Jul 18, 2000 When Do You Say Goodbye? By Laurel Park :: Views- 1245

Perhaps it's just crankiness due to chronic injury, but lately I've been
spending a lot of time contemplating the end of my competitive career.
Every runner wants to go out in a blaze of glory, not a spate of physical
therapy. Every runner wants his or her last race to be the stuff that
dreams are made of (a final PR, perhaps a victory) not a painful exercise
in frustration. Every runner wants one last awesome race. But how do you
know when it's time to say goodbye?



I've always admired runners who are able to place racing uniformly within
the context of their lives. Bob Kempanian, Sabrina Dornhoefer and Brian
Diemer come immediately to mind. All three were world-class runners who
knew when it was time to step down from the elite stage and devote
themselves to other aspects of their lives. Bob and Sabrina started
medical internships and Brian, of course, is raising his family and
cultivating a Division III cross-country dynasty at Calvin College. What I
admire most about these people is their ability to remove themselves fully
and completely from the competitive world; a process that I suspect most
of us (myself included) would find very difficult to do. Competitive
running is addictive and fulfilling and more than a little narcissistic.
It's tremendously satisfying to run fast and win awards and find one's
name high up on the result sheet. It takes quite a bit of self-esteem and
confidence to stop and walk away.



I am by no means critical of runners who continue to compete for as long
as their bodies let them. Jane Welzel, Warren Utes, Bill Rodgers - as long
as the fire still burns and they are having fun, why not? One of the great
things about running is that there is no age limit.



I've always believed that running should be only one aspect of my life,
and not always the dominant one. I could never have been a full-time
athlete; it works for many runners but wouldn't have worked for me.
Perhaps this cost me 30 seconds off my 10K PR, or the chance to place in
the top five at some high-level road races, but for me the compromise was
worth it. I'm pleased and satisfied with my racing career, and it has
brought more richness to my life than I ever expected.



Which brings me to my current conundrum. I've been battling a frustrating
back injury for the past year, and with one or two exceptions, my '99
racing season was not exactly the stuff legacies are made of. It's pretty
clear at this point that I'm not going to have a '00 racing season, so the
question is, where do I go from here? One the one hand, I'm tired of
physical therapy, tired of training runs that end in pain, and tired of
making the rounds to doctors, chiropractors and therapists. I'm starting a
PhD program in the fall and my energies will clearly be focused on that
for the next few years. On the other hand, part of me just isn't ready to
walk away. Like nearly every other runner I know, I'm convinced that I
still have some PRs waiting to be set free. And I'm not ready to give up
the butterflies at the start, or the feeling of power when you have "one
of those days" and everything is "on" and you feel like a finely-tuned,
well-oiled machine, or the sense of satisfaction from a well-run race, or
the camaraderie and "espirit de corps" after the event. I am selfish
enough to want these experiences for many more years.



The handwriting might be on the wall, but I refuse to read it. I'm just
not ready to label myself a "former" competitive runner. I prefer to think
that this injury is simply a mandatory rest year in disguise, and that
next summer I'll be back - faster and stronger and hungrier than ever.