Category: RUNNING STREAK (Page 18 of 34)

It was just another day on the streets of Portland, taking in the sights along the way. The consecutive streak has now reached 4,324 or 11.84 years, according to the runeveryday.com ticker. At this point, my only goal is tomorrow, meaning I’m alive, healthy, and able. I thought I would recount some of my observations from today’s 3.1 mile adventure, with slippery leaves everywhere as the result of a light mist. The weather is a perfect set-up for Halloween, with a touch of fog and a full-moon expected. However, nothing will be scarier than election night. 

At about the half-mile mark I noticed a delivery at the Oregon’s Finest pot store. It is one business along my route that has thrived in these pandemic times with a steady line of customers waiting for entry, even at 8 a.m. I pass by seven days a week at this time. It’s surrounded by other shops and restaurants that simply didn’t make it through these past seven months of virus-hell. It struck me as odd that an organic tea truck was making deliveries at a pot store, unless it was some kind of cannabis-infused product. It was at this moment that I suddenly realized that I had never seen a marijuana delivery truck – for good reason. It was a clever disguise to protect the driver and company from certain theft. Now, I know how the marijuana gets from the fields and greenhouses to the store – in a tea truck. 

At the one-mile mark, I spotted another delivery truck advertising a company called ProtoCall. There are apparently two completely different companies here in Portland using this play on the word protocol – a mental health service and a commercial air conditioning provider. Since this particular van was more discreet in appearance, I’m assuming that it represented the firm that provides crisis intervention and counseling services. It makes sense because my run takes me through a part of town that is filled with the homeless and troubled. In fact, a guy with a bull horn came out of his tent this morning, ranting with amplification about people going through his garbage. He definitely needed a Pro To Call. It’s always good to get out of that area and into the more serene setting of Waterfront Park.

I also noticed several crews boarding-up windows at the half-way point of my run. This is probably in anticipation of election night riots. The city is uncharacteristically covered in ugly graffiti and unsightly trash. Temporary fencing has been set-up to protect Federal buildings and historic statues. Our Mayoral race sadly involves a choice of two undesirables, just like the Presidential battle. Much of this hatred will be expressed on Tuesday night, as the elements of politics, Halloween, a full moon, time change, and Coronavirus all come together on the Portland streets. I can’t wait to get to Florida. 

At the two-and-a-half mile mark, I picked up a dime that had been sitting in the street for days. I had passed it several times earlier this week thinking that surely someone would pick it up. I’ve stopped collecting pennies that for years were a highlight of my daily runs – winks from angels. However, I began to have second thoughts with all the viral threats and now only stop for neglected silver. It gave me something to look forward this morning – like a treasure hunt. The dime was still there, so I claimed it for my coin jar, after a bit of scrubbing. It’s still good to get paid for running, even if it’s only a dime. Thus concludes another day on the run.

Forty-one years ago I completed my first marathon. I was 28-years old and traveled to Detroit for the event know then as the Detroit  Free Press International Marathon. The race started in Canada and finished at Belle Island. Shuttle busses took us across a border that now is heavily guarded. In fact, our recent trip to Glacier Park was rearranged because we couldn’t even get into Canada. (See Post #1396). It’s disturbing to think about how times have changed when it comes to U.S. and Canadian border relations. 

The first marathon took less than 3 1/2 hours to complete after months and months of rigorous training. It required nearly a half-hour simply to get to the starting line and the official timer, so my actual running time was just over 3 hours. I doubt that I could do it today in under 7 hours – if at all, even if I trained. My current pace is 14-minutes per mile – not much faster than a quick walk for some people. Just a few months ago, my times were nearly a minute less, as age deterioration continues to affect the length of my stride. I’m still out there every day, but it’s getting embarrassing when I can’t even catch someone in a hurried walk, late for work. My legs feel heavy and arms out of sync, as I awkwardly go through the motions. Today’s first mile was at 13’25” while mile-three registered a much slower 14’11. A year ago, my average mile pace for a 5k run was 12’50”, two years ago 12’25, three years ago 12’14”, and four years past 11’55”. It’s incredible how much useless data my I-Phone carries. These times are a far cry from my initial marathon average of 8-minute miles.

