proved to be quite true. I began to add more and more laps into my self-training. I began to believe that I could ran as long as I wanted if I really tried.

One of the most interesting aspects of life is how sometimes you discover yourself - rather unexpectedly.

Running Stories (3): A Runner's Mind

It didn't take me long to realize that mental strength was as critical as physical strength when it came to long-distance running. But it would be an exaggeration to say that I was very conscious about it. I ran to improve my physical conditions, and it was simple as that.

After a few years of running, one thing was sure. Mostly what I did was to improve myself physically. Friends would make comments on my endurance to run long-distance, and they meant my physical endurance. Deep down, however, I knew that my mental strength had a lot to do with my running as well, but exactly how it came to play was very vague to me.

Many years later, I became more and more fascinated by how human mind works. Partly because I was a computer science student in college, and I learned a great deal how people tried to make computer work one way or another. Through those attempts, people tried to figure out if that was also how human brain worked. Gradually, I started to view the whole situation from a different angle. Instead of trying to understand human mind through the development of computer, why not look at the human mind directly? That was also the time I made changes in my career direction. I decided that I would not be a programmer who deals with the machines all the time; I'd rather have the opportunities to deal with people directly. I enjoy to understand people and to serve them.

So how does a runner's mind work? I certainly cannot speak for anyone else, but for myself, I happen to remember how I was running and what happened to me through the years. I doubt that I ever developed much mental strength through running. Instead, I discovered some of my mental strength through running.

For example, my ability to keep a consistent pace was evident from my running. A big part of my preparation was to figure out how fast I needed to run each lap in order for me to finish at certain time, and once I started to run, I would stick to that plan. If I felt really good, I wouldn't rush to a faster pace based on that feeling; if I felt sluggish instead, I would push myself to hang on the planned pace until I ran through the "wall."

In later years I realized that consistency was the key to success in other areas in my life as well. Looking at the projects that I finished successfully, it was almost all because I was able to carry out the tasks in a consistent manner. On the other hand, many of my projects failed because I didn't have the consistency. Other people certainly may have different styles. I observe that some people are "sprinters" in life. They work hard and play hard. I know that's not my style. I know that through my running.

I suppose one could improve his mental strength through running if he understands how to focus and how to prepare for it. I certainly wasn't knowledgable enough when I was a teenager, nor was I smart enough to seek out a coach or a mentor. I just ran, all by myself. Perhaps some of my mental weakness showed up in my running too, but I was simply not aware of it. It's not too late, though. I am still running.

Running Stories (4): Olympic Heroes

Most of the classmates from my middle school and high school in China had no idea how I was training myself on running. Or put it more precisely, they had no idea that I was actually serious about it. For most kids, running was exercise. It made one healthier, and that was about it.

Initially, running was meant to be exercise to me, as my roommates adviced me. But as I gradually had a better sense about myself through running, I was hooked. I found that running alone allowed me to reach deep into myself, and I enjoyed that feeling. Sometimes I wonder if one does a certain thing because of his personality, or if he does a certain thing long enough, it molds his personality. I suspect that running and I had that type of relationship.

When I explained to some people how I was running, they appeared puzzled. How could you run all by yourself lap after lap? Wouldn't you get bored? Obviously I wasn't bored, or I wouldn't maintain a high level of enthusiasm about running for 4-5 years (up until my family left China). It seemed that there were always ways to motivate myself.

For example, I was always fascinated by the long-distance running stories in the Olympic Games. There was this guy, while running an Olympic marathon, suffered a cramp half way through. He gave up and jumped on a vehicle that was patrolling the race. After a while, his cramp was gone, so he jumped off the car and resumed running! By then he was far ahead his competitors, and he entered the stadium first! He was then caught by the officials, of course. There was another guy who lost all his belongings while travelling across the ocean to participate in an Olympic marathon. He ran the race nonetheless, in his street dress! And finished in 5th place! A Japanese runner gave up his marathon pursuit half way. Many years later, as a high official of the Japanese Olympic committee, he returned to the race site and "completed" his run. His "official" time was like some 40 plus years.

Then there were stories that were not amusing, but utterly inspiring. My favorite Olympic hero was a man named Paavo Nurmi of Finland. In 1924 in Paris, he won five long-distance running gold medal in 6 days! Most amazingly, the 1,500 meters and the 5,000 meters finals were held only one hour apart, and he broke both world records! If there was one thing that I would wish upon Nurmi, it would be that he had also run and won an Olympic marathon. But he never did. Luckily there were plenty of Olympic marathon runners to fill that role. When I ran, I often imagined that I was running with them. Especially running with Nurmi.

