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.]