Rules for Running With

Brian Peacock

February 8, 2009

For a start one should always be grammatically and politically correct in one’s dialog. For example runners should not dangle their participles – this article should therefore be titled “rules with which to run.” The PC thing is a little more difficult. Political Correctness is dependent on the norms of the particular cohort and running cohorts are generally somewhat lax. In the Mountain Milers group the expression “you run like a girl” will be taken as a compliment, given that we are blessed with Heidi and Serena who normally kick butt. The theme of the Nike women’s marathon in San Francisco a couple of years ago was “Run like a Girl” - many of them did but no 65-69 men did, (perhaps they were running like girls!). On the other hand when one plays coed softball and accuses a coed of throwing like a girl then apologies will be in order.

Sometimes norms for political correctness among runners in terms of both their behaviors and their conversations take on a more global twist. Just yesterday, while running along the Iron King trail down to Prescott Valley we came across a cow. Now as we all should know people of the Hindu persuasion revere the cow and we should respect that reverence. Even those among us who believe that Indian is an impolite name for Native Americans should at least recognize the importance of the cow to our South Western heritage. The ranchers of our country herd cattle in order to feed us with beef, milk, cheese and eggs. Eggs!? So we have two good reasons to be polite around cows. Yesterday morning, when we came across a cow that had strayed from the field adjacent to the trail, we stopped and walked slowly by, passing pleasantries with our new found bovine buddy. Two weeks ago we had a similar experience on Perkinsville road. I say ‘similar’ deliberately, because the situation was not quite the same. The cow that we confronted on that occasion was in fact a bull. Consequently, whereas our consciences told us that bulls, like cows, merit respect, we rationalized to add a caveat that this rule of (not) running only applies when said bull is on the other side of the fence. We passed by on the other side of the road, hastily, while apologizing to the bull profusely for our unseemly demeanor.

Yesterday, as we ran, we discussed the meaning of life, day care children who poop in their pants and the rules of marriage promulgated by the Catholic Church. “We run, therefore we are.” This inaccurate plagiarism, I believe, came from a dude named Plato (or was it Aristotle?) In fact it was Rene Descartes, a Frenchman who in 1637 is reputed to have said “Je pense, donc je suis,” which translated into Latin, as opposed to the Greek of aforementioned Plato and Aristotle becomes: “Cogito ergo sum”, or into English “I think therefore I am”. Now runners, in general, aren’t very good thinkers – it is often asked (by normal people): “who in their right mind would subject his or her body to such pain and laugh happily when they are done?” Little do they know that it is the endorphins to which we are addicted. We arrive home at seven o’clock in the morning after a brisk five miler and confront our significant other, our children or our pajama clad neighbors who, coffee cup in hand bend carefully to pick up their newspapers, and we sing happily; we joke, we slap anyone in reach on the back, heartily. We preach “I run therefore I am”, or put another way “you do not run therefore you are not.” Oh, happy day! It should be a rule that runners should go out into the world and proselytize. “Come join us, we will show you the way.”

The conversation soon turned to daycare children who poop in their pants. Now here the group polarized. There were those who were adamant that the offending three year old should be beaten and their noses rubbed in the mess as one would train a wayward dog, on the other hand the subgroup of Freudian liberals were all into hugs and kisses. The running rules committee quickly convened and decided that the kinder, gentler approach should be tried first. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” is not a politically correct stance nowadays and runners should adhere to these socially acceptable norms.

Weddings were next on the agenda. When I was young I read about knights and damsels and white dresses, horses and lilies. But it appeared that runners have a different experience of the sacrament of marriage. Our small group recalled many variants on the theme. Some argued that living in sin was acceptable under common and civil law and anyway the cost of a proper wedding nowadays can put parents back at least $10 grand. Some runners suggested eloping to Las Vegas, of if the couple hailed from England, to Gretna Green which is just over the border in Scotland. The more adventurous recommended Hawaii or a mountain top. I offered my experience of a quaint country chapel, a clearing in the woods by a lakeside in Virginia and New York’s Central Park. I also recalled some sad tales of misbehavior among running club members, much to the delight of the divorce lawyers. It was concluded from all this empirical evidence that there are no rules for runners as far the church and marriage is concerned. Runners should be allowed to be traditional and follow their conscience. On the other hand it was generally agreed that a long run on Sunday morning, accompanied by singing and sermons from the elders could be considered an acceptable alternative. Will someone remind me to pass around the plate after the run next week?

Our next theme yesterday was the thorny topic of race rules. It was generally agreed that one should not eat beans before a race, or even before a training run. The delicate issue of deodorant was then raised, again with some disagreement. On the one hand there are those runners who shower before a race or training run and then coat themselves with perfumed powders and under the arm deodorant. On the other hand there are others who only wash their running clothes once a year. These latter people argue that body odor, especially that emanating from the arm pits of honest toilers, can be a pleasant experience. It was concluded, but not by a large margin that runners need not shower before a run, but that they should at least wash their socks and shirts once a month.

