Rookie of the Year Award

I’ve just won a “Rookie of the Year” award from the Greyhounds Masters Track and Field Club, the running club I joined in July.

I also received a Canadian Masters bronze medal (belatedly) for my performance in the W60-64 800m at the Canadian Masters Championships on August 13.

The irony of these two achievements doesn’t escape me. Imagine me, veteran of hundreds if not thousands of races on the track, roads, and cross-country trails, being called a rookie. But it just means I’m a rookie Greyhound.

In a sense, I am a rookie. Last summer I made a new beginning after not racing on the track for 15 years. It’s a beginning in which I have to work within the constraints of serious physical limitations. My arthritic knee prevents me from running more than twice a week. Even then, I experience flare-ups and sometimes have to stop running entirely for a week or two. In the past few years, my legs have become much weaker than they used to be. This has a dramatic effect on my ability to run or cycle uphill. I don’t think it’s simply to do with age; medical imaging shows serious buildup of plaque on my leg arteries.

I was surprised to get the bronze medal, because I placed 4th in that 800m race. I must have been beaten by a non-Canadian. What really surprised me, though, was my own reaction when the Greyhounds president handed me the medal at the banquet. I was delighted! I never dreamed of winning a Canadian medal ever again.

This has happened when I’m still in the process of unpacking boxes after moving from one apartment to another in the same condo building. I’m an owner now instead of a renter! I love my new apartment with its large windows on two sides that give me tons of sunshine and panoramic views all the way from the northeast, to the south, to the west. But this unit didn’t come with a storage locker. Many of the boxes that are now a burden to me are filled with silver cups, plates, plaques, and other trophies. I also have several shoeboxes stuffed with medals—hundreds of them!—including many Canadian gold, silver, and bronze medals.

The view west from my new apartment.

So why was I excited by this one additional medal? I have to shake my head at the mediocrity of the performance that earned it. 3:02 for 800m. Not only is that time laughably slow, but even as an age-graded performance it scores only 80%. When I was young and middle-aged (before I tore my ACL), I consistently scored in the 90-94% range with the age-graded tables.

In 2014, I wrote a post in this blog titled “The middle-aged athlete: resignation or living on the edge.” Nine years ago, even though my knee was limiting me, I was still fighting to train hard, to go beyond what was “sensible” for my age and injured knee.

My recent move has sharpened my awareness that I’m moving into a new phase of life. On the athletic side, that means I’m fighting less and accepting my limitations more. For many years, as an athlete in my forties, I was still striving to beat younger women. Now, I’m firmly ensconced in the ranks of “senior” runners. In the Greyhounds club I find comfort in seeing that many of my teammates also have to work through the frustrations of hamstring pulls and other injuries, and—in some cases—serious medical problems unrelated to running.

Some members of my Greyhounds training group at the newly redone track at Percy Perry Stadium.
(Photo courtesy of Les Fowler)

What has not changed is the camaraderie that running offers. When I meet other Greyhounds for a workout, I know that I’m with a tribe that understands the joys and tribulations of our sport. For all of us, the effects of running have radiated into our lives in significant ways. Running, whether fast or slow, has become an indelible part of our identities.

East view from my new apartment as the full moon rises.