The Right Not to Run a Marathon
The Right to Just Jog
The Right to Improvise
The Right to Recognition
The Right to Look Like Something the Cat Dragged In
The Right to be Stupid

Running is primarily for the common citizen. We, the "average' runners, know this; it feeds our loyalty to the sport. But where does this idea come from? It's not just that running's core of actual professionals, compared to the all-American major leaguers, is small, relatively poor, and particularly inept at calling attention to themselves by going on strike, becoming drug addicts, and beating up their ex-wives. And it's not just that getting tickets to a Redskins game or to Camden Yards is nothing like finding an opening along the drive in West Potomac Park to watch a running race. The proletarian character of running goes beyond all this. It's derived less from how little it has in common with major league economics, and more to do with the kind of people who take up running, which is you and me, and why we take it up.

Take me as one example. As an impressionable youngster, I dreaded physical education just as much as I now begrudge a perfectly good March weekend to doing income taxes. Instead of making athletics enjoyable, the unique teaching philosophy historically inherent in most phys ed classes - humiliation in waiting to be picked by athletically superior classmates, mixing all ability levels together, having to perform in front of everyone, etc...in short, constantly having it thrown in my face what a putz I was - taught me to hate athletics with a passion. Much later in life, I read an editorial by Jim Fixx (late author of The Complete Book of Running) who spoke of running as a route to personal growth not only for the body, but for the mind and soul as well. This philosophy sounded nothing like the gym class of yore, but rather radical and very individualistic. It was also very appealing. So, I became a runner and a post-graduate nouveau athlete of the '80's. Because running has always been for myself and not for God, country, and beating others in direct physical competition, my commitment to it is stronger than ever after nearly 15 continuous years.

Indeed, running is most compatible with those of us who grew up thinking they lacked innate athletic gifts, or those who were negatively conditioned to athletics through coerced participation. Running comes as a surprise at a time in our lives when athletics is not part of the official system for social success, and when our peers who were athletes are rapidly becoming ex-athletes, a la the Bruce Springsteen song, "Glory Days." Running saves us from the lardy, inert never-neverland of lifelong couch potato-dom. Moreover, we feel genuine gratefulness to this sport that confers such a strong sense of accomplishment on us, regardless of how we compare to the "elite." We are the average runners: the 95% of the running population who usually don't take home an award, who good- naturedly mock our own ability, but who covertly take pride in every 10 minute mile we crank out. Average runners don't exactly own the sport, but the ubiquitous sight of Jane (or Joe) Blow, 40 years of age with graying hair, plodding along on streets across our country, has become the image of the typical American runner.

With all this in mind, it's critical that running remains attractive and rewarding to all the aging, slower, and average runners who are so loyal to it. However, there are forces that have long gathered to make this difficult: first, the media that covers each race as if only the top 3 finishers were in it; secondly, the vast majority of the American public who don't exercise and are suspicious of runners for doing so; and finally, our own little neurotic psyches, which are always sneaking up and comparing us with those who run faster and longer. All these forces conspire together to partially wreck the most convenient, efficient, and enjoyable form of exercise we have come to know. To protect our precious running habit, we average runners need to know our rights. These rights are essential to preserving our enjoyment of the kind of running we do. So saying, I propose the following "Mid-Packer's Bill of Rights," which follows below.

The Right Not to Run a Marathon

Years ago, it may have been necessary to advocate the opposite as a right for the average runner. But, as women marathoners have come into their own, and the "people's marathons" in D.C. and New York burgeon each year with thousands of new 4-hour marathoners, the average runner is no longer officially barred or intimidated out of most marathons. Now, we have the opposite problem.

Today is the age of marathoning as the glamour running event, and we must protect our right not to get sucked into doing something we have absolutely no need to do. To be an average runner and not get caught up in the pressure to add marathons like so many notches onto our running shoes, is about as easy as qualifying for O.J.'s jury after ignoring most of the pre-trial buzz. For runners, marathon buzz is just as difficult to avoid, unless you don't participate in public races, or socialize with others runners, and ignore every single running publication. The marathon is both exciting and time-consuming, so the attention it receives is understandable to a degree. But to the degree that people who encounter runners in social situations are about 75% more like to ask "Have you run a marathon" than they were 15 years ago, average runners not only need to answer "no" confidently, but keep on paddling their own running-identity life-rafts out of the whirlpool of marathon obsession.

