When a Mid-life (Running) Crisis is Simply Coming of Age

This is will be too long for most to read but thanks for coming. If you do read the whole thing, thanks. You’re a legend.

A few Sundays back I went for a run between Minneapolis and St. Paul, that is known in some circles as the Twin Cities 10 mile road race. Sunday long runs are quite a beloved institution among those that circle road races on the calendar months in advance and pursue finish lines that are hundreds of miles down the road, literally and figuratively. This particular Sunday the pursuit of merely covering the distance was exchanged for exhausting physical, mental and spiritual energy to complete the task in as few seconds as possible.

These longer efforts are often scheduled on weekends that allow, in our modernly inconvenient world, a bit of excess leisure time to spend out on our preferred running surface. In that time, if on a solo effort, the mind explores lots of topics, both conscious and unconscious. When asked what I think about on these runs, very often I wouldn’t really be able to recall much except the banal experiences of covering distance on foot. Not tripping on sidewalks. managing traffic crossings safely or minimizing stoppage time, location of bathroom facilities along the planned route, how a shoe may be fitting, et. al. Any long time member of “the church of the long run” will tell you that “not thinking” is part of their spiritual experience on these long hauls.

Yet there are times where we do have mental acuity to wrestle with the conundrums of life during our longest effort of the week. When that long effort requires a bib number fastened to our person in some form, the mind will be forced upon much different topics. As one accumulates these “bib pinning” experiences over the years, the thought process can become as familiar as the route of the race one may have run dozens of times. This particular Sunday I went to the familiar places both in area code and emotional commitment and found new questions for an old mind and body.

Runners acclimated to the Twin Cities 10 miler recognize the challenge of a race that is ascending at various incline percentages for three quarters of the distance, sometimes very sharply. True veterans of this race will be quick, and also very willing to share the knowledge of experience, that the hidden challenge is found in the late, middle miles where the incline is less challenging but the duration is seemingly endless for those that have not properly portioned their efforts. My bones, cinues, aerobic and glycolytic energy systems have covered this course about two dozen times as part of a race and likely a hundred times more in training preparations. The course itself was not my main competitor on this day. On a cool, mostly sunny morning in Middle America, with leaves turning the colors associated with autumn and “the most beautiful urban marathon in America” the known cost of admission* to a finish line well earned was between me and Minnesota’s state capitol.

Counting the cost of a job has been a proverb of wisdom literature for thousands of years. Every veteran runner knows this is true about a race. At this stage of my life I am fully immersed in the wisdom literature of running. Somewhere just before mile four where the TC ten starts to climb for the next three miles, some times precipitously, always grindingly, some strange thought threw down the landing gear and came to a full and complete stop in my mind.

You never stop coming of age.

My mid-life was not in crisis but the question of why I sign up for these things becomes greater each year when so many more seconds and minutes were required by my physiology to me get between the Twin Cities downtowns via the river road and Summit Avenue than they did the first time I tried in 2001. As the sands of time fill the bottom of the hour glass, could it be, I was still growing in spirit and body as much as I had 25 years earlier as a less than mediocre college runner traversing these same roads?

Could it be that the midlife reckoning is more of a coming of age than a crisis? Of course there are instances of crisis as one ages. The implications of aging are real and anyone that’s not 30 anymore will acknowledge that experience. I have injuries that make it very difficult to accumulate the fitness required for me to run faster than I did in my late 20s or early 30s. I am realist if not a sleep deprived, preschool parent, dreamer. This is not a lesson in overcoming self-doubt or breaking through the illusion that age is just a number.

During my teenage years as a new runner coming of age occured when I surrendered to the anguish of running with the pedal down beyond 1000 meters of a 1600 meter race on a track in Union City, Michigan. Less than five minutes of time to cover a metric mile cost something and after a season of intention, I paid the price and earned a time that began with four minutes on the stop watch.

While toiling away, often as the slowest runner in the slowest heet in low level division III track meets across the upper midwest it could be felt that coming into my age occurred at a conference championship meet. Coach asked me to run four events in 36 hours as a path to an all conference award via being the slowest leg on two relays if I could just get the batton around the track and be mildly competent in the 1500 and steeplechase. Sixth, seventh, fourth, third. Three points, two points, two points, three points. Ten points. All-conference. The 400m leg of that 4x4 was the most lactate my legs have ever generated. Counted the cost, wrote and cashed the check.

Tbose younger legs and soul grew up on those days. Up into a more realized version of self. A self that was willing to go to those painful places where things get torn apart for the sake of being rebuilt, but built back better.

Jim Atkins, the front man to a band that my generation of middle-class white kids grew up with, sang that “there's still some living left when your prime comes and goes.” Since “the late 1900’s” running has provided me the opportunity to answer a lot of existential questions.

On a Sunday in earnly autumn 2026 a version of those legs and soul five decades in the making came of age on Summit avenue in St. Paul. It was not a crisis. It was just a hobby jogger buring calories. But make no mistake, it was also a runner finding themselves while still learning that his heart and soul have a lot more to give when the time for a personal bests may have come and gone.

See you at church of the long run next Sunday.

*not the same as race entry fees which is a subject of discussion for a different diatribe

Foo Fighters, Everlong and Running as a Creative Impulse

When I sing along with you…

Regular readers of the Morning Shakeout email presented by Mario Fraioli and his friends at Tracksmith® are well aware of his habit of sharing links to musical performances or running related video content. This week the link connected you to the intriguing journey of running influencer Casey Neistat standing atop the literal and figurative mountain of going sub-3 hours in the marathon.

