Low Tide

Low Tide

The rhythms of the sea

vary--as do the rhythms of our lives

By Hal Higdon

Each morning, the Florida Times-Union publishes a schedule of tides--high and low--for the following seven days. When I am at my winter home in Ponte Vedra Beach, I check this schedule daily. My life revolves around it. I run each day at low tide.

Low tide is when the beach is widest and flattest, thus, best for running. At high tide, the beach all but vanishes. Only a tiny slab of shore remains between ocean and houses. It is slanted, loose, often encrusted with shells and difficult for running.

Each day brings two low tides and two high tides, but not always at the same times. Low tide shifts forward approximately 40 minutes each day, moving from morning to noon to afternoon to evening over a period of time. Thus, to know the best times to run, checking the schedule becomes essential.

Recently, however, my runs on the beach have become walks on the beach, not only slower than my usual pace, but covering less distance. My life is at low tide. Following a long plane ride home from the Honolulu Marathon, breathing recycled cabin air, my immune system down because of the stress of both training for and running the marathon, I came down with a case of bronchitis that soon developed into pneumonia.

Quiet Period

My daily runs ceased. Even slow walking got me out of breath. Fortunately, I had planned to take a month or so away from my running following the marathon anyway, so this quiet period in my life did not depress me. It offered me a chance to walk with my wife Rose, and talk with her, and see the pelicans and porpoises.

As a committed, lifetime runner, I always have enjoyed running in scenic areas: through the woods, in the mountains, along the beach. But as that runner, I often run past the scenery too fast to see it. This low tide in my life allowed me to slow down and, in effect, sniff the flowers.

Illness or injuries sometimes force runners into low tides, when we must modify activities to recover for high tides to come. Philosophers and physiologists might argue over whether low and high tides represent low and high points in our lives. They could be either or both. More important, they represent change.

Transitions

During my running career, I always have moved from low to high tide and back to low, being very aware of the transition. Coaches refer to this as "periodization." You train relentlessly in pursuit of some important goal, then relax and cut mileage to gather strength for the next pursuit upward. My illness came after a period when I had run 7 marathons in 7 months to celebrate my 70^th birthday. I had planned to take time off after the final marathon anyway.

But a month away from my regular running routine caused me to get edgy. Like an addict, I was suffering withdrawal symptoms. Finally, recovered from my illness, I allowed myself to venture a few running steps. I returned slowly, jogging a hundred meters or so, then walking before jogging again. I let more than a week slip by before I allowed myself the luxury of running a mile without stopping.

One of my favorite runs is the Winter Beach Run in Jacksonville Beach, 5- and 10-mile races along the beach at low tide. On the Sunday afternoon it was held, I probably could have done at least the shorter distance, but not comfortably. Wise in my years, I borrowed my wife's thick-tired bike and cycled beside the runners, splashing through the wet at the water's edge to stay out of their way.

I wished I could have run with them, but I was glad I had not. There would be another time and another tide for running. I have not chosen my goal for the remainder of this year. Maybe it will be only to have no goal.

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Hal Higdon is a Senior Writer for Runner's World. More of his writing can be found on the Internet at: www.halhigdon.com.

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