Sometimes you need to slow down to run better.

ner, and so the two of you line up a running date. At first glance, it seems

like such a logical and safe second- or third-date activity. But then the day comes. You arrive at the preordained park, and as you pull into the lot you can’t help but notice that she is engaged in a stretch that looks as ridiculous as anything you have ever seen—until you start running, that is.

That is when you discover that this so-called runner, the woman who professed her undying love for the sport, has not laced up a pair of shoes in weeks. Then to add insult to injury, as you plod along at 14-minute miles, she admits that she actually is just a beginner. You have been churning out sub-seven-minute miles with regularity. Based on this girl’s physique and banter, you figured she would be up for the challenge. And so by the end of the date you are so irritated that your workout got messed up that you vow never to speak to the woman again.

Before meeting my wife, Meg, I endured many a run similar to the run above. A former Division I % . a – ee runner, I even scoffed T y het J 7 3 at the ladies kick- — al ah ing out nine-minute miles. After Meg, I realized that maybe slowing down to enjoy the scenery with somebody sometimes was not too bad. Conversely, she likes to say that I am the only

p erhaps you have been there. You know, you met a girl, find out she is a run-

Meg and Steve Paske.

f Steve and Meg Paske

semielite male runner that she ever enjoyed a run with. Quite frankly, I am lucky that I did not meet her sooner than I did.

Though the running community is generally very accepting, you might have noticed a bit of animosity between those running near the front and those closer to the back.

“Those half-marathoners do nothing but get in the way of the fast marathoners late in the race,” the front-runners might say.

“Those guys up front take themselves way too seriously for a mid-February 5K,” those in the back retort.

There is no doubt that tension exists between the haves and have-nots when it comes to the distance-running community. That said, Meg and I thought it quite interesting that running has worked so well in our relationship. How did we get there? We thought it such an interesting question that we decided to write about it. Here is our story.

Steve

Three weeks before my sophomore year of high school, the reality hit me. At 6 feet, 1 inch tall and 145 pounds, I really was the scrawniest guy participating in the Osseo Football Speed and Strength Program. Whether it was Kevin Lowry’s laughter with every exercise on upper-body weight day or the stunning similarity between the girth of my arms and the pipe cleaners used for art projects, suddenly my older brother’s taunts resonated with clarity. “Football sucks! Run cross-country!”

For months I responded to his jeers by telling him running was stupid. Football was the sport people cared about. But I also knew that during the past fall he had run in something called the state meet, which seemed like a pretty big deal. So while I knew that my 2:16 half and 5:19 mile as a freshman at Osseo Junior High were nothing special, I also knew that he must have seen some talent in me.

I wanted a letter jacket. My gut was keenly aware that Jarret Parks, the other quarterback coming up through the system, was better than me. And so as I looked in the bathroom mirror that night, I muttered to myself, “No Steve, you really won’t ever play quarterback for the Vikings.” Then I placed the mouth guard my mother had taken me to get molded just three days earlier in my top dresser drawer, walked into the living room, and gave my family the news.

“T think I’m going to run cross-country,” I announced.

“Dude, you won’t regret it,” my brother yelled, ecstatically.

“Are you sure?” my mother asked. She knew that I had never really embraced junior high track.

One look at my arms and one hearing of my stories about being mocked in the weight room, and she backed off.