Validating the algorithm is irresistible, nestled in the dancing thumbnail suggestions was a live performance of the always immaculate Foo Fighters and their 2008 performance at world renown Wembley Stadium, London. That bad boy was clicked and I was lost for 45 minutes after logging out of my remote work setup.

Fooies (Did I make that up?) are well aware that the ageless fount of youth that is beloved front man Dave Grohl and associates close their shows with the earworm anthem Everlong. I’d never personally sampled this performance though I was aware of the documentary detailing this concert in it’s entirety. No one can accuse me of being a huge Foo Fighters guy but, I can say the volume turned up when their stuff came on the alternative radio station in high school.

That night in Wembley, the band bade the 90k in attendance a fond ado by turning over their well warn classic to reveal an almost introspective atmosphere. During that dramatic lull before the final build up, Dave looked into the swelling masses and proceeded to tear down the proverbial house. I was blown away and emotional in ways that only a magical music performance can conger.

As has been the case for my nearly three decades, plus, in running, music immediately transported me to my experiences on the roads, trails and races across the country. TBH I can’t clap on beat or carry a tune with a bucket. Other than for those that run, I share little in common with the creativity of the musical artist. Yet for me, the effort of running has always satisfied the creative impulse. The need to make something from nothing via kCals and the Krebs cycle.

In summer, winter, joy, pain, bliss, loss and confusion running has created a venue for my mind to make something with my body the way I can infer music does for a musician. Cute, right? So what about Dave and friends?

On that night, in 2008, Dave Grohl, as close to modern, living rock legend as you can find, created something new out of something old. I’d venture Foo Fighters has performed that song over 5000 times, in concert alone. There is a likelihood they could play it in their sleep and parts of four decades performing it live has taken the original emotion from it’s current life. Not on that night. Not on Dave’s watch. Everlong he waited for that unknown someone and something as good as it gets, but the experience lives on like it was yesterday.

In a Minneapolis suburb, later this afternoon, I’ll put on some Atreyu trainers (if punk rock was a running shoe company) and catch a run. Not the same run I started four decades ago, but the same impulse. Not to win, compete, or transcend. To create, to be and I’ll wonder with every past version of myself and the miles accumulated over the years:

“If everything could ever feel this real forever? If anything could ever be this good again?”

Thanks, Dave. Indeed they can.

If you like delicious things CLICK HERE to watch the performance and may the algorithm be with you.

Finding The Pace at a New Distance

Running a few races at a much slower pace than I’m used to.

For the likely small group of folks that will end up at this page, I appreciate your taking a moment to consider my thoughts. As often happens to people as they reach a different stage of life, waking up one day disoriented by the current state of affairs has been my experience for most of the last two years. If there are a small number of eyes that will see this page, there’s an even smaller number who will have any concern for the minutia that created that sensation so I we’ll just move along to the hopeful reason I’ve decided to revive an archaic medium and post on my dormant blog. It’s time to learn how to run again.

In the largest portion of the last 20 years I worked as a head cross country and/or lead distance event track & field coach, mostly in the NCAA Division III level. It was a life I greatly enjoyed and the rhythm of a college or high school competition season was the sundial that oriented my annual calendar. For the sake of brevity, all that is necessary to state here is, my leaving that world was not my choice and I fought to stay with all I had left in a very tired soul. Nothing illegal or otherwise immoral happened. One day, I answered a phone call and was informed I did not have a job. No situation is ever as simple as the likely millions of others who have experienced that type of scenario would confirm. This isn’t a tragedy, it’s merely a harsh reality that crushed a part of me that I’m not sure will ever fully recover.

Life moves on. Things evolve. Your place in the world changes. You are, for how ever long you are. Then you are not.

Except, that’s not true for me. I will always be.

Coach.

A group of really kind people that care deeply about my alma mater put me in their hall of fame for being a coach. (You can read about that elsewhere on this site) The relationships and experiences required to accomplish the kinds things that qualify a person for that type of honor impact you for your entire life. A phone call cannot change that about life.

For a solid year I stumbled around, disoriented with no practice times on my schedule. No recruiting calls. No conference or national honor rolls to sift through on long Saturday night bus rides or over Sunday morning coffee. Pockets devoid of receipts for travel expenses. A job where no one knew what a shoe being “super” means. Over 12 months of realizing I lived in a niche world for almost two decades that no longer had a place for me.

Then it happened that an old friend and former colleague reached out about a job opportunity for which I may be qualified. 20 days later I had a new job making significantly more than I ever had in my life. It is very much not a coaching position. The work is good and meaningful and it does help student athletes.

Within a few months after that a few former college runners I’d worked with asked about marathon training and I’ve set out working with them to improve their experience in that endeavor…We message several times a week…A former coaching colleague new to being a high school AD reached out to see if I could help her very overworked cross country coach with their growing program…I was back at cross country practice as if it was my freshman year all over again.

So what then…when you continue existing after something very powerful in your life goes away? Well for me I do what I’ve always done since I found running 25 years ago, I went for a run.

I’m training, now. For a 33 mile fundraiser run you can learn more about in my social media accounts.

This is life in a new stage. I’m still a bit disoriented but I’m figuring out how to dream while also being present-tense. So there is learning the tactics of a new race, a new pacing, a new venue. There is strength in learning to hope again. My new hope is I can encourage you, a coach in your corner of sorts.

I did not start running to win a conference title. I did not start coaching to win an NCAA title. But I’m unwilling to forgo my naïve belief that the best path to achieve those goals is focusing on the quality of the path itself. The work is purifying and holy. It’s worth every step if motives are right. Holding on to that thought, I’m running again to see what’s possible, as George Sheehan once said, on the other side of sweat.