PUBLISHED 02/01/2005
Any trip down memory lane is likely to bring up old emotions. I used to play the bass trombone (professionally, I mean), and I recently came across the audition tapes I made nearly 20 years ago. I never actually got a job by using those tapes, but they represent an important part of my life nonetheless. An injury (pinched nerve in my arm from overuse) ended my musical career shortly after I made the tapes, so there is some sadness to be sure. But there is also a sense of wonder that I'd ever had the skill and discipline to do something at that level.
All of this got me thinking. I wondered if anyone would take up the trombone at, say, 43, and expect to perform at a near-professional level in a year or so. I wondered if anyone would believe that an adult who couldn't so much as read music could quickly and easily learn a vast musical repertoire. Then I wondered why adult-onset athletes in general and adult-onset runners in particular think they should be able to run as fast or as far as lifelong runners do.
I wonder all this because that's exactly what I did. Middle-aged, overweight, smoker, drinker, overeater, I thought I could train like a seasoned athlete. In my naiveté, I thought that beginners' running programs were for beginners. Real beginners, like, oh I don't know, a 2-year-old child who had barely learned to walk.
I'd run for 12 weeks 20 years earlier when I went through Army Basic Infantry Training, so I wasn't really a beginner. I was just coming back to running after a two-decade hiatus. I knew I wasn't an advanced runner, but surely I was capable of using the intermediate program. I just assumed that it would all come back.
It didn't. What did come back was the knee pain I remembered from Basic. And the foot pain. And the hip pain. And the boredom. And the hating to run.
For whatever reason, we accept that starting late as a musician limits us. And so it was with my running. In time, I came to accept that the days before I started running were every bit as important as the days after. No amount of effort or training was going to overcome a lifetime of indiscretion. This acceptance came as quite a shock. And I wasn't happy about it.
I wasn't happy that I'd never be able to place in my age group. I wasn't happy that I wouldn't achieve the sort of unquestioned recognition that I had achieved as a musician. I wasn't happy, but I didn't stop running either.
Now I'm content with running in the context of a life lived fully, if not well. I'm content in the way the adult pianist is content with clawing his way through Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. I know that even if I'm not doing it well, it's better than not doing it at all.
And on those days when I find that the baggage I'd need for a longer trip down memory lane is just too heavy for me to carry, I remind myself that no one can make me carry those bags anymore. I can't change the road I took to get here, and I'm not sure I would.
For now I try not to look too far back. But I also try not to look too far ahead. Keeping my eye on today is about all I'm capable of. And today, I think I'll go for a run.
Waddle on, friends.
