armadillo

Lesson from the Armadillo
(a Winspeed story)

Sheri Bedford
March 26, 2000

" I just started understanding something about running in 1997, after two years. For some reason, the lessons offered by the sport took a long time to sink in. I haven’t run this race since 1997," Betsy Winspeed explained, "but it’s a fast and flat course, one where I always did a good time and won my age group. I want to "get back on" the horse." She smiled. "Or, in this case the armadillo."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I was sitting on the floor tying my shoes ready to go for a workout jog with Betsy, the active 60-something widow who had started running in 1995. The Armadillo 10 and 5k races were always held concurrently around the end of March every year in Oldsmar, Florida and we were looking forward to running it the following Saturday.

"I always choose the longer of two races when I’m given a choice. I decided I wanted to get the most exercise for my dollar, so I signed up for the 10k." Betsy took a sip of her coffee.

"My approach to running back then was: set off, run as fast as I can, try to finish first. That didn’t work so well with this race." Her eyes twinkled ruefully and she rubbed the side of her nose.

"Why not?" I thought that approach sounded like a winner to me.

" I didn’t know when to quit pushing. I had never been injured and thought muscle strain was a myth. When I felt the twinge in my inner thigh around mile 5, I just ignored it and kept on running as hard as I could. I wanted to win."

I could imagine Betsy in her bright lycra outfit pumping away and huffing as she rounded the hot asphalt corners of the Oldsmar road race course. I had run that race several times myself and knew it could be a tough race, humid and sticky, even though several miles of it edged along blue Tampa Bay.

Betsy continued, " A friend of mine was running alongside me and urged me to slow down when I first mentioned the discomfort. At that time I wanted to be first so badly I ignored advice that might put me in second place." Her blue eyes apologized. "You’d think someone of my age would know better, wouldn’t you?"

"I don’t know. I’m pretty competitive myself. I can understand what you were thinking." I finished tying my shoes and joined her at the kitchen table. "So you kept on pushing?"

"Yes…and I ended up walking the last mile. Even though I was in pain, I still tried to walk fast, straight through the finish chute and down the street to the fire station."

My eyes widened.

"The volunteer EMT’s on duty took one look at the way I was hobbling and made me sit down. When they discovered where the pain was, they immediately made me an icepack. I had to limp back to the awards assembly with what looked like a puffy diaper around my upper thigh. They told me I had pulled my groin muscle and that I’d have to stop running for a long time."

"Wow!" was all I could say.

I admired Betsy a lot. I had gotten to know her through the running club in Sarasota. She was a woman of maturity and humor who had combated her grief by taking up running when her husband of many years had passed on. She had grit. Was she now telling me that there are times when quitting can be the right choice?

" I minced, crept, and shuffled for weeks. Centenarians and people on crutches could pass me on the sidewalk. I was a snail…and I didn’t like it one bit!" Betsy’ eyes flashed. "I felt my whole identity was at stake. No longer was I an active, athletic woman; I was a cripple. I felt helpless, powerless. All because I hadn’t listened to my body’s signals or to my intuition. Being first had been more important. Pacing sensibly never entered my mind."

This was so different from the Betsy I had talked with before. She had always seemed measured and assured, not competitive to the point of risking injury.

"Before this, I hadn’t thought about my identity as being defined by running," Betsy sighed. "Running for me had been a source of comfort and meditation. When I started winning my age group on a regular basis, somehow I had let the concept of competition slip into my mind. Now I was running to win, not to learn something about my character through the activity.

"This injury represented an alert to me. It forced me to stop and consider, not only my approach to running, but also my approach to my own progress."

I thought about her words. People ran for many reasons. I had never considered it a sport that could provide an opportunity for me to learn more about my inner self.

Betsy put down her mug.

"So you see, it’s important that I run this race again to prove that I can pace moderately and win. Not win my age group. Win back my respect for myself as a powerful, mature woman. A woman who sees herself as a successful individual in her own right. Not one who defines herself in comparison with others, willing to risk injury to be recognized as first in others’ eyes."

We sat quietly for a moment. I let the words sink in. Had I been defining myself through others’ view of me?

I thought, today my running goal could be to look inward. I, too, could learn to define my growth by competing against my past performance, rather than against others’ achievement.

As I walked out the door of Betsy’s house to start our run together, I saw that the Armadillo Race would represent a new learning opportunity for us both.