5 at 50 Part II: The Man in the Clock

By the time you read this, I’ll be 50. I’ve set this journal entry to auto-publish on the big day, but don’t worry… it will not self-destruct.

Mar 26, 2024

In Part I, I talked about “the why” of 5 at 50. The Sheehan quote at the beginning of that piece says otherwise, but let’s agree, a personal record attempt is most definitely a race against one’s former self.

“Older runners don’t compete against their younger selves; they compete against the clock, against the whispers of doubt. Every stride is a victory, every finish line a triumph over time.”
~ George Sheehan

So yes, there’s the clock and its indisputable measures. But inside that black box, at every finish line this year, former versions of me will be flipping numbers like a scoreboard keeper at Wrigley. Except, you know, digital. And metaphorical.

17 year-old me will wonder how a guy grayer than his high school track coaches (and those guys were old) could ever hope to beat him in four laps around the oval.
36 year-old me will sneer at my 5k attempt (he was a bit cocky, that one), then slam a few beers.
42 year-old me will be cheering because he’s beginning to understand the special symbiosis between running and aging. Then he’ll slam a few beers.

Five distances. Five very different disciplines (plus a bonus trail race… read down for more on that). It’s an exhilarating proposition, if a little scary. And, with apologies to Sheehan, one of the most interesting aspects is thinking about who I was when I set those personal records.

The Marathon | PR: 3:06:54 | Years Since: 12

My earliest memories of competitive running orbit around my father and his obsession with the marathon. I guess I internalized it, as little boys will do. Dad put IRUN26 on his license plate and decades later, I did, too. He ran Boston in ‘82. I got my shot 30 years later.

The 2012 Tacoma City Marathon was special. We’d lived in “grit city” for six years, started a popular running club, and made lifelong friends. It was home, and on race day, I felt the city carrying me to the line. I got my qualifier, putting us on a path to the fateful 2013 Boston Marathon... my last 26.2 for a decade.

The marathon is the granddaddy of road racing distances. Finishing one is a feat. Racing one—really racing—is a tenuous battle between coup and collapse, conducted at the edges of potential. I’ve never quite taken it there. Perhaps this is the year.

“Men, today we die a little.”
~ Emil Zatopek, to his fellow runners at the start of the 1956 Olympic Marathon

For my attempt, I’m eyeing the California International Marathon (CIM), the self-anointed “Fastest Course in the West,” where an undercurrent of speed and marathon mystique might help pull me across the line. Its December running will give me more time to push training volume to new levels.

The Half-Marathon | PR: 1:28:26 | Years Since: 8

42 year-old me might be rooting for 50 year-old me on this one, because the 2016 Snow Joke in Seeley Lake, Montana foreshadowed something I now hold dearly… my sobriety.

Rewind to late 2015 and you’ll find me getting some alarming results in a routine medical checkup. Cholesterol: Through the roof. Blood pressure: Pre-hypertensive. Liver function: Yikes.

Get this, I actually asked my doctor if my systemic inflammation could be from too much running. He knew it was the beers, and so did I.

For 30 days, I (pretty much, for the most part) quit drinking. My training blossomed. In follow-up bloodwork, doc said he’d never seen a turnaround like it, asked if I could keep it up (of course), and sent me on my way. The next day, I had the half-marathon of a lifetime at Snow Joke… And promptly celebrated with a few beers.

In 2020, I quit drinking for good. My health, happiness, and running continue to bloom, and I’m wondering… How good can it get? The Missoula Half-Marathon in June will offer some feedback.

The 10k | PR: 38:24 | Years Since: 11

I entered the 2013 Race 2 Place on a whim. We were in Spokane, Washington for a family vacation and I snuck out in the morning before anyone was up. I was still raw from Boston, and apparently still well-conditioned.

At the gun, I eased out with the pack. Just a few hundred yards in, on the first hill, I accelerated slightly to see who would come with me. Nobody did. This was the first time I’d ever led out a race and the experience was surreal; perhaps the closest I’ve been to flow state, with mind and body connected in effortless harmony.

Wearing my treasured Boston Athletic Association hoodie, I collected the first place award after a somber moment of silence for the victims of the finish line bombing a month earlier.

Last year, I ran a 39:27 10k and still had a few drops left in the tank. At this year’s Boogie to the Bank in Columbia Falls, Montana, can I ride the red line the distance requires, emptying the reserves just before the finish chute?

The 5k | PR: 18:39 | Years Since: 14

Last weekend, I was reminded about what makes the 5k so special. As Lisa and I wriggled our way into the middle of the pack at the start of GovX San Diego, we were surrounded by runners of all kinds, from seriously competitive to silly and costumed.

3.1 is for everyone. It introduces so many people to the joy of running.

The town I grew up in was home to Montana’s largest road running event. In little Helena, the Governor’s Cup was a big deal. My friends and I counted down days and ran 5k’s in the manic, sprint-walk-sprint style of kids with unbottled enthusiasm.

My old man used to run 5k’s with me, always coming back after his finish so we could cross the line together. At the 2010 Frosty’s 5k in Tacoma, I did the same with Lisa and our daughter (who now has a daughter of her own). It was a good race, a PR, and an even sweeter memory.

Nearly 15 years later, can I still get the legs turning over? We’ll see what’s possible at The August, Montana’s Second Oldest Footrace.

The Mile | PR: 5:30 | Years Since: 34 or 35

I ran track for a few years in high school, but this was not a time of serious athletic pursuit. On practice days, the crowd I hung out with walked as soon as the coaches were out of sight. We dogged it on hill repeats, dragged our feet on intervals.

It’s a wonder I was able to eek out something like a 5:30 mile (the exact time eludes me, but we’ll call that close enough). At meets, I typically finished second-to-last, with a fellow lollygagging teammate graciously hanging back to take one for the B Team.

The mile is having a moment as a road racing distance, and I’m stoked to have found one (relatively) close to home. At the Yakima Mile in July, we’ll see if 50 year-old me can show 16 year-old me a thing or two.

Bonus! Don’t Fence Me In 30k | PR: 3:02:46 | Years Since: 2

No question, my heart is in the hills. Whenever it’s possible and the trails are passable, you’ll find me in the South Hills of Helena, a world-class network of interconnected dirt just steps from our front door.

Don’t Fence Me In is a bona-fide trail running classic, attracting speedy runners from around the region looking for an early season test. This will be my third year in a row doing the 30k. My wife knows not to believe me when I say I’m just gonna take it easy and enjoy the day, and now you do, too.

May 11, I’ll be out there trying to kick two-years-ago-me’s butt.

Embracing Change

You might wonder if “aggressive” goal setting puts a person too far into the future, too focused on outcomes. I see imagined times on a clock as signposts; more about possibility than mandate.

For all the half-jokes about competing with specters of my former self, 5 at 50 is really about strengthening my mind and body, moving with some semblance of ease and flow, and aging with a lively mix of grace and fire. It’s about noticing the poetry and poignancy of running… And sharing some of that experience with you.

Of course, that “ease and flow” bit tends to go out the window in the days following a marathon, when even small staircases are painful, but you get what I’m saying.