Over time, I naturally grew this dream of running a marathon in the Olympics. Soon I realized that it was not realistic anymore. I simply did not have the speed. But the dream of running a marathon was always deep in my heart, and the dream of participating in the Olympic Games also never went away.

Now, you might be intrigued and ask, which event would you possibly participate in? Well, I guess I will have a shot at Tai Chi if it ever becomes an Olympic event. But seriously, I did come up with an idea recently. You know those Olympic torch bearers? The last time the U.S. held the Olympic Games (in Atlanta, 1996), 10,000 people were selected to carry the torch, running through 42 states. How were they selected? They were "community heroes" across the nation. You probably can guess what I will be doing in my spare time between now and the next time the Olympics come to America, in addition to running.

Running Stories (5): Numbers Game

When I was in middle school, I got a digital watch from one of my relatives who lived either in southern China or Hong Kong. At that time, a digital watch was still a rarity in most part of China, not to mention being owned by a school boy. What I liked about the digital watch was that I could tell the exact time much easier than reading the hands of a regular watch. Every day before lunch time, a few boys would turn to me, asking for exactly how many seconds left before the bell rang. They would then start countdown and position themselves, and when the bell rang, they dashed out of the classroom at exactly the right moment - that was how they got to the front of the lines in the cafeteria. I guess my obsession with precise time and clock started at that time. Today, my watch is "radio controlled," reset every day by the national atomic clock. And yes, I am very punctural. If you invite me to a party, don't expect me to be early.

That digital watch became an integral part of my running. I used it to time myself on every lap, and I would quickly calculate my current pace and see if I was on track (no pun intended). After I went home, I would again calculate my average pace for the day and set a goal for the next week. Then I began to do the same calculation not just on my own time, but on the times achieved by world-class athletes, including world records! That was probably when I realized that my chance of qualifying for Olympics was next to none. But through that "hobby," I began to develop a keen sense of numbers.

In my last year in middle school, our P.E. class required us to run 1,500 meters 4 times, and the best time was reported toward the final grade. My first three runs were 6'18" (6 minutes and 18 seconds), 6'00" and 5'46", respectively. Thus I predicted that my last try would come in at 5'36". My "reasoning" was that my last three tries showed improvement of 18 and 14 seconds, respectively, so my final run "should" have an improvement of 10 seconds from the last run, because 18, 14 and 10 would form a nice linear series. I told all my friends of my prediction; they were polite. I ended up finishing the run at 5'37", good enough to earn full score on this event.

That was only the beginning of my obsession with numbers. I began to play with numbers wherever I saw them. Friends' birthdays were one of my primary targets. A close friend was born on March 27, 1968. In China, that was usually written as 1968.3.27. I told him that the cubic root of "19683" is "27". In addition, 1+9+6+8+3=27. That's how I still remember his birthday. If you think that running is crazy, wait until you see what can be done with numbers.

I once had a combination lock for my bicycle. The combination key was "762". I stared at the number (with pencil and paper) and saw that 762 was the sum of 400, 361, and 1, which happened to be the squares of 20, 19 and 1, respectively. That was probably as much as a combination lock would deserve already. For some reason I looked at the numbers a little bit longer, and when I saw that 20+19+1=40, which was as plain as it could get, suddenly something quite extraordinary appeared in front of my eyes:

762
------ = 19.05
 40

Eh, what's special about that? Well, if you combine all the facts I listed above, you have:

19² +1² + 20²          1
------------------ = 19 ----
  19 + 1 + 20            20

A little magic that was hidden in a combination lock.

Later I thought about it. It was as much a matter of attitude - if not more so - as a case of skills or talent. Yes, some skills and experience may be required, but it was the belief that something extraordinary would come out of ordinary if we try hard enough that drove me to hang on a little bit longer. Kind of reminded me of how sometimes I ran. (Okay, that's my attempt to get back to the topic of running before you begin to wonder where I am heading to.)

Running Stories (6): Racing at School Meets

As much as I enjoyed running, I didn't care much about racing. It was similar to my attitude toward study: As much as I enjoyed learning, I never cared much about taking exam. Somehow I got this self-confidence that my ability of running or studying was not measured by races or exams.

But racing was fun. I couldn't say the same about taking exams. Most of the races I participated were part of the semi-annual sport meets held in school. We had sport meets once in spring and once in autumn every year, mostly on track and field events. Classes would compete against each other within the same grade. Top finishers in each event earned points, and the class that accumulated the most points won.

