Living with a runner

April 3, 2017

Greetings from among us,

You know you live with a runner if:

You are used to sweaty running clothes drying on the towel rack, the deck chair, the plant hanger, the side-mirror of your car. 

You don’t even look up from your breakfast when they say things like bonking, PR, ITB, fartlek,  plantar fasciitis, BPM, cadence, turnover, repeat, beer mile, or supination.

You’re not surprised they can remember the date of their fastest marathon, when Boston registration opens, what year Joan Benoit won LA, but can’t remember your children’s birthdays with complete confidence.

You plan to be out of town during their taper.  You can predict to the minute when they will be cranky, paranoid about sickness, over focused on minor pains, worried that 20 weeks of training will fade in 10 days, and obsessed about race day weather two weeks away. 

Any conversation with a major city name is associated with a marathon.  Watching movies is almost always related to this: ‘Hey that’s New York.  I ran there in 1988.’

You have ever been driving somewhere and they tell you what their split was at this mile.

Half your meals are centered around carbo loading and the other half seem to be all protein.  Except for chocolate, which is proven to be good for recovery.  Gu is considered a food group.

They have accidentally spit inside the house.  They have stepped into the shower still wearing running shorts.  Naked warm ups in the living room are normal.  Dressing like a ninja with a headlamp and reflector vest is normal. 

You know Body Glide is not a romantic accessory.  You have enough equipment in your home to start a physical therapy clinic.   

You have secretly compared their behavior to symptoms of certain mental illnesses.

Your neighbors no longer ask what is going on with all the running.

You live in modern civilization and yet you have to watch for signs of dehydration.

You have left a party early because they have a long run the next morning.

The laundry is 90% race shirts.  You can tell what season it is by the volume of laundry.  You purposely do not count the number of running shoes in the house. Or old race bibs, medals, trophies, or outdated Ironman watches. 

You have watched ‘Chariots of Fire’ more than twice.  You are acquainted with the quotes of Sheehan and Prefontaine.  You have chosen a destination vacation that coincides with a race. 

You have stopped reacting to screams from the shower when the hot water hits the chafed places on the Runner’s body.  You have been awakened in the middle of the night from their leg cramps. 

You know Garmin is not a character from Lord of the Rings.

Every conversation at the kitchen counter involves stretching hamstrings.

You have watched the post marathon Frankenstein walk.  Or, the post marathon backward descent down stairs.  You no longer are taken aback by the gasp that accompanies lowering to a sitting position or candid conversations about sore nipples.

You’re aware that when they meet other runners it will be at least an hour long conversation.  Longer if they actually KNOW the other runner. 

You have awakened to find a post it note: ‘Gone for a 20.  Happy Anniversary.’

You already know that the Runner will talk about his injuries like they are family members.

You’re used to spending more on rehabbing an Achilles tendon than you did on your last vacation.  Blisters do not provoke comment. Black toenails are commonplace.  You know the first name of your Runner’s podiatrist.

You know you live with a runner if: You have waited for them.  You have held a sign for them.   You have eaten overcooked spaghetti in tents surrounded by people who smell like Ben Gay because that’s where the Runner is.

You have wondered if they are in the medical tent.  You have worried they will fall asleep driving back from a race.  You have bought Builder Bars for them.  You have looked at the bottom of their feet for them.  You have put ice in the tub for them.  You know when you should not ask how it went.  You felt their pain when they were defeated and shared the elation when they were victorious.  You don’t question the why.  You live with them anyway, even though they could never, ever, thank you enough.

Hope this finds you patient,

David

Copyright © 2017 David Smith