Lapped By the Sun:
By John Prohira
Who Are You?
"Team Mango?" "No, not me" was my reply. I was moving along the Bull Run Run 50 Mile Trail course and repeatedly replying no to that question. Who are they - Team Mango?
I wasn't Mango but was happy to be part of this year's Bull Run Run, one of the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club's premiere events. For the twelfth time in as many years runners were offered 50 miles of forested, rolling terrain on dirt trails in Fairfax County, Virginia.
Just after first light runners took their final briefing from race director Scottie Mills and promised they would take care and drink, drink and drink along the way. The crowd that spilled across the start line was spread out while running a half-mile loop around Hemlock Overlook headquarters and parking area. From there we entered the trail system on a course that parallels the Bull Run and Occoquan River.
This type of trail running requires the use of many body parts other than legs and lungs. Hands and arms were called into play as we climbed over and around the rocks that bordered the water. Jumping from log to log over mud and from stone to stone across the water requires balance and concentration. There is always the brute force option and one could simply plow through from here to there. There seemed to be as many ways to do Bull Run Run as there were runners. The front-runners seemed not so much to embrace the course as bear hug it, using their strength to confront and overpower mile after mile of trail. Others addressed what lay in front of them with more finesse and patience. I moved tentatively hoping not to aggravate a recent injury. Everyone used the largest muscle in the human body more than any other, tapping into the reserves that reside in the brain. It is a head game - this ultrarunning thing we do.
I had spent eight days leading up to this year's BRR on the west coast, leaving San Francisco on Thursday morning and getting home that night at 11p.m. The alarm clock woke me at six the next morning (read 3 a.m. California time). I was somewhat apprehensive going into this event; besides being jet-lagged I had a hamstring/glute injury received three weeks before. I could walk and hike pain free but not sit, so it made sense not be stationary (I can justify any behavior).
A couple of miles before the first turnaround the leaders came flying back at us, with Tom Nielsen, evantual winner of this year's race, chasing last year's winner. These guys looked awesome! Most spoke words of support to those they passed, others nodded but all encouraged those following them. After telling those in the Centerville aid station that I was not a member of Mango, I slipped and stressed my hamstring. "Yikes," a word that aptly describes without vulgarity what I was thinking. I found that if I shortened my stride and walked anything resembling a hill and took care on the downhills I could still move forward.
"No, not Team Mango." After the sixth query of the morning I found out that I was asked because of the yellow hanky I wore around my neck. Mango would aptly describe its color. I was sporting the team colors of Mango! Should I expect a gang-type run-in with the real Team Mango? What would these tough ultrarunners do to someone sporting their gang colors without permission? The need for caution dissipated after learning that Gang Mango was comprised of VHTRC homies like Michael Bur, Vicki Kendall, Joyce Fendley, Kerry Owens and Tom Corris. I figured they might give me a pass for old times sake.
The question about Team Mango membership got me thinking about identity and association. I remembered being asked who I was in an email from a friend one day. Assuming a misprint I replied that I was fine and feeling very well. The next note asked again, "who are you? The question was not how but who I was. I had to think about this for days before answering. And then the answer was incomplete.
Marge and Stanley and crew always have an aid station theme at Wolf Run. This year it was bride, groom and wedding party offering us ice cream and encouragement. Between the wedding and the next aid station at Fountainhead aid station lay the white loop. This is true single track and my idea of what trail should look like. It contains just enough rock requiring attention be paid to where feet are placed, but is not so technical as to distract from the spring scenery.
