When I was a young lad of 30, running road races in the San Francisco Bay Area, I was very inspired by the over-40 runners I met. They had a poise about them that we youngsters lacked. The old guys seemed to have outgrown the impulse to run too hard, too far, too often. As a result, they were more consistent in their training. Many of those foxy grandpas were formidable competitors, running impressive times in their forties, fifties, and sixties.
Older runners do make mistakes, of course, and they can be silly asses, too. But now that I’ve joined the old-guys club, I’m more than ever persuaded that nature conspires to teach us patient endurance and reflection as we age. And nature takes her time – forty, fifty, sixty years, to cook up a poise that isn’t shaken by turbulent desires and outward setbacks.
George Bernard Shaw, the Irish playwright, was at a party when the hostess noticed him sitting in a corner alone. She approached and said, “Why, Mr. Shaw, aren’t you enjoying yourself?” Peering from under his shaggy eyebrows, Shaw growled, “Madam, that is all I am enjoying.”
As we age, we grow more calmly self-contained. An old-person mind can see dangers that are overlooked by minds heaving with youthful emotion. Old-person calmness clears space for better decision-making: “I’ll give my body time to recover between runs. I’ll increase my training gradually. I’ll do long runs and speedwork appropriately. I’ll take my time and do it right.”
These are the thoughts of an old runner. It’s easy to dream up a good training plan; anyone can do it. But it takes calmness, patience, and adaptability – nature’s gifts of age – to carry it through successfully.
Injuries play an important role in running: they mature us. I’m grateful for my injuries, because they’ve forced me to look within. They’ve driven me to the point of desperate sincerity, and they’ve humbled me to the point where I could pray with an open heart. Dangling from the end of my rope, I’ve prayed with perfect honesty, not in an attempt to “cop a blessing” or be quickly healed, but to understand and cooperate with the intended lesson. In desperation, I found my heart, and that was as valuable as the answers I received. When I asked with a full heart, I found a living relationship with the inner Friend. Growing larger than my small self, I became, I think, an older runner.
A sudden twinge in my knee – ouch! Why do I get injured when I’m running well? When I’m doing all the right things, when my training ideas are proving themselves splendidly? When I’m growing steadily faster and enjoying a harmony of body, mind and soul? Why injure me then?
I can only imagine it’s because I need seasoning. When everything’s going well, I’m apt to forget the source of my life. I become a younger runner. But when I’m injured, I turn for help to the larger, older Self of which I’m a small part. In the last two years, I’ve had few days without illness or injury. Injuries are the negative pole of a runner’s positive experiences. Maturity is accepting health and injury with equal grace.
Praying sincerely requires that I give up personal definitions of healing. Maturity is recognizing that happiness comes by finding my place in life, not by pushing life to be as I would like it.
Injuries aren’t accidents. Accepted with poise, they return us to the roots of our lives. Overcoming setbacks is the first, next step toward victory. Accepting what God gives us is the beginning of finding what we most truly want for ourselves.
