Running Letters – Issue 2

Choosing Again

The solstice begins winter, both seasonally and cosmically, and we rang it in with a collective pagan ritual in my backyard. From sunrise to sunset, fifty-eight of us combined for 765 miles of foot travel. People were out there setting distance PRs (seven records on the day), sneaking in little 50Ks (oops—twelve ultras were run), and "mugging" all afternoon. "Mugging" is now a verb in this hyperlocal running niche, meaning "to earn a commemorative coffee mug at the backyard solstice thingy over at the Chartiers' place." What a lovely day, and what a lovely way to welcome winter back home in our hearts for a while.

The Gregorian calendar holds some appeal too, and I couldn’t help but begin the new running year with fresh enthusiasm and commitment. On New Year’s Eve, I ran the Reed’s Lake Resolution Run 4-Miler in East Grand Rapids, Michigan, while enjoying some family holiday fun. I was excited—I had just hired a coach, and this race would serve as a baseline fitness test to set training zones and expectations. The course was great, a full loop around Reed’s Lake. The whole family—Kim, all three boys, my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, and their four kids—came out to participate or cheer.

The kids' half-miler was up first. We had a blast watching Cedar, Brooks, Bryn Lee, and Drew give it their all. Kai provided some comedic relief by strolling much of the race, letting out a big yawn at 50 meters to go, and then sprinting home for glory and a medal. Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Steph, Uncle Googs, and Rowe-bot bundled up the young runners after their finishes.

What fun.

Okay, time for the big kids to play. Rowe and I wanted fast times in the 4-miler. Kim planned to hang back with Rowe so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed in the massive pack of nearly 700 starters, which gave me the green light to go full gas. I warmed up like I figured a real runner would—jogging easy at the local track and for a couple miles and building into a handful of short bursts just faster than my goal pace (6:59 per mile for a sub-28 race). My legs felt springy and smooth. I was more excited than nervous. As we handed off coats and hats to Grandpa, I joked that I might roll out with the leaders.

Then I did. At least to the first corner.

I checked my watch—4:40 pace. A few guys and gals would actually hold that to the finish. I would not. So, ingloriously, I departed their company and let a stream of runners—faster and more responsible than I was—glide past me on the first climb up East Lake Boulevard. 6:41 for the first mile.

I focused on running loose and settling in. The pace felt sustainable—a glorious sensation. Around the halfway mark, I found myself in a pack with a super-fit guy around my age, a young woman with CrossFit vibes, and a dude in a full high school mascot costume, head and all, representing the East Grand Rapids Pioneers. 6:50 for the second mile.

The back half of the course featured the punchiest hills, and each of the half-dozen climbs pushed me to the you’re-gonna-vomit-soon threshold. My eyeballs would fill with lactic acid and blur over, but the climbs were short, and vision returned on the descents. 6:56 for the third mile.

Before the final northward sprint home, one last climb loomed. My pace slipped behind goal splits as I ground my way up. At the crest, I spotted the EGR rowing facility where we had parked and warmed up—a glistening beacon of polished wood and shining carbon fiber through the increasing snowfall. It looked a mile away, but only 300 meters remained.

I pounded down the descent and launched into a long, controlled sprint. As I turned into the finishing straight, someone yelled, “Here comes Chris!” The clock up ahead was hard to read, so I just put my head down and emptied the tank, collapsing onto a curb immediately after crossing the line. 26:58—6:31 for the closing mile.

A few minutes later, I got to see Rowe and Kim finish together. 31:32. Rowe won the 12-and-under division.

I was stoked with my performance—56th out of 680 runners. That felt FAST, especially the last half-mile. But upon reviewing the video that my sister captured of me approaching the finish, I did not see a figure resembling Cole Hocker in the Paris 1500-meter final. Who was this slow, lumbering, heaving, clunky, and (did I mention?) slow jogger? They looked glued to the ground, suffering way too much for this paltry pace.

That’s me at full tilt, huh?

Oh well. Mom and Dad cheered and gave me big hugs.

I’m still basically a yawning toddler shuffling my way through a fun run. And that realization has me even more stoked.

As I write this, it’s Sunday, February 23rd, and I’ve just finished my second training block with Coach K. So far this year, I’ve run 240 miles with 17,000 feet of vert, through a mix of tempo runs, strides, progression runs, fartleks, shake-outs, and long runs. Much work remains, but we’re laying down a strong foundation. In short, I’ve been acting like a “real runner” these last 8 weeks. Resolutions are motivating, but the magic lives in the daily practice—the continuation, the monkish devotion, the waking up every morning and “choosing again what you chose before.”