I naturally entered the distance running events, and I never won any races. The longer the race, however, the better I would finish. I didn't feel bad about not finishing first, as long as I finished well enough to earn points for my class.

The last race I ran was in the autumn before my family left China. We would immigrate to the U.S. in the spring next year. I already knew that we had a good chance to go to America, and I hadn't been running much for a couple of months before the autumn school meet. I did train one more time the weekend before, and I felt marginally okay.

The event I entered was 1,500 meters, or five laps on our school's 300-meter track. At the gun shot, almost everyone around me seemed to get off a fast start, and I immediately fell behind. After one lap, I was the dead last, while my legs were feeling heavy. An old classmate happened to be standing on the side watching, and he smiled at me, shouting, "We are getting old!"

After the second lap, I only moved up one or two positions, while the leading pack was already half a lap in front of me. Between two and half laps and three laps, however, my legs were suddenly feeling strong - and I was mad. Look at all these people in front of me! At that moment, I also suddenly remembered that this could be my last race!

I threw away my glasses, and I began to accelerate with two laps to go. Usually I would save that speed to the final half lap, but at the moment, energy just came up strong, as if from nowhere.

The next two laps were perhaps some of the most memorable running I'd ever experienced. I was passing other runners one by one. I could almost feel their astonishment. I ended up finishing 4th, crossing the line at the same time as the 3rd place finisher. The top two finishers were about 20 meters ahead of us. I was certain that had the race gone on another lap, I would pass them all.

My whole class erupted. They cheered on as if I finished first. My teacher ran toward me with his arms open, "You could run 10,000 meters!" he shouted. I looked around, "Where are my glasses?"

The funny thing was, later when some of my classmates described the school meet in their composition, they wrote that I finished first! Well, they forgot - or perhaps they didn't care - that I was in the same class. In the next composition class, the first sentence coming out of our Chinese teacher was, "When you write, be honest."

I still remember my last race in China, and I still remember what my Chinese teacher said. (I think he was talking about writing in Chinese, though.)

Running Stories (7): Losing Track in America

My experiences in America were not nearly as bad as the chapter title seemed to suggest. I simply meant that after our family came to the U.S. in 1987, I had never run again on a track. On the other hand, without the running week in and week out, my life had indeed missed something that was consistent.

One of the first things I noticed after I came to America was that people ran at all times. In China, people almost only exercised in the morning. After breathing the fresh air for some time, I accepted that it was definitely not a problem to run in the afternoon or evening. But whenever I ran outdoors, I still always chose the morning.

I could hardly find a track near the places I lived, so I began to run on the road in the neighborhood. Without knowing exactly how far I ran, I gradually lost my motivation in running. It appeared that my main motivation to run was to exceed myself in some way, either speed or distance.

But I never completely stopped running. Whether when I was in high school in California, or when I was in college in Chicago, or when I came back to California to work, once in a while, I would put on my running shoes and enter the morning air when it was still dark outside. I didn't run very seriously, but simply jogged. Usually after a mile or two, when I realized that I "still had it," I would be content and go home.

Interestingly, whenever an old friend back in China asked me if I was still running, I would answered with the expression, "No, but I still have it." What is "it"? No one really asked, and I didn't give it a deep thought until recently when I began to seriously run again (see next chapter). I happened to be reading a book called "Psycho-Cybernetics," and from reading that book I understood what that "it" is. It is my self-image as a runner. As long as I still know that I am a runner, I can always return to running.

Later I joined a gym and began to run on something called a treadmill. I hardly considered it real running. To me, it was simply working out. Then again, that also gave me a chance once in a while to see if I "still had it."

Whether jogging or working out, most of the "running" experiences were rather unmemorable.

Of course, there were exceptions. I still remember a few times when I was attending Northwestern University, I got up really early and jogged my way to the shore of Lake Michigan. My roommate, who was the complete opposite of mine as far as sleeping habit was concerned, later told me that he thought I was sleepwalking (or sleep-running, really). He missed something I was glad that I didn't.

In the early winter (well, you know that was the latest time in the season I would run outside in Chicago), the water near the shore began to freeze. Much water at the center was in its normal form, and waves continued to roll toward the shore, crushing the thin ice into crystal needles. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

The sunrise at Lake Michigan was another sight to behold. The sun didn't just jump out of the water because there was so much cloud and fog around the lake. You could see the colors gradually change, then all of a sudden, the sun came out at the middle of the sky. At that moment, the cloud and the water were graced by practically every color you could name.

I can remember those few times because those were the few times that I forgot my running.