This morning was #4,311 of “The Streak.” By my upcoming 70th birthday, I may need to bring my lunch along, even if I reduce the daily mileage. At least I’m persistent if not pretty, and the days slowly add up. What was once a challenge to increase my speed or distance traveled is now just about getting out there every day and finishing. I rumble, bumble, and stumble along in all conditions, determined to make it through another day. It seems like only yesterday when that same determination led me to accomplish the goal of running that first marathon. Time now flies faster than I do!

I’m soaked to the bone, again. Another morning of heavy Portland rain that interrupted my daily run. Lots of deep puddles and runoff waterfalls to avoid. Heavy clothing, wet shoes, windy conditions, and fogged-up glasses added to the challenge. It was a good day for the treadmill that is no longer an option for me. I’ll have access to one in our new Florida resort complex, but there’s still at least five more months of the outdoor elements to endure. It’s good to at last be sitting at my writing desk in dry clothes watching the rain fall on the neighboring rooftops. 

My car is back from the tire shop, but I’m $1,400 light in the wallet. Two new tires, struts, balancing, shocks, brakes, and who knows what else they ending up doing. After a needed tune-up, I think I can safely get this car to Florida, but may need to hold on to it longer to get my money’s worth out of this investment. It’s like me – looks good on the outside but rusted out on the inside, and it’s not even a teenager yet. Trading it in on a senior buggy  does not seem like a practical choice for a few years, especially since I’ll end up spending more fixing it up than what it’s worth.  

When we finally get to Florida, I’ll put the top down and pretend that it’s a golf cart. We don’t have car payments any more, but we’ve sunk a lot of money into both cars this year – body work, tires, batteries, and engine repairs. I was excited about the prospect of one fewer car and halving the related hassles. I can get anywhere I want in our Florida community via electric cart – grocery or hardware store, beach, stadium, pool, treadmill, and bank. The streets and sidewalks in that area are specially designed to accommodate bikers, walkers, runners, and cart drivers. Seniors rule in Florida. 

My motto continues to be, “a 5k a day keeps the doctor away.” Yesterday’s flu shot should also help. Fortunately, I remain healthy when others are not as lucky. My sister, for example, has tested positive for Covid, although she’s two-thousand miles away. Thankfully, her symptoms are mild. I’m not really sure what keeps one person healthy over another. Running only exposes me to those airborne germs around the homeless camps, but somehow many seem to remain unaffected despite the filth around them. It’s impossible to avoid the virus regardless of the precautions taken. My sister is very religious, so even that doesn’t help. It’s like playing Russian Roulette and not knowing when the gun is going to go off. 

I certainly don’t want to live in fear, but the pandemic has now taken my son’s job and my sister’s good health. It’s hitting close to home, yet I’ve certainly not been one to follow the rules. I’ve flown twice, eaten in restaurants, stayed in hotels, traveled to heavily affected areas like Florida, and been with friends and family. The gun has not fired! What is keeping me safe? I’m not an optimist, having awakened many times with fear of symptoms. I remain convinced that I cannot avoid the dreaded bug regardless of how many times I scrub my hands, utilize a mask, or avoid contact with others. I live in a downtown Portland apartment building that only increases my chances of exposure. Maybe Covid wants nothing to do with a runner, regardless of how slow they move? Maybe it hates exercise as much as I do?

We insist on making more travel plans, convinced that restrictions will eventually be lifted. We’ve worked our entire lives for a chance at retirement travel together, so we remain stubborn about giving up and staying home. I think I’d rather be on a cruise ship where temperatures are at least monitored than in an apartment building. You certainly can’t hide from this health threat or flee from fate. Even with a 5k a day routine, I can feel the wear and tear of time on my body. Realistically, there’s only so much time left to be able to do the things we want in life. Coronavirus is just another obstacle, and it threatens us like a gun to the head. 

My wife likes to call me “a streaker,” when she jokingly describes my running obsession to others. She’s thinking the Ray Stevens song, while others envision Forrest Gump. (See Post #188). I do not run naked or look like Tom Hanks. I’m a proud lifetime member of the United States Running Streak Association, Inc. (USRSA). Today I’m celebrating consecutive Day # 4,300 of “The Streak” that started December 29, 2008. I never envisioned it lasting this long, but now I can’t imagine existing without it.  It’s part of my daily Groundhog Day-like routine that can be summarized as follows:

Sleep…read…exercise…walk dog….RUN…write… shower….lunch….watch…nap…wine….walk dog… dinner….watch….walk dog…read…sleep…repeat.