The Right to Just Jog

When I started running, I didn't actually run, but I jogged. Long before I took it up, running became jogging when it left being the exclusive province of Olympians and tall, spindly high school boys in drab school gym uniforms who never smiled. Runners were seen as athletic eccentrics. Running was indescribably exhausting and dull; most believed that only very few people had the stamina and the personality to tolerate it. Even bona fide jocks, who could scoop up a grounder with ease before it spilled their beer into the dirt, couldn't actually run further than a half mile without gasping for air.

In the '70's came the "me" decade, with a faddish national fascination over aerobic conditioning and personal health, and the cute, friendly-sounding term "jogging" became a way of conceptualizing running as a reasonably safe, doable activity for just about anybody. And so it remains.

Jogging is a term that still has significance for the average runner. A jog is a run where enjoyment is paramount. Jogging results from natural desire, and is simplicity in execution. "Runners" always carry along agendas and expectations like so many extra hand-held weights. On the other hand, "joggers" are apt to do just the right amount to stay fit, feel good, adjust their crabby moods, and enjoy moving along outdoors for a while under their own steam. Jogging is practically nothing to think about to get done, yet often is the most effective anchor restoring our sense of equilibrium to the rest of the world. While most of us pointedly call ourselves "a runner" because we want everyone to know we're serious, we average runners have the right to preserve the fun by frequently skipping the "running workout," and doing a jog instead.

The Right to Improvise

Ready? Here's a news flash (not exactly): most runners rely on routine. By running on the same days, on familiar routes, routine helps pull us through many a tough run. But too much routine will sink our motivation with even more certainty that it will help us meet some new running goal. To keep things interesting, we have the right to improvise our running, and balance the routine, with the spontaneous - for example, to run at 5 a.m. just to feel what it's like, to run 4 blocks and stop for the day, or take whole days or a series of days off, or run half the usual route and then take off down a new street.

Improvisational running is something that requires gradual adaptation. When running, we need to recognize the little imaginary taskmaster that suddenly appears over our shoulder, just like in the cartoons. This one has a stopwatch and training manual in hand, and compels us into doing every damn step as pre- planned. Instead, we need to selectively ignore our nagging little runner's conscience, then think again and say to ourselves, "I don't actually have to do squat today, or certainly not in the way I originally intended to." We've all read this same idea - stock training tip #6: "Avoid burn-out and change your running routine periodically," - and readily agreed with it, but then hardly ever give it its due.

The Right to Recognition

When average runners half-jokingly say "how disgusting" after hearing the winning time for a distance they just gutted out in twice the time, they're not really hiding resentment about the talents of those luckier than they. The real issue is knowing that the winner sweated no more than you, in fact may have trained less, and there you stand by yourself after the race pulling your teeth out on some vulcanized bagel while those few who might have cheered you on still have their noses in a pillow at home, and the winner is being interviewed, feted, and carried among the adoring throngs in a sedan chair. We good-naturedly applaud the receiving of their umpteenth award - which they usually take with a forced smile because secretly they're unhappy with some nuance of their performance - while we still wait for our first award, which we hope may finally come when we're 90.

If I went to Fantasy Island, I'd walk right up to Ricardo Montalban and the midget in the white tux, and I'd say, "When I finally get the time I'm going for, I want those in attendance to acknowledge how hard I worked for it." That'll be a race where the people who are running that distance for the first time, or have set a PR, or have set their best time since entering that age bracket, get called up to the podium. Then we'd really see some genuine "aw shucks" Normal Rockwell-type smiles.

One alternative idea, which has exactly the same effect on those lonely back-of-the-packers, is already put into practice at some DC areas races by the race announcers. If you've been at a race like the St. Patrick's Day 10K, Georgetown Classic 10K, or most Capital Running Company races you may not remember the announcer's voice, but you'd remember hearing your name, accompanied by some words of encouragement, as you approached the finish line. This innovation isn't difficult; it just requires one more person assisting the announcer, with a printout of all entrants in hand, who quickly identifies the incoming runners from their bib numbers.

The Right to Look Like Something the Cat Dragged In

Not all the world accepts the fact that saying in shape involves temporarily forsaking one's hygiene. But yes it does, big time. We need to up hold our right to sweat, sag, and stink. This issue is just as important as those already discussed, because average runners, especially new ones, are often dangerously self- conscious of their appearance. I say dangerously because some of the things they do to avoid letting it all hang out and stink on public thoroughfares is enough to short circuit their running careers. Some hide beneath a full set of sweats in 60 degree weather, and suffer - just like a banana left over a few days turning to tropical compost inside its protective covering. Others attempt to seal in such gauche things as sweat and body odor with a primer and second coating of fruit orchard perfume or after-shave, and let the dark eye makeup streak down their cheeks as if they were going trick-or-treating as a member of the rock group Kiss.