The subject of clothing soon turned to shoes. One of the crowd, who shall remain nameless, argued vehemently that the purchase of high priced shoes once every three to five hundred miles should be absolutely and categorically banned. He pointed out that he had not bought any shoes for twenty years due to the generosity of his old running buddy, Garry. And furthermore, he had never had a running injury in his life. The others quickly chirped in with talk of support and resilience and toe boxes and planterfaciitis. They argued strongly for training shoes, racing flats, trail shoes, arch supports, cool colors and so on and so forth. And then they went on to discuss their injuries. Now I see a contradiction here – those who buy new shoes get injuries and those who don’t don’t. Reluctantly I agreed that running shoes should be replaced when at least a one inch diameter hole appears in the sole.

Road camber is there to allow the water to drain away and reduce the likelihood of hydroplaning. When I was a little boy we also had little ditches running at right angles to the road to increase the drainage capacity. These ditches were one of the reasons why I never became a jockey. I was riding a pony bareback to a neighboring village and the little feller decided to run on the grass shoulder, which had these little drainage ditches every 10 yards or so. The pony, being wise and not wishing to break a leg and be shot, decided to jump the ditches and I , not being a very experienced rider suffered considerable discomfort in my nether region, which dissuaded me from becoming either a show jumper or jockey. Now I believe I was talking about camber and running theories. It is widely thought that one should run on the left of the road and face the traffic to give one at least a chance of not being creamed by an inattentive pickup driver. But runners believe that always running with one leg lower than the other can result in long term damage to one’s legs and posture – Indeed some runners always drop the shoulder of their preferred arm and this coupled with the left leg being lower than the right could theoretically lead to scoliosis and large chiropractor bills. So these runners believe in running alternately on the left and right side of the road. . The problem is that the symptoms of left side of the road running are inconsistent – some feel pain in their left legs and others in their right.  I happen to believe that this is all hogwash. Anyway why if you live in Prescott, Az would anyone run on a cambered road when there are trails galore to be explored? We should make it a club rule that Mountain Milers members should, as far as possible, avoid running on the road in order to prevent being knocked down by a truck or developing a lop sided gait. By the way the Boston is run on cambered roads and if you wish you can alternate sides, or, as I prefer, run in the middle, except when making the tangents.

The further one gets into a long training run the more trivial the banter becomes and a fundamental running rule is often broken. Thou shalt not repeat the same story, joke, excuse or complaint within a run. The problem here is that runners rarely listen to their own verbal diarrhea and so rapidly forget what they just said. So repetitions abound – “did I tell you about the time when ………….? Other similar rules are that runners should not boast or make excuses, but runners always boast and make excuses. Consequently I believe that there should be some enforcement of the rules and substantial fines. I once suggested that we introduce a point system – each runner starts with 100 marbles and marbles are deducted every time he or she breaks a rule. When one has lost all one’s marbles one should be excommunicated, buried or at least required to buy a round of breakfast.

It has been said by non runners that runners never smile. This assertion is unequivocally untrue, runners do smile; they even say “good morning”, “good afternoon” or good evening”, depending on the time of day to oncoming walkers, horseback riders or bikers. When these walkers or bikers fail to respond a certain young lady in our club has been heard to continue “… or not?” Some bikers and dog walkers think they own the trail; they are the enemy; they deserve to be challenged with a subtle but deadly smile. “Hello”, one should shout, happily. “What a nice dog, horse, hat or bike” as the case may be. “They really should make this path wider, shouldn’t they?” 2nd EDITORS NOTE – Not barely 3 days ago – I was doing a couple of hill repeats up to a local water tower perch near my home.  On one of the return jaunts I spotted a middle aged woman with 2 very large dogs in tow coming up the path.  Upon seeing me, she promptly grabbed the reins tightly and pulled the dogs to the side of the path.  I felt that was a rather neighborly gesture so I complimented her on how pretty her dogs were.  As I got a step past her, I realized that I displayed some rather poor etiquette towards her since I commented on how pretty her dogs were – would she then take it to mean that I felt the she was not at all pretty?  That perhaps she thought that I thought that she was “a dog”??? Now all of this processed in my brain in 2 quick downhill strides and pangs of guilt forced me to rather stiffly choke out as I looked back, “You’re cute too!”  I need a “ruling” on this particular piece of etiquette from our female runners because it is pretty well known that all men have NO manners and was this an appropo item?

The rule for runners here is that they should cultivate a compendium of smiles and cryptic sayings and level them at bikers, walkers, dog walkers, horse riders and other runners as the moment demands. There is one exception to this smiling rule. I am told by a very reliable source – my daughter, Caroline, that if you smile at someone on the street in New York, they will think that you are crazy and they may even shoot you.