Who are You? Who are these Bull Run Runners? The roster listed them as 78 women and 261 men, aged 20 -67. 119 of them hailed from Virginia, 18 traveled south from New York, ten were described as mercenaries from overseas. Many worked for the government, at the FBI, the Pentagon and some were still in active military service. One works at NASA, another is a veterinarian. They are Team Mango or the winning Team VA-PA-CA-sub 35 who posted a combined time of just over 34 hours for their five-man effort. They are retired or just beginning college. They represent everyman and that is what I find so appealing about them. That and the fact that they are doing something very difficult without hope of tangible reward other than personal knowledge and a glimpse of the strength required of them. That honest intent is what counts. In a world full of excuses and easier softer ways, these people show me the way to the finish line and much more. Looking into the eyes of my fellow runner at mile 45 of a 50-mile race reassures me. Yes, it hurts at times and I have been injured in the process. That too is part of being human. Wasn't it Mark Twain who observed that, "A man with a bull by the horns knows a thing or two more than the man who doesn't"? Those running BRR knew a few important things.
I knew I was near the far end of the course when I saw my first silly hat of the day. All the aid station volunteers sport them but my favorite at Da Do Loop aid station is the jester's cap. No matter how tired or stressed out I may be I always find it impossible not to smile before and after Da Loop.
Who am I? A fifty-year-old man who has found a way to listen to the world around him while engaged in active meditation. Someone who never knew how to relax and enjoy the moment until shown how while running long distance. Twelve years ago I was convinced I would be another death-by-heart-attack statistic, brought there by smoking and other poor life style choices. I still may exit life with a heart attack-running offers no guarantees-but I worry less about it today. My legs and my hips may hurt but my chest doesn't. I still pant and suck wind; but on steep climbs and while running at altitude-not while chasing my daughters during play.
In order to cover 50 and 100 miles during a race I've slowed down and that measured approach to running has spilled over into my real life. I am not in as much of a hurry these days. Ultrarunning has helped me quiet my mind and listen; to myself and to the world around me. I am a man who has been taught by the example of those on the trail. Lucky man, lucky me!
Physically dinged up but spiritually revived, I watched others pass me on my way to the finish line. I wanted to finish before the awards were given out at 6:15 p.m., to be part of a cool Bull Run Run tradition. Scottie Mills halts his ceremony every time a runner approaches the finish line and asks the crowd to stand up with him and applaud.
I have been told that we all have one story to tell. That is all. I tell the same story about running over and over again. I was able to append that story during the run on Saturday. To it I added accepting the obvious; that there is a large degree of egotism, self-absorption and self-importance involved in ultrarunning. Those words have a common synonym - narcissism. Narcissim, is that why I run? Who I am? I think we all know the legend of Narcissus, the youth who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that one morning he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus. The following is the extension of that legend. I found it in the preface of "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho.
"When Narcissus died, the goddesses of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears. "Why do you weep." The goddesses asked. "I weep for Narcissus." The lake replied. "Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus," they said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand." "But . . .. was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked. "Who better than you to know that?" the goddesses said in wonder. "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!" The lake was silent for some time. Finally it said: "I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."
There it is! Endorphins' glow and the reflection in my fellow runners eyes. I have always loved what I see there. My reflection? Beautiful? Let's not go that far! Perhaps what I see reflected is only validation of my behavior. More often than not I feel better about myself and the world during and after a long run.
I like stories, legends, fables and analogy. They help explain complicated emotions. Maybe the story of Narcissus puts some of what running means to me in perspective.
Many thanks to Scottie Mills, the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club and the volunteers for staging another memorable Bull Run Run. Thanks to Team Mango for not taking offense at my wearing of their colors. I am most thankful for what I saw reflected from the depths of my fellow runner's eyes.
I end with a couple of appropriate quotations.
"Despite what seems like the extraordinary nature of these events, in the end, they make you even more human."
- Joel McNamara
"The runner need not break four minutes in the mile or four hours in the marathon. It is only necessary that he runs and runs and sometimes suffers. Then one day he will wake up and discover that somewhere along the way he has begun to see the order and law and love and truth that makes men free."
- George Sheehan
"The road to excess leads to the place of wisdom, for we can never know what is enough until we have experienced too much."
- William Blake
Happy Trails,
John