Fitness with a focus: A runner's take on a year-round obsession

By Kelsey Koenen

February 25, 2008 | Push. Harder. Faster. Until the end of the road. Don't stop. You're not breathing through your nose! Focus.

My mind never quits on my body. I have always been obsessed with exercise; whether it's teaching aerobics to university students, running with a sled dog I can conveniently steal from a friend, or just hitting the gym to pump some weights. I manage to do it every day and sometimes twice. After I got a stress fracture in my hip at 20, being able to run again seemed years away. It was the time in my life when being in perfect shape was actually achievable. I could barely hold myself together.

No medicine could ease the terrible itch that kept my legs awake at night. I started to feel extremely overweight and eating felt like some form of torture. Before, food was just fuel, now the calories could do nothing but sit in an unused engine. I saw several doctors who all assumed I had been bulimic or anorexic and each recommended a counselor to help calm my excessive habit down. I couldn’t say it enough: I didn’t have an eating disorder; I just loved when my body became more alive, when it hit the final threshold. I was able to stay sane by telling myself multiple times a day that soon I would be able to run again, and it all rested on if I didn’t run now.

After more than 400 days devoid of running, I was beginning to heal. My obsession only worsened, and my love for running intensified.

When you’re outside, and your feet hit the pavement, it's different -- different than indoors, different than anything else you do that week, different because it's your force against the biggest force there is: gravity. There are some people who fit in their 30 minutes, three times weekly, timing every tenth of a second, trying to appear as if sweating is an accident. There are others who do it to challenge their legs, in hopes that for just a few minutes, sometimes seconds, the speed of their body matches the speed their mind is going, and because of that it gets you outside every time, hoping you'll feel that sensation: a beautiful burning pain.

Some seasons are better than others; it’s up to the runner. For me, the climate never mattered, as long as I could pay the road a visit.

Winter time: it's numbing. Only certain parts of your body manage to sweat through the shocking temperature in Utah. Not even your body heat can tell you when you've had enough. Right now, it's all about your heart. It's overwhelming in your head, feeling heavy as you listen to music and watch your feet hit one after another over a frozen concrete path. The air is dry; snow is on the ground. You can barely suck in enough oxygen to breathe, and every time the wind blows is like getting bad news. But you push through it because you've already decided to leave all the bad news behind.

It is a rare sport that can become so personal. The level of discipline and passion that it requires from one competitor to the next is remarkable. While one person might nearly kill them self, the next might not have to push themselves near dangerous levels at all to beat out the former with ease.

When I was in high school, my sister married a runner. One afternoon I sat on our couch and I heard them stumbling down the stairs. He had just done the “Wasatch Back,” a 172 mile relay. Each participant ran approximately 15 to 20 miles. When they weren’t running, they stayed awake in a van as each contestant leaped in and out, biding time for their turn. After completing it in his “lucky” shirt; he was delirious. The long-sleeve rag barely covered the crusted dirt from dried sweat that was left down his neck to his waistline. My sister supported his weight as he shivered from the after effect of losing all his heat. She put him in the corner of the room with several blankets, where he spoke in short syllables and mumbled to himself. Instead of pitying him, or worrying about his health, I was jealous. That sensation had to of been empowering, even if he was barely conscious.

David Woodbury, who I affectionately call “Woody”, has been running for 17 years.

He considers himself part of the extremists in the world when it comes to running.

At 29, he's done more than 100 races. Often he ran up to 70 miles a week, and once reached a high of 98.

“It's a time to think and be alone, work through things,” Woody said. “I like that alone time.”

Woody has memories of races and marathons in multiple locations. From Washington to Texas, each experience helped him to achieve what he considers “a level of discipline that comes when you make it a priority.” It changes every day. Each day you choose to run.

Woody recalled one race in Texas on the field where “Friday Night Lights” was filmed. He had run a 10K for the win and then the very next day participated in a 5K. After the 5K, Woodbury collapsed and became sick for two weeks.

“You reach a certain point when it [running] begins to mess up your body’s physiology,” Woody said. “Hypothermia after a marathon I ran wasn't as bad.” He remembered praying to God, “If I'm supposed to die, get it over with, this is miserable.”

Not every race had such severe consequences. In the tri-city areas of Washington, Woody participated in a junior college race, running about five miles. The best part wasn't the race at all, but the bus ride home.

Plastic utensils were the real prize. After the race, they stopped at the nearest gas station for spoons. The participants would dig into awarded cream pies. The race was fixed so that announcers would call out a number one through 10 as each contestant broke through the finish line. If the number happened to be the second digit of your finishing place, you were awarded with the sweet, sugary sustenance of a cream pie.

Woody’s most fun and challenging races are frequently in the heat of the day.

Summer time: you're going to get wet. And it's going to be salty. Some of my very best jogs have left my face throbbing in a heated red. Even after showering, the temperature in my cheeks was still too high. But if I waited to shower, my jaw line became rough with particles of salt that dried and lodged themselves there.

Woody readily agreed with me that running outside was much better than running inside. It's not just the change of scenery either. He recounted many times running inside when his throat was left burning from dust particles and the lack of fresh air indoors.

In college, Woody ran at 5 a.m. every morning. During the winters in Idaho, he would check each evening for the temperature. One particular night the report affirmed an above zero temperature for the following morning, which to him meant he could attempt an outdoor run. After 40 minutes and about six or seven miles the next day, on campus Woody discovered it had been 19-degrees below zero the whole time.

“I was known for being quite crazy,” Woody said about running in college. “It was hard to maintain that level of craziness and stay healthy.” In the end he found that not pushing himself as hard each day led to more trophies on the track.

“I chose to be the healthy person,” Woody said.

When I asked him the best way to go running, Woody said to take the “barn run” approach. The phrase refers to the idea that years ago when horses took a certain route over and over, they know that for each step it takes out of the barn it has to turn around and take that many steps back. When you know your distance, and you hit the turnaround point, it's only natural to turn around and come back faster. Using a special location or certain path to run allows the mind to relax and, as Woody put it, set yourself on “autopilot” as you pound through the tension. Often Woody would run up to 15 or 16 miles a day during his prime years.

Compared to Woody, I'm an amateur. To me, jogging is thrilling. No one can tell me how good I am. It can vary from day to day, and every time the sun comes up, if I put some effort in, my body will rise and do it again if I tell it to.

It's about the blood, sweat, and tears. It always has been. I value the moments in life that take your breath away, sometimes literally.

The second my Nikes are tied, and I hit the doorstep, I feel like I'm on fire. I suppose it's a matter of control. When I run, no one is in control but me. I'm the star, I'm the one in first place, and I'm the one that has to keep going: life or death.

So I run with confidence. This thrilling sport, sometimes in 30-degree weather, definitely has its benefits. Studies across the globe have shown improvements in depression, anxiety, stress responsivity, mood state, self-esteem and body image. Those specific terms are only few of the many benefits from four psychologists, of millions, who have written books and studied exercise.

Use your imagination. Dream with me. Walk the route of a runner, run it if you want, look closely, it's not just the shape of their shoe that's been imprinted, but concrete, sand, and slush everywhere is covered in thoughts that cut and burned, were run into scabs, and then fell off in their own time, without the dreadful rip of an adhesive band aid.

I have found that I consider outdoor running as a suspension of the ordinary. Every time I run, it can feel like an Olympic event. And it’s up to me to bring home the gold medal.

MS
MS