Before I end this diatribe I should like to add a few more suggestions regarding rules of behavior for runners. Runners should not be either late or early for a run. In the first case they may be accused of cheating by surreptitiously warming up or even running a couple of miles to gain points over their running buddies. In the second case, being late is not fashionable for runners or for job interviews even though it may be for dating. Another rule that I really believe must be instituted is that of proper dress. One ones shirt should match ones shorts, socks and shoes. Recently I caught sight of some garish green shoes that were being paraded as comfortable trail shoes. They were puke green. It is even rumored that the team for the big race will be wearing puke green shirts. 3r^d Editors note “Due to the varying ingredients of real puke which can change it’s color, and that in this particular case “puke” is used as an adjective rather than a noun – I vote for total replacement of this word, replaced with “Gorgeous Neon or Mint Green shirts”.  Perhaps I am old fashioned and prefer my usual drab grey or brown. I suppose that I may even be expected to smile while wearing a puke, er "gorgeous" green shirt on the airplane to Boston.

The final rule is that all running groups should have a fight song. I would like to propose the following lyrics for the Mountain Milers sung to the tune of Mrs. Robinson, mother in law of the graduate:

And here's to you, Mountain Milers
Jesus loves you more than you will know, wo wo wo
Run real fast Mountain Milers
God in Heaven smiles on those who run, hum, hum, hum
Hum, hum, hum

(with apologies to Paul Simon)

Or perhaps an adaptation of the “Sound of Silence”

Hello roadway, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of footsteps.

I still have another Brian masterpiece that I am adding a few comments on - regarding "talking runners" but this one couldn't wait!

Castigating Dan

Brian Peacock

January 24, 2007

The weather was not as cold as it had been of late; shorts and a T-shirt were the order of the day, even at the 7.30 meeting time at Coyote Lane. The five MM stalwarts crowded into the Hyundai driven by an angel, who dumped us in the middle of nowhere faced by 17 miles up the hill to Jerome Arizona and the promise of a hamburger to die for, which could well have been the case. The sprightly Heidi soon left the pack, loping along easily with a herd of antelope. The dogged Dan, who had organized this jaunt was accompanied by the happy Heather, the sober Steve and the bin there done that Brian. The dirt road cut through the flat valley and then turned right up Mingus Mountain. And that’s when the castigating began. The road became narrower and steeper and rockier and muddier. The views across the valleys were framed by low clouds, a rare sight in this sunny state. 

The road meandered up one side of a mountain to a hairpin bend then back along the other side of the valley and so on ever upward. The conversation was light – we touched on linguistic theory, cognitive science, design engineering and political strategy, before the mud and the rocks and the gradient took our breath away and it was time to castigate Dan. We discussed whether to castigate, chastise or perform major surgery out there on the mountain side. A vote was taken and a Mountain Milers constitutional amendment was passed that all run planners who plan uphill, long, muddy and rocky routes should be castigated, without the opportunity of reprieve and furthermore they should buy lunch for the castigators. So the castigating began. After a while the quaint quartet tired of castigating and focused on the challenge ahead. When are we going to get there someone asked? Our castigee consulted his GPS and replied that he believed that the actual distance would be 18 rather than 17 miles as originally forecast, so the castigating began again in earnest. 

The hapless Dan, accompanied by the talkative Heather, soon tired of this castigating, so they ran ahead out of earshot and the scene changed for the ancient Brit and the suffering Steve. This suffering soon led to a role change. Steve would ask “old man are you sure that you don’t need a rest, perhaps we should walk a while and admire the view, I would hate to have to carry you out of the wilderness if you died on the mountainside; on the other hand perhaps I should just dump you over the edge. “  The bounding Brian was wise to this projection, having studied psychology 50 years ago, so he recognized that the sly Steve was just looking for an excuse to walk, so walk we did. Every now and again guilt caught up with us so we jogged a little way before repeating the disingenuous dialog. The dreadful duo were now becoming delirious with fatigue and altitude and changed their focus to the fallen angel Julie, who they were sure hid around corners until she saw them coming and then drove another mile further on. It felt good to have another target and it provided another excuse to walk and admire the wispy clouds darting up and down the valleys ahead and to the side. Eventually after and age of suffering we caught up with our water stop person and all was forgiven. We feasted on energy drink and Twinkies and hitched a ride for a couple of hundred yards until we caught up with the flagging flusie and the dastardly Dan. By now there were only five miles to go and we were all reenergized by our diet of Twinkies and jungle juice, the long downhill ahead, the view across the valley and the smell of hamburgers. We even forgave the route planner for miscalculating the distance, which had now grown to an awesome twenty miles. Castigation was a thing of the past and reconstructive surgery was planned for the near future. We were happy, because we were great runners, we strode down the hill at a great rate of knots, we praised ourselves for being greater beings than all those other Tom, Dick and Harrys who were chomping on the fat pills in the famous hamburger restaurant in Jerome, AZ. On arrival at the restaurant we found a hungry Heidi, who had run some 23 miles, sitting patiently at the reserved table in the restaurant. She said that she had been there for about two hours and had almost called the search and rescue brigade. We all ordered different shades of hamburger and sides; I do believe that there may be some sinister difference between people who order twice baked potatoes and those who flavor their burgers with BBQ, onions or mushrooms; and those who order a salad to eat before the 1000 calorie burger and fries must really be schizophrenic. Real runners don’t let fellow runners eat healthy food. The singing sextet enjoyed their time at the trough and wandered down to the wool shop with the reinstated angel. All is well in heaven and on the roads. Where and when shall we meet next week?