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Don't Fall Down!
Remaining Vertical is the
Goal of Every Masters Runner
by Hal Higdon
"Don't fall down!" I heard a British lady so instruct her husband at the World Masters Championships in San Sebastian, Spain in August. She was younger, maybe in her 60s; he was older, maybe in his 70s, and about to run the cross country race. Don't fall down! Very basic instructions, particularly on a bumpy course around LaSarte Race Track.
That's a track more often run on by horses than humans. Many European countries have this strange idea about cross country: Kroze, as the Basques call it. Europeans often run cross country races around horse tracks. That's good for spectators, since in an 8-K race on a 2-K track, they get to see the competitors pass five times.
But for those competitors, it makes for a pretty boring race. No hills. No trees. Nothing that could be classified as scenery. No fun. We might as well be running around a 400-meter track.
Rain earlier in the morning had left pockets of mud in places, and the horse-trod footing was uncertain, which may have prompted the woman to issue her warning. Or maybe she was used to coping with an older husband, who has begun to show his age.
The
description fits
That description pretty much fits me. Of the 15 World Masters Championships held since 1975, I have run all but one. Particularly in the early years, I trained intensively to win gold medals, sometimes logging as much as 100 miles a week.
Then an aging body caused me to
modify my approach. I biked more, swam more, lifted weights more, ran less. I
still participated in the Worlds every other year, but with lessening intensity.
I was content to use the meet as an excuse to travel to exotic destinations and
greet old friends. En route to Spain, we stopped for three nights in Paris
during which time I didn't run a step, although we walked all over the City of
Lights from Notre Dame to the Eiffel Tower to the Champs d' Elysees. Run
a cross-country race? Okay, that seems less intimidating than 1,500 meters on
the track.
Unfortunately, at the horse race
track you couldn't hide your lack of fitness deep in the woods. Every few
kilometers, you were forced to trudge past spectators sitting in the stands.
Don't fall down became my goal as much as that of the British
husband.
Nobody lost money
I had four gold medals back home
attesting to my ability once to run fast. At LaSarte, I positioned myself in the
back row and started slow, allowing the serious runners to rush ahead. The field
of maybe 100 runners over age 65 strung out in a long line. I contented myself
with picking off a runner or two who started too fast. As we circled the track
for the last of four laps, I sighted a British runner ahead, maybe the one seen
earlier, and focused on catching him. I came close, but failed in that final
goal.
At least nobody at the horse track
lost money betting on me. At least I didn't fall down, although my wife later
told me that several runners did on the muddy course. Obligation completed, I
began to focus on my next goal: not another race, but rather visiting the
Guggenheim Museum in Bllbao. No sense letting sport interfere with
sightseeing.
And two years from now when the
World Masters reconvene in Italy, I know that I will have a new focus for my
running career: Don't fall down. Staying vertical is the ultimate goal if you
are a masters runner.
Click here for a longer version of Hal's trip to France and Spain: EuroBlog
Hal Higdon, a Contributing Editor for Runner's World, still holds the American M40 record for the 3,000 meter steeplechase, set winning that event at the first World Masters Championships in 1975.
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