Wednesday, July 20, 2016

I QUIT RUNNING -- September 1980 at Chugiak High School, Alaska

I'm 51 years old and began running when I was 10, back in 1975. In all of those years there is only one time when I actually quit while running. It was during competition in the autumn of 1980 on a 3.2-mile Alaska wilderness course. I was 15 years old and a sophomore on Chugiak High School's varsity cross country team.

In 1980, I was pretty new to long-distance running. Up until that time, I had primarily run sprints and hurdles during the track season in school. However, I opted to try cross country running and ended up being the youngest on the varsity squad. Typically, juniors and seniors ran on the varsity team. However, the coach was impressed with my 3-mile speed (around 17 minutes) and put me in with the upper classmen. The trail workouts were brutally tough and quite different than track workouts on a 440-yard oval.

After a couple of 'away' races at other schools, it was time for the first 'home' race at my high school. My team was competing against two other schools. I was excited about the race because my parents were there to cheer me on. It was a beautiful day and I felt ready. The gun went off and all of the runners did a lap around the high school track before venturing onto a trail that would lead us deep into the forest. Due to the thickness of the wilderness, most spectators waited at the track to watch the participants eventually emerge from the 3.2-mile course.

Being somewhat inexperienced, and perhaps a bit overly excited about my first 'home' meet and my parents being there, I set off at a pace that was too fast. I went through the first mile in just over 5 minutes. I was in a line of runners weaving around trees on a narrow trail, hoping not to come across a moose or other wildlife on the path. We went up and down hills, through portions of mud, and the only sound you could hear were dozens of feet hitting the ground and occasional comments by runners, such as: "Tom, pass that guy on the next hill!"... "C'mon John, pick it up!"... "Go for it, Don!" It was a symphony of young runners exhaling while curious birds chirped in the trees.

I was about halfway through the race when I started to BONK! That's a way of saying that my legs just didn't want to go anymore. I had gone out too fast and lactic acid had built up to a point where I was literally running out of gas. I began slowing and runners were passing me steadily. With each passing runner my mental focus blurred and I began to feel discouraged. At the time I didn't realize it, but I was experiencing a great learning opportunity in the sport of long-distance running. My pace slowed more and more... until I literally stopped in my tracks. Only a few runners remained behind me and they eventually passed me by. The forest suddenly became quiet and I sat down on a log. I was all alone with only the sound of a few chirping birds and the breeze blowing through the tree tops.

I sat there feeling sorry for myself. I knew my parents would be waiting to see me emerge from the forest and my coach would be expecting me to finish strong in order to give our team the best chance of winning. As the runners crossed the finish line, I was walking along the last portion of the course all alone. By the time I came out of the forest, many runners had already left the event. My parents were standing there, as well as my coach and some of my teammates. Everyone wanted to know what happened. I was dishonest that day and said that I had experienced a pain in my right leg after stumbling on the path, and that is what forced me to stop. I didn't want to admit to my parents, coach and teammates that I actually quit that day. I felt ashamed, but didn't want to be a disappointment to anyone.

As the decades have ticked by I've occasionally thought back to that day. There have certainly been times when I've felt like quitting as I've run along many of the courses I've been on during life. For example, during my solo run across America in 2006 I felt like quitting on a 100-degree day in a desolate portion of South Dakota. I stopped in my tracks that day, similarly to how I stopped on that cross country course when I was 15 years old. However, I managed to get back in the game mentally and after an hour break I started running across America again. I haven't quit on a run since 1980. That day is the only day I have told myself "I can't."

There is a lot that can be learned from quitting. We can often learn more about ourselves through failure than we can through victory. I've coached many track and cross country athletes and some have quit, deciding that they just could not finish what they set out to do. It's not for me to judge anyone who chooses to quit on something. We are all responsible for our own choices and the ripple effect of those choices.

I learned at a young age what it feels like to quit, and it's something that I didn't like at all. When I think back to that 15-year-old boy sitting on a log all alone in the forest, I see a boy who was actually more concerned with letting others down than letting himself down. I believe that part of my character has been pretty consistent during my lifetime. The decision to quit or not quit is something that everyone eventually faces in life. I faced it at 15 and although I'm not proud of quitting or being dishonest about it afterward, I know that it was a character-building moment in my life.

I ended my sophomore cross country season with a personal best time at the Regional Championships. I may have quit that one race, but I persevered and finished the season strong. For me, quitting was a valuable lesson that taught me far more than I would have learned had I crossed the finish line first on that September day in 1980.

From Him, Through Him, For Him (Romans 11:36),

Paul J. Staso
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