Out of the Blue

                 I was desperately adjusting the broken strap of my Walmart goggles as she leaned down into my lane, carefully balanced on her walker, and smiled, eyes bright behind her glasses. I paused for a moment and met her gaze, listening as she said something I didn’t quite understand. I returned her smile, defaulted to “Yes, Ma’am,” and kicked off on a sprint to end the workout. Though a product of Gulf Coast summers, I’ve never been at ease in a swimming pool, or really in the water for that matter; I swim most laps one breath short of frantic.  But as the gears in my hypoxic brain turned underwater, I pieced her words together:

“I would give anything for that”

Minutes before, I was imagining how silly we must look to the old folks in the rehab pool, fit young people, a US Champion in Nicole, no less, jumping around in the shallow end with foam weights held high above our heads, part of a workout disguised as a “recovery routine.” Now I sat on the ledge, catching my breath and my thoughts. Given the soft kindness in her voice and face, she didn’t say it to chasten, nor did it seem mawkish or wistful…and she certainly wasn’t hitting on me. 

              Instead, I took it as a charge: to earn my fitness and never for a second take it for granted, for there will come a time when we cannot do what we are now capable of doing. Ignore or fixate upon it at your own peril, or accept it and leave little to chance as you strive to accomplish all you can while you can.  But forgettable platitudes abound—talk is cheap, and the proof is in the pudding. I went to bed early that night.

  

With a refreshed sense of purpose worthy of a new year, I joined Jack, Michael, and Wilkerson in accompanying our resident cartographer, the intrepid Jeff See, down a long dirt road in Sumter, SC on Saturday morning. 

Our unseasonably warm run degenerated into a proper downpour, and in short order we were soaked to the skin. Slinging sand and mud, we barreled forward into our progression, no longer mindful of the weather, though it did occasion some ill-informed speculation on survival strategies if stranded in a South Carolina pine forest.  Upon completion, we huddled under a small church house porch to change, grateful for dry clothes, shelter, and the mere possibility of Chipotle burritos back in Greenville; sometimes it takes running in a storm or two to be reminded of how little we actually need in life and how much more we demand of it. 

Speaking of rain, here's a quick music story to tie it all together: 

In 1979, many critics predicted the death of rock and roll and the end of Neil Young’s career; he responded with Rust Never Sleeps, widely regarded as one of the greatest albums of the decade. Young risked everything and succeeded in fusing his acoustic folk-rock sensibilities with the punk ethos of the late 70’s, signaling the consummation of an artistic rebirth that cemented his status as one of the greatest musicians of the era.  Though I’m usually skeptical of mantras and mirror writing, the titular declaration stayed with me long after other lyrics and passages faded. Perhaps it’s the simplicity and broad applicability that I find so appealing—“rust” can be anything entropic, the result of disuse and inattention in any facet of our lives.  And though entropy is inevitable, striving to build, to create, to improve is to affirm life itself. Both humbling and emboldening, it is a rallying cry in the battle against complacency and mediocrity, carpe diem's sharper-edged brother, and my first message for 2014.  

Finally, I would like to honor Furman’s Allie Buchalski for her selection to the US Junior National XC Team and 18^th place finish in Edinburgh and far more so to recognize her inspirational strength in competing in memory of her father, Jim, who she lost suddenly and tragically on New Year’s Eve. French historian Hippolyte Taine once wrote that much great poetry only knows one style: “a suffering, triumphant cry from the heart.” 

At times, such is our sport-- and our lives.

Sincerely,

Lee