The old cultural norm is that strenuous exercise is okay only if you don't unduly expose an imperfect body, hide the sweat, and immediately after undergo thorough sanitization and return to normal. Experienced runners, regardless of ability, learn to forget how they look and how they smell. After a few initial months of immediate showering, runners are more accepting of some lingering grime and odor. After a good sweat- churning run, if there's no place especially fancy to be at, like church or L'Auberge Chez Francois, and you're just going to be around people who are legally contracted to love you no matter how big a barnyard you remind them of, why bother for a while? After initially over-dressing, many runners learn to appreciate comfortably brief clothing rather than worrying about imaginary critics peering out of homes rating them down on sex- appeal. Being less anxious about our running-induced hygiene increases our self-respect as runners and our ability to relax, and hence, increases our overall satisfaction of running.

The Right to be Stupid

At last, we come full circle. To everything, there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven ... a time to watch others go all out, a time to run all out ourselves, a time to be cautious, and a time to be stupid. Very few of us, even the 11- minute milers, avoid injury within the first 10 years of our running careers. Sure, as long as we always follow every experts' precaution about building up slowly, listening to our body, doing a thorough stretching regimen every time, being mindful about the statistics for our age group, etc...in other words, if we were able to regulate everything regarding our running as well as the Benedictine Monks of Santo Domingo de Silos can do with just about anything in life, we'd never experience a running injury. The trouble is, we don't live in a cloister. Nor do we believe, as the person reading statistics on accidents and crime, that it could ever happen to us. Even if we were cautious to the Nth degree, we'd learn a lot less about ourselves as runners.

I'm not advocating acquiring a running injury as an avenue to personal growth, but just acknowledging the average runner's right to take some risks. The first quarter-year of our running careers is, in fact, loading with risk from new degrees of exertion and the myriad perils waiting along the sidewalks and streets of the new routes we pick out. Yet, our body eventually adjusts to increase exertion, and our brains will memorize the cracks and holes in the pavement near our home. After the first quarter-year goes by, we've built up to a 1.5 mile distance, can quickly slip into our accustomed jogging pace within the first block, and follow the usual neighborhood route like it was the back of our hand. At this stage, we could play it safe and never change our running habits again. That would be very adult. But, we don't run to become more "adult" - adult-world stresses and limitations are what we're trying to get beyond with our running. Instead, we run to become reacquainted with the positive aspects of our child-selves. Not only do we push the envelops with a child's glee to see what the ol' girl (or ol' boy) can really do, but our childlike excitement occasionally runs roughshod over all that whiny parental advice from published running experts. It pays to keep in mind that those experts, who endlessly repackage the same nostrums on stretching, rest, and reasonable increments, have had just as much fun screwing themselves up as we have.

A Final Thought

As with real rights, these "average Runners' Rights" are only as good as the extent to which we all develop our version of them, believe in them, and act on them. Average runners need to look out for themselves, because nobody else will nearly as well. We don't usually have coaches and a lot of fans, just some tolerant family and friends. With their own lives to live, they do their best to accompany us to the occasional race on a chilly morning, standing still and chattering like Mrs. Cratchet and Tiny Tim thrown out into the snow on Christmas Eve, while we warm up, get comfortable, and have all the fun. There's a limit to that source of support. Our best, most consistent source of support can be seen when we look each morning into the bathroom mirror.

Just as bathroom mirrors may prompt us to evaluate how we feel about the increasing signs of aging on our faces, we also need to take the proverbial mirror to our running (or our jogging). Are we getting everything we can out of it, or is it too reflective of the sometimes not-so-subtle indirect messages we get from non-runners, or the blunt messages we give ourselves in constant comparison to the most talented runners/ in the face of these, we need to stay well-adjusted by allowing for a reasonable amount of slack, avoid unfair comparisons, and keep things in perspective - and not just for ourselves, but in support of our fellow average runners, as well. There's other types of runs to talk about besides marathons, other runners to shout encouragement to besides the leaders, and always a great amount of accomplishment to recognize in each one of us.