It’s a pretty boring daily itinerary that would  ordinarily be pleasantly interrupted by traveling the world. Not this year! I could be seeing the Pyramids of Egypt this week rather than the streets of Portland, Oregon. Maybe it will happen some other year of my life that alarmingly grows shorter every day! It’s fortunate that I have “The Streak” to get me out of the house and keep the Covid pounds off. It keeps me healthy, happy, and active. 

This  morning my run took me back to high school, with memories of my best friend Tim. It’s his birthday today, but unfortunately we haven’t talked in years. This separation was due to my second marriage and the miles between us. In school, we were inseparable and this extended into early adulthood. Our sons grew up together and our wives became friends. It’s all a distant memory, along with those early mornings when he would throw rocks at my bedroom window to encourage me to join him on a run. He was a runner long before I ever started, training for cross-country, track, and wrestling. I tried my best to ignore the tapping sounds on my windows, but he would persist. I can’t remember how many times I would actually get up – probably not many – I hated it!

Well, here I am in the present, hearing those stones every single morning as a wake-up call to do my daily duty. I’m no longer 16, but rather 69, and today so is he. Well over 50 years of friendship have passed by – 41 years since I ran my first Marathon in Detroit. Despite his inspiration, I didn’t really start running seriously until my late twenties in an effort to lose some weight. I never really ever liked doing it, but it was and still is the most convenient way to exercise. No gym membership is necessary, only a pair of shoes. I now lace them up every single morning without fail, and take that first step before I talk myself out of it. Most of the time I still hate it. Only when I finally cross the imaginary finish line every morning do I appreciate its value in my life. It’s the life of a “streaker” like me.

By 8:30 every morning, regardless of the time zone, I’m done with my 5k run and ready to write. This is my favorite time of the day when life is uninterrupted and I’m sitting in front of a blank page. Today is football Sunday, with a trip to Zupan’s Market for groceries as the only scheduled responsibility. While my wife shops, I’ll take our dog for a walk in the park, a weekly ritual since our move downtown a year ago. There’s no more Trash Days, Date Nights, Matinee Mondays, or Leadership Fridays that once measured retirement- just grocery shopping on Wednesdays and Sundays, otherwise every day is identical. 

I look out over the rooftop of a sausage factory next door, where there’s usually the daily activity of men repairing one of the many compressors. In the background, are the homes atop beautiful Forest Hills. It’s the same view every day without the opportunity to travel, as we’ve done in the past, due to Covid restrictions. We’ve gone over to my wife’s daughter’s house on several occasions for variety, and I drove twenty miles to Tualatin yesterday to help harvest grapes. Doctor or hair appointments are usually the only time slots filled on the calendar. TV continues to be our sole source of entertainment. We haven’t been to a live music or sporting event in over seven months. Barry Manilow in Las Vegas back in February was the last time we sat in a crowded arena. 

By the end of March we were all wearing masks and staying home. Trips to Bali and Egypt were canceled, as the world began to shrink. Since that time, a couple of long drives have been our only long distance get-aways. At least, we’ve been consumed with a major project – building a home 2,500 miles away. We started looking at Florida sites back in January, settled on the location in June, and drove one of our cars down in August. We’ve fought-off cancelations, the virus, battery problems, fires, smoke, break-ins, protests, riots, hurricanes, and a broken leg to get this all done. My wife started the year a brunette and now is silver, but this was mostly by choice not necessarily stress. 

The year 2020 has seemingly lasted a lifetime. We’re all looking forward to a break from divisive politics and the return to normalcy. We don’t yet know if our scheduled trips to Hawaii, Spain, and Russia will happen in the next six months? Regardless, we have a timetable to meet on building, packing, and moving to Florida. The move is a welcome diversion from the woes of the world. We’ve been very fortunate to have avoided the tragedies that others have experienced – sickness, injury, loss of family, property damage, theft, bankruptcy, and joblessness. We’ve stayed on the fringe of all of this, with only minor set-backs. With this in mind – here’s to a Favorable Future for everyone!