Erstwhile Days of Glory

Summary

The author reflects on their transition from being a competitive runner with a fast pace to embracing a new identity as a writer after a running injury.

Abstract

The article titled "Erstwhile Days of Glory" delves into the author's past as a swift runner who excelled in senior-division races, often running an 8-minute mile. The narrative takes a turn when the author describes a fateful accident during a morning run in October 2020, which led to a significant injury and a period of recovery. This event, coupled with the suspension of the racing circuit due to the pandemic, prompted the author to reevaluate their relationship with running. Despite initial struggles with the idea of quitting, the author ultimately decided against returning to competitive running. Instead, they chose to leave behind the world of racing and focus on writing, finding a middle ground that allows them to cherish past achievements without dwelling on them or being consumed by the loss of their former athletic self.

Opinions

The author feels a disconnect between their past identity as a racing champion and their current self, suggesting a sense of loss and nostalgia.
There is a contemplation of the stark contrast between the author's previous athletic prowess and their current physical limitations.
The author admits to feeling demoralized by their inability to maintain their running pace during the pandemic, which contributed to their decision to quit racing.
The author presents a conflict between the desire to cherish past achievements and the imp

Revel? Wallow? Let it go

In my past life, which ended two years ago, I was — relative to my 60-plus cohort — a fast runner, consistently breaking an 8-minute mile. I won senior-division medals in all but four of 63 races in 2019.

I’m tempted to either construe this story as fiction or to write it in the third person. One reason is that I feel as if the racing champ is either a figment of my imagination or a person I barely know.

The other reason is that it pains me to contemplate the contrast between my erstwhile speedy self and my present incarnation into a body that can’t break a 10-minute mile.

I’ll spare you the sorry details of my long-and-winding downfall. Suffice it to say that on October 22, 2020, I suffered a literal “downfall,” in the form of an ungraceful swan dive (read: belly flop).

During my morning run, my foot caught the crack between segments of a lopsided sidewalk. The momentum propelled me into elegant form, which gravity de-formed into a splat. My chest took the brunt; recovery took six weeks.

The racing circuit— which had been suspended in March 2020 on account of the corona — resumed operations in the summer of 2021. I haven’t reentered, nor do I intend to.

I’d become increasingly demoralized by my negative progress as I struggled to maintain my pace during the 2020 hiatus. I’d been on the verge of calling it quits as to running at all — certainly so as to competing; my fortuitous flop clinched the deal.

Having the leisure to contemplate my days of glory, I’ve been of two minds. One of them encourages me to fondle my medals and revel in memories; the other demands that I hurl the lot and wallow in miseries.

Channeling mind number three …

Lo! Between the camps of the warring factions, it emerges.

Time out for mediation …

A compromise has been reached!

Scrap enshrinement, desist from trashing: move on.

And so, I have. I shall henceforth reside with my laptop here in “Story Land,” keyboard at the ready, and let my fingers do the racing.