How to Look Like An Athlete When You're Not

(originally published January 6, 2015. My original blog, on Wordpress, was hacked in early 2016. All of the original posts, through January 2016, have been re-posted here on Blogger.)

"Berman, get your hands out of your jacket and start looking like an athlete!"

What does an athlete look like, I wondered. But I didn't ponder the question for long, as Mr. Wilson's fiery gaze remained pointed in my direction.

Gym class - outside - at 8 a.m. - on a late fall day leaning into winter is not any fifteen-year old's idea of fun - especially not this fifteen-year old who cared only for playing clarinet and piano.

I do remember chuckling as I thought of Woody Allen's famous line, "Those who can't do, teach. And those who can't teach, teach gym." But I just fell into line with the rest of the class, since I was pretty sure Mr. Wilson would not share my amusement.

Ok, I wasn't exactly participating in the class when Mr. Wilson barked at me. I was standing on the sidelines with a fellow refugee from the band, hands stuck deep in my jacket pockets for warmth, speaking disparagingly about the class full of jocks who were only too happy to run endless laps around the track.

I ran reluctantly, just enough to get Mr. Wilson to focus his gaze elsewhere. I did the minimum in gym. I participated in no high school sports. I was not interested in anything resembling physical activity. In my high school year book, I was not voted "Best Athlete," "Best Runner" or "Most Likely to Run Five Marathons at Age 50."

In fact, at age 15, the idea that I would run any farther than the distance between my house and the school bus stop (I was always late, thus the need to sprint to the bus stop), would have seemed preposterous. At age 15, I wore only certain kinds of shoes with over-the-top support, designed for people - like me - with orthopedic issues.

While barely in grade school, an orthopedist had pronounced my feet to be problematic, with the apparent problem extending all the way to my hips. The doctor told my parents that off-the-rack shoes were not for me. He then kindly offered that, due to the nature of my problem, I would likely experience severe back pain by the time I hit 40.

With such a positive outlook to guide me, it's no surprise I didn't envision a bright future for myself as a runner. Yet . . .

I didn't have back pains when I hit 40. But I did run a half-marathon or two. At 50, I don't have many back pains either. I'm running full marathons instead.

Not that I don't have any aches and pains - it's hard not to when you're training for marathons. And I didn't go from special shoes to 26.2 miles in the blink of an eye. It's taken almost thirty years.

The first time I needed to run anything beyond the house-to-bus stop route was in the Air Force (somehow, I managed to pass the physical, despite my almost-flat feet). In basic training, and in the annual physical test, I needed to run all of 1 1/2 miles. At the time, that seemed like a marathon distance to me.

Then I met my wife, who was already running three miles at a clip. So I set to work on doubling my distance - which at the time seemed like running an ultra. Several years went by before I attempted a 10K, and many more before I worked up the courage and the running chops to try a half-marathon.

After that, I had several false starts at the marathon. I wanted to go the full distance, and I trained hard, but my legs just weren't interested. Finally, five years ago, I completed my first marathon in Jerusalem.

A few days before the marathon, I waited nervously in line to pick up my bib with my running number. Standing there, feeling kind of proud that I finally had managed to get myself in shape to run the full distance, I struck up a conversation with the guy next to me. He was visiting from Finland, and since he seemed to be an experienced runner, I asked him if he had run a marathon before.

He thought for a second, and then said, "Oh, I've run about eighty of them."

I'm still trying to get my head around that one.

Five marathons, even in one year, isn't in the same league as running eighty. But considering that I was the kid with the special shoes who was destined for a life with crippling back pain, five marathons in a year isn't bad. I think even Mr. Wilson would be pleased.

I am writing this not to brag, but to point out that if I can do it, then just about anyone can. And they have. People with over 200 pounds of excess baggage have managed to run it all off and finish a marathon. People with artificial limbs have managed to do it. When I ran the Jerusalem Marathon the first time, I came across two people running, tied together at the wrists. Curious, I got a little closer and heard one giving details to the other about the turns and elevation changes ahead. The other runner was blind, and he had found a way to run a marathon, despite not being able to see any of the 26.2 miles his legs were taking him.

Whether running a marathon, or attempting virtually any other goal, obstacles - even seemingly insurmountable ones - can be overcome. It may take time. It may take many attempts. It may take tuning out the experts who say it is impossible. It may take new approaches that haven't been tried.

But it can be done.

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I am running these five marathons for the amazing children and adults at the Israel Sport Center for the Disabled. We have set a goal of $5,000. Every donation of any amount makes a difference. Click here if you want to help us get to the finish line!