Three Days Running

How not to join the Measly Mile Mafia

By Jay Kerner
I admire the guys that started the Measly Mile Mafia, the group of friends that set a modest (for them) goal of running a mile a day, rain or shine, all year. You can find them on Facebook. I liked the idea when I heard about it, but I curse it today! I lay here on the floor, cursing those jerks and every one of the two hundred plus and counting that they inspired to do it, too! They are silent curses. I don’t have the wind for anything else. Everything hurts except my new left knee.

This wasn’t my idea. I thought I’d write about the group. I suggested that as the head honchos of The Regular Joe, my daughter and son-in-law might want to participate and use their digital chops to help promote it. They pointed out that maybe the weak link in our collective family fitness profile should participate instead.

Wait. No. Not me. I hate fitness! I spent most of my life in a decent state of fitness without trying. I stayed that way by playing sports year-round. That stopped suddenly with my first knee surgery after a basketball collision in my late 40s. Doc said if I stopped running and jumping, I could put off replacement for a while. I didn’t have a lot of choices as it went steadily downhill from there, and my activity level fell off a cliff while my pain level (along with my waistline) went up.
But I got a new knee a couple years ago. In fact, my doctor chose a model called the Triathlon 3000 that’s allegedly made for sports movements. It’s doing great. But I haven’t been running. I sent my doc a 10-second video of me running along the Parkway six months out, just to show him I could. But that’s it.

I was once pretty fast. Not the fastest, but usually in the group right behind the leaders. But I never liked it. I could play sports for hours, but a jog around the block was always torture. The idea of doing this now sounded like the absolute worst treatment I could subject my overweight 65-year-old body to. Why would I do that? I’ve made a concerted effort in my seventh decade to do what I damn well please. To make choices based more on personal comfort rather than external pressure from others.

But the story got me! These guys came up with a simple way to inspire each other and shared it. Which inspired others. Which inspired more still. It’s the best example that comes to mind of a local grass-roots movement. And first-person, immersive stories are a proven literary gimmick. Win or lose, it’s fertile ground for a writer. Especially so if you fail spectacularly. And what could be more likely? I could die. Didn’t the guy that wrote “The Runner’s Bible” die running?

Can I even do it? The longest distance I’ve run in 20-plus years is maybe 20-plus yards. I knew I could walk it, at least. The Queen and I regularly walk 2-3 mile circuits. Running is different. But I figured some combination of walking and running would get me there. Turns out I can do it, just that way. The walking and the running were pretty evenly divided on day 1, though the running was barely more than a shuffle.

One of the considerations was the perfect quarter-mile oval I could see from my house. Four times around and done. There’s a crack in the pavement that I designated the start/finish line. I spent the first three trips around saying, “No way in hell!” to myself. Still, once I started that fourth lap, my stupid, stubborn nature kicked in, and I walked/ran to the finish, leaning like I was breaking finish line tape.

I would have taken a victory lap, but I wasn’t entirely sure I had enough left to make the last half-block home. But I did. And then, I spent an hour on the floor writing the first part of this piece in my head. I felt better than expected after a hot shower and some rehydration. That ended the next morning when I tried to get out of bed and discovered my entire body felt like I’d been in a car accident. Every joint was swollen, most notably my “good” knee, which had never given me any grief compared to its traitorous twin. Ibuprofen and Ben Gay got me through day two, but just barely. Two miles in two days. It sucked, but I was determined.

Day 3 was the worst yet. Any delusional ideas I had about pushing past the pain were gone. It was a cold and damp day, and the weather added to my misery as I suffered through my last mile. After, there was a lot more ibuprofen. Slathered in Ben Gay, I reeked of wintergreen as I struggled to get off the couch or shuffle to the can. That’s it. No more running for me. I’m embarrassed to admit to myself, but I think I hurt myself more than I helped. And there is probably a second knee injury in my future now. Walking is more my speed.

But I don’t want to scare anybody off. I no doubt should have worked my way up to that first mile, but I didn’t. Let me be your cautionary tale. This is a great way to get in better shape. Just get there at your own pace. Push yourself but don’t hurt yourself. I had a picture in my mind of joining my younger, flat-stomach friends in this effort. It sucks to admit I’m not up to it. But I can still do what I can do. So honk and wave when you see us walking or riding our E-bikes along the Parkway. I may not be in the Measley Mile Mafia, but I know people that know people.