Autobiography

For those of you who don't now much about me or what I do outside of this blog let's start with a bit of background. Professionally I am a helicopter pilot. If anything, this job has enabled me to see many things that normally may have been out of reach; whether it be buffalo running on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, the devastating power of forest fires in the western United States, or the daily struggle of the human condition that is so often the case in the Helicopter EMS world.

Some day I may write a book. I'm not exactly sure what I would include in it or if anybody would be interested in reading it. I have, however, decided on a title:

                                   TRAILING EDGE 

                          The Story of a Quiet but Honest Helicopter Pilot with a Running Problem, 
                                                  and his View from the Back of the Pack



That's a mouthful. Sometimes I wish there was a font that would indicate sarcasm. How about an explanation of the title? A helicopter's rotor blade has names for each section. For instance the leading edge as you might guess is the part of the blade that first comes into contact with the relative wind in its travel of rotation.  Conversely the trailing edge is the tapered back edge of the blade where the air meets after flowing over the camber of the blade and trails off. The difference in velocity of the air along the top of the rotor blade compared to the bottom creates a pressure differential which in turn creates lift.

I'm sure you all have not checked into this blog to receive an abbreviated lesson in Bernoulli's principal or aerodynamics. But I want you to get the dual pun involved in the title of my potential book. You may have noticed that my half marathon finishing times are not technically spectacular. Lets face it - I'm a slow runner.  I am one of the great majority and I have no problem admitting that. In fact I have come to embrace it. I have found a certain stoicism in quietly plodding along the course and getting passed by many a runner both young and old. I  have come to pride myself on running the distance for myself and not the clock.

For me running has become an inward practice not an outward display. You will not see me frozen in pose waiting to hit the start button on my super fancy running watch when the race gun goes off. At times I completely miss the mile markers, and since I don't wear a super fancy running watch I often don't know exactly where on the course I am. This also doesn't really bother me. In fact it appeals to me. I'm pleasantly surprised to look up and see ten miles completed. Any distance is a process. There is a beginning and an end. What happens in the middle is a matter of course.

Don't get me wrong. With me there is often a duality to everything. I do look at the clock at the finish line, and I do eagerly await the published chip times. I would, in fact, like to break two hours in the half marathon. I am just not obsessed with it. I have not disposed of my ego and reached enlightenment like the Buddhist "Marathon Monks" of Mt. Hiei in Japan. For me the times have become a measure of my improved strength or health as a runner and person, not a definition of worth as either.

For most of us I think something real can be found in the exertion and meditative repetition that running provides - something more important than numbers and age group placement. I'm not sure I can define it yet but many speak of the "runners high;" I prefer the "runners peace." The Run itself is far more important that the time it took to do it. Amby Burfoot said it best in his book, The Runners Guide to the Meaning of Life, "A run is most meaningful and most enjoyable when it exists for its own sake, when it doesn't feel the pressure of a ticking stopwatch."

So I will leave the fastest times and top finishes to the more physiologically blessed among us, the ones who can title their books: Leading Edge and View From the Front.

Garrison