Running Stories (8): Running Again

In September 2003 I joined the San Francisco Road Runners Club. It was right after I came back from a mission trip to China, and I was full of energy and spirit. What prompted me to join the club was a magic little word, "marathon." Through all the "idle" years, running a marathon was a dream that would not die. Every time when I listed my life-time goals, running a marathon would be up there. But I always felt that one day when I had a lot of time and didn't have to worry much about making a living, maybe I would begin to train for a marathon. Joining the club changed my thinking. I was a lot closer to my dream than I previously thought.

I started with a group called Running 101, which was supposed to be the slowest and easiest group. To my surprise, the first time I was there they were doing 7 miles with the option of going 9 miles. Then they told me that they actually started back in May, when they were doing 2-mile walk initially. I arrived at the middle or almost toward the end of their schedule. I said no problem.

Back in China, the longest race I did was 5K, or about 3 miles. To do 7 to 9 miles was an unknown territory. But knowing that they wouldn't run very fast - in fact, they would run 4 minutes and then walk 2 minutes alternatively - I felt that I could handle it. Indeed, I handled it very well on the first day. Half way through, I felt awesome, so I joined the 9-mile group and completed it with satisfaction. I loved it! I was thrilled.

I rested it up for the whole week before I joined them again the next Saturday. This time we were doing 10 miles, again applying the 4-2 ratio. I got in trouble this time. 3-4 miles into the route, I began to feel pain in my hips. Luckily it was not a pain due to injury but due to tightness, so I knew that I could continue. I added stretches during the walk breaks, while I continue to struggle. Finally at 7-8 miles the pain was gone, but I was so tired. I finished the rest couple of miles almost entirely on guts.

At this point, you may be prompted to say, ah, that's what makes you a long-distance runner - You have the determination to complete the run even when it gets tough. If that's how you feel, I take it as compliment and I thank you, but no, that's not what makes me a long-distance runner. Or more precisely, that's not why I am still a long-distance runner. The key for me is the ability to make necessary adjustment so that the next time I won't get into the same trouble again. If every time I have to "gut it out," I wouldn't be running for long. I would have killed myself.

After that difficult 10-mile effort, I recognized the importance of mid-week workout. From then on, I made sure that between two long runs, I would do some short runs on the treadmill so that my body would be well conditioned. I also began to learn tips on nutrition, hydration and stretching. Quickly, running became fun to me.

Another example of how I made adjustment came after my first race on October 5, the San Francisco Bridge to Bridge 12K race. I completed the race in reasonably good time (by my own expectation), but I didn't feel comfortable the entire time. I had a hard time to find the right pace, and several times I could hardly catch my breath. Give myself credit: I was totally honest about how I felt, instead of only thinking, "Oh, my time was pretty good." Afterwards, I talked to some more experienced runners and asked for their opinions. They told me that they ran their races the way they trained, that is, including the walk breaks. I ran that 12K race straight, and I thought it should be my goal to run the whole race straight. One lady in particular, who usually ran with the faster groups, explained that when she began to apply the walk breaks, her pace didn't suffer at all.

Now my story can be included as a testimonial. Merely a month after Bridge to Bridge, I ran my first half-marathon in Monterey, the race you read about at the beginning of my running stories. With walk breaks, my average pace actually improved, and throughout the race, I was running faster and faster.

Running Stories (9): Finding the Right Pace

The moment I crossed the finish line at my first half-marathon, I was overwhelmed by a sense of exhilaration. The time board flashed 2 hours 17 minutes plus. Since I started behind most runners, I knew my time would be better. Later the official time came in at 2:14:57, much better than I expected. (Although that was not particularly fast. Among all the runners that day, that was about at the middle.) Before the race, I envisioned a finish time of 2:34:56 (well, that was my thing with numbers again). I beat that by almost exactly 20 minutes.

But what made me excited was not just the finish time, but really how I ran the race. As I mentioned above, half of the runners finished ahead of me, but I doubt that many of them would say that they had one of the best times in their lives. That was exactly what I would claim: I had one of the best times in my life.

After some stretching, I returned to the finish line to wait and cheer on for my training partners from Running 101. They all finished wonderfully. One of the ladies came in about an hour later. When she learned my time, she said, "You are fast! We really dragged you down, didn't we?" I said, "Not at all. In fact, now I know that training with you gals was the perfectly right thing to do."

