Adjusting The Pace Of It All

Adjusting the Pace Of It All

John Paul Derryberry

In a weekend filled with the fading art of real human connection, I find myself alone, six miles from our campsite, talking myself into keeping the pace. Staying in the zone of churning through mile after mile of a training run of thirteen miles. I know it’s a contradiction, but in 20-plus years of coming to soak in life-long friendship, I have found this Friday morning run to be the most enjoyable run of the year.   A momentary freedom from the burdens of life. I have no way of helping anyone but myself. Too far away from my phone to do anything but let go and hope for the best. I know that when I’m finished, I have 48 hours with the people who know me best, it's a cocoon of warm, fuzzy feelings.

As the beautiful Iowa River Valley between Steamboat Rock and Eldora unfolds at a pace of 9 minutes a mile, my mind wanders to coming here at 21 and still returning at nearly 43. None of what has transpired in my life over the last 22 years is exactly as I planned, yet somehow it feels as if I’m right where I need to be. It’s a good feeling, and a reminder that forcing your vision of life can often lead to ending up somewhere we don't want to be. However, allowing life to unfold with curiosity, while keeping one hand on the steering wheel, can lead you to better places and even better people.

This is the third year I have run this route, and in the first two, I screwed up the pacing, the hills, and the timing. Slowing to a crawl and questioning how dumb of a runner I can be sometimes. As I crest a hill and see the Eldora Court House bell tower in the distance, I feel strong, in a good place, both on the run and in life. I’m settled into my pace, with fuel still in the tank for the miles ahead. Which is where I want to be in life. Settled, fuel in the tank, and ready for the challenges ahead. It’s the place I try to help most people get to. And when I do not find them in that space, I want to be a place people come to refuel for whatever battle they are facing.

Life has a way of throwing us from one problem to another, and we can never be certain whether we are navigating it correctly. We hope that, at some point, we get confirmation that we aren’t on the wrong course. This weekend, as always, has been a bellwether weekend for me. Strip away the noise, hang with great people, and contemplate whether I am with all the complications life throws at us, navigating to the best of my ability. I cross in front of the courthouse at mile 11.5, and I know most of what is left is downhill. I’m exhausted from more than just running. But  it is the good kind of exhaustion. I’m still fighting the good fight in life.

The downhill provides relief, the campsite is in my sights, and 48 hours of nostalgia, catching up, and laughs lie ahead. I stayed focused and finally ran this loop the way I wanted, as best as I could. Just as I want to live my life, to the best of my ability. That’s what I hope for just about everyone. It's time to reinitiate the fading art of genuine connection with other people. I stroll into the campsite and tell my friends. I’m ready for a Gatorade and a beer. Let the recharge come from being with people who understand me and also challenge me. Two hours by myself and 48 with them is the perfect ratio for a weekend that always gives me the good feels about life. Traditions, like life itself, change over the years, ever so slightly. These 13 miles represent my interactions with the weekend, changing and adjusting just a tad. It’s a good adjustment. I’m keeping pace with it all, and that's reason enough to smile and reconnect again and again.