We want to be recognized for merely existing, a by-product of the mania for bestowing self-esteem like pollen on a spring wind.

And this cultural mind-set has infected running.

We demand recognition for doing something we should be doing for its own sake, because it is natural and good. We demand recognition even if we train haphazardly and race halfheartedly. We strive not to be the best we can be but merely to be. That’s enough. We’ll get by doing as little as we can and then demand some recognition for it.

And in the process we cheat ourselves. We never move far enough ahead in our training to hit that overdrive gear in our running, where the reality of a hard asphalt surface beneath our feet is negated, and we are floating, running strong and free like the human animal whose divine design infuses all of us. A result of our

understriving is that we never earn admission to that special place in our running where the joy of effortless movement resides.

We elevate our egos at the expense of our spirits. We orbit rather than dive to the calm eye of the center, and therefore we drift and scan the horizon for someone to rescue us so that we can then damn them for not rescuing us the way we wanted to be rescued.

We lower our goals while we raise our heads to be patted.

We lust for cheap brass medals, while Emil Zatopek joyfully gives away his gold.

We look at Emil, and we are humbled.

We look at Emil, and we are inspired.

Emil occasionally lost a race, but he never failed.

Isn’tit time that we, long-distance runners, become children of Emil?

—Rich Benyo

Adventure Running At Its WORST!

In 1989, two runners set off to become the first to run from Death Valley to Mt. Whitney and back—in mid-summer.

Lottsa luck, fellers!

Send $22 in US funds (shipping/handling included) to: Rich Benyo, Box 161, Forestville, CA 95436, USA

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EDITORIAL @ 11

On THE Road WITH Joe LeMay ~

FORCED LAYOFFS

Whatever your age, when you were younger, you had this picture of how your life might turn out, and you’re never even close. I write this as ’’m trying to get Skunky, my 170-pound Vietnamese potbellied pig, off of the porch. He’s like a cat (a heavy cat) caught up a tree, refusing to budge, ignoring all my coaxing. The rescuing fireman in this case is my wife Ellen, who tells me it’s easy to get him down: “Just nudge him with a rake toward the steps on the corner, and he’ll go.” So she says.

People say pigs are so smart. If so, why does Skunky keep doing this? It’s never pleasant for him up on the porch, and he knows he has trouble getting down. It’s cold today, and the sun never makes it to the spot he has chosen. The sun reaches back farther in the yard, where I thoughtfully put down some hay for him to lounge in. But, naturally, he comes up to the porch, where he’s cold and slips on the icy wood. So here I sit, wondering when Ellen will get home from her run, confronted by a snout staring at me from the other side of the sliding glass door. No, Icertainly neverimagined that my life would take this route. I figured maybe a couple of cats and a hedgehog.

Ellen’s back and there . . . she did it, using an interesting new technique to steer Skunky in the right direction with a rake and then leaning on him with her knees to force him down the stairs, all the while using the rake to keep him from trying to slip out sideways.

Ellen is the lucky one, for now anyway, whether she realizes it or not. Although she’s been having some injury problems of her own, she at least has been able to log her usual 100+ mile weeks.

Having what the doctor said is a pulled right hamstring, [haven’t been able to run a step in three weeks, and I had to cancel plans to defend my California International Marathon title. [pulled the hamstring all the way down where it attaches behind the knee, which the doctor says is especially bad because there’s not much muscle down there, so it won’t heal very quickly. This has already been the longest forced rest I’ ve ever taken.

(© PHOTO RUN

MAKE THE BEST OF A BAD

People put various spins on my situation, some saying the injury will do

me good in the long run, as could use the time off. On the whole, I’d have to disagree. I can’t say the down time is doing me that much good. This injury blindsided me. I’d never had a major injury, and life dealt mea big surprise. Just like that pig on the porch.

With all the heartbreak that goes hand in hand with trying to be a great runner (or trying to be good at anything, for that matter), you’d think some down time might be a welcome break. For the dedicated athlete, down time is often a mixed blessing. We all need, and look forward to, a rest every now and then. I usually plan on taking some rest immediately after a major marathon effort. It usually works out well. When I run a good marathon, I wouldn’t run again for the rest of the week, even if I wanted to. Also, Ican take the time off, knowing that I madea great effort, and look back on it with the satisfaction of a job well done, maybe checking out some pictures of the race and saying, “Yeah, wasn’t that great?”

This is different.

When this first happened, I figured it was just another one of those little nagging problems that comes and goes in a day or two. “Just a flesh wound,” I thought. “T’ll do all the usual ice and stretching and Advil and give it a rest and be back on my feet in 48 hours.”

Astrong case of denial sets in when injury strikes two weeks before a big race. But as much as I denied it, the injury didn’t get any better. The Thanksgiving Day race I was plan

ning on running passed by without me. By the following Monday, I had to cancel my plans to run the California International, and by Tuesday I was in the doctor’s office. He says it’s apulled hamstring. It doesn’t feel like one, but then, I’m not a doctor.

The prescription is physical therapy, which I find very time consuming and quite annoying. Physical therapy usually involves answering a lot of questions like, ““You’ re not very flexible. Do you stretch at all? Yes? Probably not enough, though; if you had just had the decency to stretch more, this injury never would have happened [you miserable excuse for a human being, you . . .].”

I place physical therapists alongside dental hygienists when it comes to lecturing people. As it turns out, though, my PT is not all that annoying. He actually managed to get an idea of what’s going on with me and say acouple of things that make sense.

As the disappointment sets in that upcoming competition is out of the question, you start to think about what to do with all the extra time you’ll have. For me, this surprisingly turns out to be a whole lot of nothing. As a matter of fact, when I’m not running every day, I even forget to take showers, which, I have been reminded, is not good. The routine is usually run, shower, run, shower.

I’ve always pictured myself being a much more productive person when I retire from competitive running. I’ll get things done all over the place now that I’ll finally have the

ON THE ROAD WITH JOE LEMAY @ 13