That was the honest truth. I didn't train or race for speed, although every runner wishes to run faster. Shortly after I joined this group, I realized what a fun group it was! In fact, we were often refered by other groups as the fun group. We never pushed too hard, yet we were diligent to complete our goals. With an easy pace, I could chat with each and every runner in the group. For some reason I became the only male member of the group who came on Saturdays consistently. They liked me to be part of the group, and I certainly wouldn't complain. What more motivation do you need to get up early on a weekend morning to run with a group of gorgeous ladies? I also became their occasional teasing target. They would talk about some women things then suddenly turn to me, "Are you taking notes, Jim?" I would say, "Only if any of you could explain what you just said." Or they sometimes would be giggling, saying, "Oh, look at those cute boys running on the other side of the road - Jim, you must have noticed too?" I had to come up with something like, "Although this is San Francisco..." or "As a runner, I run straight." We had a lot of fun. Our ages were from the 20s to the 50s, yet somehow there didn't seem to be much difference among us. We were just runners who enjoyed each other's company.

That was the social aspect of running with a group, and it was of course drastically different from the days when I was running alone. Yet I still could enjoy moments of solitude, quietly running and allowing my imagination to take off. The spectacular sights of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Golden Gate Park became catalyst of my mind, and I could think whenever and whatever. Sometimes I went through my favorite verses in the Scripture, sometimes I reflected on what I did the previous day, sometimes I thought about a friend or two, and sometimes I just prayed. The easy pace allowed me to stop worrying about running altogether, and I was able to experience something close to meditation. Finally one day, I realized what I was really training for. I was training myself to appreciate every moment of the whole morning. It didn't mean that it was always easy. I appreciated the uphill runs just as I appreciated the downhill runs. That was when I knew that I had found the right pace.

Isn't it the same for life in general? Do we really want to go faster and faster without enjoying the journey? Perhaps slowing down would help? It dawned on me one day that my "idle" years eventually still had an impact on my running. In life, I finally learned to slow down after years of being an aimless workaholic. When I began to run again, I readily adopted a new attitude toward running: It was not only about speed anymore.

Life has taught me how to run, just like running has taught me how to live.

Running Stories (10): Power From Within

There have been very few times that as soon as I watched a movie, I knew it would be a friend for life. Chariots of Fire is one such movie. It tells the story of two British runners who each won a gold medal in the 1924 Olympic Games. They had their own passion, own motives, and followed their own paths. One in particular, a Scot by the name of Eric Liddell, so inspired me that, as I am ending this series of running stories, I'd like to devote the final chapter to tell the story of Eric Liddell and the things he said (recorded from the movie DVD).

Liddell was born in China where his father was a missionary. He went back to Scotland to receive his education, and at the same time, he discovered his gift in running. Under friends' encouragement, he began to race and train for the 1924 Olymics in Paris. People loved to come to watch him run. On a raining day, after the race, he spoke in front of a group spectators:

You came to see a race today. See someone win. It happened to be me. (laughters) But I want you to do more than just watch a race. I want you to take part in it. I want you to compare faith to running a race. It's hard. It requires concentration of will, energy of soul. You experience elation when the winner breaks the tape. Espeically if you've got bet on it. (laughters) But how long does that last? You go home, maybe your dinner's burnt. Maybe, maybe you haven't got a job. So who am I to say, "believe, have faith," in the face of life's realities? I would like to give you something more prominent, but I can only point the way. I have no formula for winning the race. Everyone runs in her own way, or his own way. Where does the power come from to see the race to its end? From within. Jesus said, "Behold, the kingdom of God is within you. If for all of your hearts you truly seek Me, you shall ever surely find Me." If you commit yourself to the love of Christ, and that is how you run a straight race.

Eric's devotion to running worried his sister Jenny, who also planned to go to China as a missionary. They argued, and Liddell said to his sister, "Jenny, you've got to understand! I believe that God made me for a purpose. For China. But he also made me fast! And when I run I feel His pleasure. To give it up would be to hold Him in contempt. You were right. It's not just fun. To win is to honor Him."

Liddell ended up going to Paris to compete with the finest athletes from all over the world. Initially he was to compete in the 100 meters dash, but because the heats before the finals were to be held on a Sunday, a day he dedicated entirely to the Lord, Liddell firmly refused to participate. (He only heard of the schedule after he left England.) Finally he accepted the solution to switch to 400 meters, where he won an Olympic gold medal. On the Sunday he was supposed to run but chose to skip the 100-meter race, he gave a sermon in a church. It was in that sermon he quoted:

But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.

Eric Liddell went to China after the Olympics. He served there as a missionary for 20 years, until his death at the end of World War II.

It amazed me every time when I watched this movie. It was as if I saw Eric Liddell in me.

[The end. Or rather, a pause. Taking a walk break.]