Circle

They say that life is a circle and we end it at the beginning, but with a different lens to view everything that we think we’ve already seen.

I find myself stretching for a Wednesday evening run with my training group. I’m 37 and one year removed from a bicycle crash that sidelined me for the final third of 2021.

I’m at the base of a long hill on Delmar Boulevard. I decide to run with a few individuals who are both fast and experienced. They ask what pace I intend to hold. “I’ll just try to hang with you guys,” I say. I don’t know whether I can. We’ll find out.

A long uphill slope toward the Centennial Greenway encompasses warmup. I’m feeling light and fresh. Ten minutes in and I barely break a sweat. At least I can warm up with these guys, I think.

We cross onto the Centennial Greenway and stretch for a bit. Then we’re off to the races and I’m holding 6 minutes per mile (3 minutes 45 seconds per km). The adrenaline from my competition gives me an added boost. My heart’s racing and my cadence is increasing. Keep your knees up, I keep telling myself. I know nothing about running technique or if this is even sound advice. I tell it to myself anyways; it’s just a reminder to keep my form.

Ten minutes go by and I’m running should-to-shoulder with the group. They’re surprised. So am I.

I’ve been here before. I’ve competed before, just not on land. Years ago, lap after lap, swimming against the best in the world at the Lee and Jones Jamal Swim Center in Austin, Texas. I trained and competed until I had nothing left physically and mentally to give to the sport of swimming. Then I swore off competition.

I ended my swimming career as a master of technique but began it as a blank slate. I’m back to the blank slate, but this time I’m on land, hitting it with high impact. The vibe is familiar. The racing is familiar. The cast is new. I like that.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Matt. I’ll keep you in check,” one of the runners barks at me. I get an energy boost and a desire to beat him. The old racing spirit is somewhere inside after all.

We’re forty minutes into our run and our pace is actually quickening. I check my pace. We’ve actually sped up by another 30 seconds per mile.

My midsection is tightening and I’m hyperventilating. I’m covered in sweat. I don’t know how long I can sustain this effort. Probably not much longer. I have to be close to maximizing my heartrate. My legs are tightening. My face is grimaced. Keep pace, I keep telling myself.

You’ve been here before. Competing, climbing. You swore you’d never do it again.

Thoughts of the early swimming days flood through me. Preparing for swim meets at age 12, at age 15. Stretching and studying competition. The endless hours chasing and being chased. The long climb from an overlooked age grouper to an NCAA Division 1 record holder.

It’s a different sport. I’m a different age. I retired from swimming in 2008, almost 15 years ago. I don’t understand running, at least not well, and not yet. I don’t even know if I’m any good, really, though I suspect I can improve a lot. That might be enough. The joy is there. If the joy is there, nothing else matters.

The run ends. Somehow, I won the session. I “fist bump” the other runners. It was an effort I never would have given had I been running alone. I’ve trained to the brink before. I know what it’s like. That’s a major advantage.

The added sense of camaraderie gives me an added sense of purpose and an added feeling of accomplishment. I haven’t felt that in a long time. It’s much more fun when you accomplish something with someone else. I almost forgot that I enjoy training with a group.

It’s a different sport and I’m in a different phase of life. I’m climbing, but I don’t know why, or what the destination is. I know there’s a marathon ahead. I know that I’m enjoying this process.

I also realize that somehow I arrived back at the start, albeit with a much different perspective of it all.