Running To Stand Still

Judge Smails: Ty, what did you shoot today?
Ty Webb: Oh, Judge, I don't keep score.
Judge Smails: Then how do you measure yourself with other golfers?
Ty Webb: By height.

And that's pretty much how I feel about keeping my time when I run. Back in the olden days, I used to run with a stop watch, and when I returned home, I would write down my route and time in my Runner's Log. It was a mildly compulsive thing to do, but it seemed to give meaning to all the hours that I spent each week running from here to there. I made notes about my overall health and mood, feeling that it would somehow help me to better my performance over weeks and months, leading up to more weeks and months of running.

About the time my son was born, I stopped keeping track. I had moved into my own house with my new family, and while I still felt the need to lace up my running shoes and go up and down the hills in my new neighborhood, but the documentation ended. I also became a little more complacent about running every single day. I still get out three or four times a week, but the idea that I am training for anything has fallen away.

This morning, a thousand or more runners will pass by in front of my house. I can look out on the mass of healthy humanity, each with a tiny chip attached to their shoelace to keep track of how long it takes them to navigate the twenty-six mile course. I know a couple of people who are running the half-marathon. I know one who will be doing the full course. I know that the marathon course covers part of the route that I often run myself, and for moments I entertained the idea of joining in the celebration that is the Oakland Marathon. They don't allow pets. They discourage "personal music devices." I am discouraged by both of these edicts. Running with my dog to the sounds of music of my choice are two of the prime reasons for me to continue to pursue this means of exercise. Instead, I will stand at the intersection and instruct wayward motorists how to get where they are going while portions of the city are obstructed by a bunch of ninnies exerting themselves in the extreme. "How long will it take?" They might ask. I could tell them when the course is scheduled to be closed, or I could give them the runner's answer: As long as it takes.