The announcement before the guest blog: Tomorrow, Saturday 4/1, also known as April Fools Day is the #NPRunningOfTheFools. It’s a run, a social, a really good time with super dope human beings dressed like fools. All the details in the blog from Wed. #JustShowUp. Monday Destination Deck: is at Amory Park in Brookline.
And now the guest blog: Eric Klawiter, like many of us in the bigger NP community, found a “New me” after finding NP. He also has a familiar story to many…there was that little thing that finally made him say, “Ok, I’ll go.” Personally, knowing that Eric Klawiter and I showed up for the very first time on the very same day makes me proud–I admire who he is in the bigger NP community and in the Boston NP tribe. He’s not just a member, he and Erika Anderson have made their family a member of the tribe and they destroy the list of excuses that so many people use to keep them away from workouts. He works so damn hard, every single day. He doesn’t seem to be afraid to try all the things, and thanks to his blog today, maybe we all can be a little more like Eric in that way. He can explain the rest…
Every now and again I re-invent myself. I’ve even defined this state as “The New Eric.” It involves refocusing myself on a new activity or applying myself in a previously unrealized way. To achieve the desired response from other people, I’ve learned that I need to refer to myself in the third person. For example, The New Eric is going to learn to cook New Nordic. The New Eric is going to teach himself guitar well enough to play at a coffee shop.* In 2013, The New Eric was going to try to get back into shape.
I have been a runner my entire life. Historically, however, my commitment to running has waivered. Weatherproof wasn’t part of my vocabulary, so most winters, I took a good long break from running. A return to running generally required signing up for a race, often a half marathon, to motivate me to get in shape. I mastered the training-for-a-half-marathon-in-a-month program, increasing my long runs each week from 4 miles to 10 miles. I ran easy miles. I avoided hills. I didn’t run sprints. I wasn’t sure what a fartlek was and it was probably better that way. I most definitely didn’t run stairs. Running magazines (that my wife subscribed to) touted these things as theoretically good for someone, but not me. And my finish times were consistent… consistently acceptable. I’d get to the last couple miles of any given half marathon and think, “if I just run a pace of 10 minute miles the rest of the way, I’ll break [insert very modest goal time].” Then I’d proceed to slow down dramatically to that pace and finish in whatever time I found acceptable. Mental tenacity was not my strong suit. I never tapped into my competitive drive that was clearly there, as demonstrated in other sports or other aspects of my life.** Racing can be ironically anonymous. I wasn’t measuring myself against anyone else, including myself.
In 2002, I ran my first marathon (which, let’s face it, included some long stretches of walking at the end). I was able to check the box for that life experience and when I was finished, I wasn’t left with much motivation to run that far again anytime soon, like for the rest of my life. But deep down, I knew that qualifying to run the Boston Marathon was still my ultimate running goal. One evening, while living Boston for a month in 2003, I ran through Copley Square. I stopped in my tracks at the marathon finish line and right there, in a downright spiritual moment, vowed that someday I would qualify for Boston. Realistically speaking I envisioned this happening when I was 50 or 60, when the time standards might be reachable – assuming I never got any slower than I was at the age of 25. Seven years later, and many ho-hum half marathons later, my wife and our then one-year old daughter moved to Boston. Each April, we cheered on the Boston Marathon. If there was ever a moment to be inspired to run a marathon, that was it. But by the next day, any Marathon-Monday motivation I had mustered had evaporated.
In the summer of 2013, I hit one of my athletic lows. I was fresh off an uninspiring effort at the Run To Remember half marathon: Out of shape, unmotivated, and unfavorable race-day weather – the trifecta for a poor outcome. I was hiding 25 extra pounds on my frame, my cholesterol was high, and slow jogs were a struggle. So, true to form, I signed up for the 2013 BAA Half Marathon. I did most of my training pushing my almost 2 year-old twins in a double stroller – which turned out to be my edge. Come race-day, I ran stroller free and ended up running my second fastest half marathon (my very first half was my fastest; the nearly 20 subsequent were all slower). The question then entered my mind, “Could I end up being a faster version of myself in my late 30s than I was in my early 20s?” And, just like that, The New Eric was reborn. The New Eric was so motivated that he picked up his wife’s Runner’s World for the first time in many years. The cover article just happened to be about this crazy fitness tribe that was meeting less than a mile from where we lived. I read the article on a Saturday and went to my first workout two days later.*** The rest, as they say, is history.
My first year of NP was a ride many others have experienced. I kept showing up and just by doing so, I started getting stronger and faster. Much of it was the routine, being forced to do things I wasn’t naturally inclined to do. But, for me, the most important aspect was the competition. I was able to tap into this pretty much whenever I wanted to, particularly at Harvard Stadium or when there was a free burrito on the line (see burrito face below). I was getting to know people, people were getting to know me, and racing was a lot less anonymous. The secret sauce they served was addicting. Every stadium PR Day, I whittled off more time – eventually I cut my PR time in half.
The New Eric was in full effect, but my ultimate goal in running was still looming: the Boston Marathon. NP taught me that after doing so many things that I never thought possible, this ultimate, impossible goal was finally a conversation worth having. So one night I had that conversation. I let it slip to Deniz Karakoyunlu, after rebuffing his attempt to get me to sign up for a triathlon, that my real goal was to qualify for Boston. He latched onto that and by the end of the night, he had me ready to sign up for the New Jersey Marathon.
It took a couple attempts, a few injuries, an ultra-supportive community, a lot of miles, and a tremendous amount of work, but I’m running my first Boston Marathon this April 17th – 14 years after I made that promise to myself. It is easy to dismiss goals we set for ourselves as impossible – impossible because we lack ability, or time, or talent, or any number of other ingredients for success. So we allow ourselves to fall into the trap of not making the attempt. But it is in the attempt where we dream of the impossible, redefine what we are capable of, where we find who we are. Reaching “impossible” goals doesn’t require redefining yourself. But it does require making the attempt. So don’t put off the attempt.
* I gave up New Nordic when I discovered it required foraging, but I did get a paying gig at a coffee shop.
** E.g. Academic medicine. Ping pong. Croquet.
*** Truth be told, I was more nervous for my first Monday Destination Deck than my first day of high school. Turns out there were a lot of other floundering newbies there that day just like me, like Emily Saul – OK, bad example.
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