As I grew up here as an observer and then as a participant in the chase, there were faces and gaits that became impressionable and then memorable. Their patterned runs became a part of our daily routine, commuting up and down Shady Avenue, commenting on the who's who of the Pittsburgh running world.
There was a Judge. We would see him run in what could best be described as brisk hobble. 1-twooo, 1-twooo, 1-twooo. Heavy breathing innnnnnn and out. It was a syncopated rhythm, and he'd carry a slight pain in his expression. Maybe like a mellow base player whose music had turned more melancholy with age. My mom would implore us to consider his senior status, his ability to keep doing what he was doing despite the awkwardness in the approach. As kids we found it funny.
There was a Sacred Heart dad. A legitimate racer who had been running for a lifetime. His girls were runners as well. My parents would talk about the races he'd done, the miles he'd put on, the feat of marathoning, which seemed extraordinary at the time. He was tall but light as a feather, his long strides able to gobble up two pavement blocks of Howe Street at a time.
My parents' neighbor was a step above the other guy. He was elite, effortless. You would see his slight frame leaping across the city at a pace that seemed ethereal. No pain, all gains, no bravado. He flew like superman. I dared to chase him in my 20s.
There was a woman who went to our pool. She had two kids, one with special needs - the most kind, caring, patient mom in the water with her sweet children. She was in incredible shape, washboard abs and running as part of her routine. She wore a bandana around her head, and she'd move at a decent clip. She seemed like someone who could have gone faster if there wasn't worry in her eyes.
Returning to my hometown a couple years ago, I became part of the regiment of runners that call the parks and blocks of the East End their workout. And I've discovered new runners that are part of the cast I grew up with. There is now a gray-haired man that passes by my porch every day. He keeps a healthy pace, one arm and hand in a motion that simulates that he's rapping the whole way. At first, I thought he was listening to Eminem, dancing his was through a run. But the more I studied it, the more I clued in to it being part of his gait.
There's a short Hawaiian looking woman who pounds the pavement low to the ground, all the Pitt runners whose lanky bodies carry them high above the Earth, an Eastern European looking girl who runs like a doe, smooth, silky strides, and a girl I went to high school with, someone I don't remember well enough to say hi - she is actually a power walker, but I swear one day she will burst into a run. It's a silent community that knows the others exist, but respects the solitude and reflection of an un-interrupted routine.
Last week though, I was running on Highland, and saw one of the old guard. I hadn't seen him in years. He wasn't running or maybe he was, just slightly. His legs were more bow legged than I remember. His face no longer as carefree. I could sense in his mind, that his legs were somewhere else though. On a marathon route, running with his daughters, free and fleeting. It pained me to see him unable to do what likely defined him for so much of his lifetime.
Like him, I've spotted the other runners from my past in recent months. All of them have legs and bodies that are fifteen years older than I remember. They aren't as fast, and some are a little feeble. I've talked to a couple and we've traded battle wounds. A stingy torn hamstring, knees that aren't what they were, spirits that aren't as competitive.
But deep inside, in our minds, we are as fast as we've always been.
It got me thinking about reality and self-perception, the divide that often exists between the two, and the inability for people to discern it at times. It's what I see frequently in my business. And so much of my job is to bring people into state of better awareness.
We're going through a challenging cycle. The accelerated growth rate that we realized over the past three years went from normalization to contraction in about six months, and we are executing a hurry up offense to build back momentum. We are facing multi-dimensional headwinds: consumer discretionary income waning, competitive pressure mounting, economic and political volatility impacting customer mindset, and some players on my very big team aren't playing like they used to.
Yes, there are macro elements out of our control; some of those things merit a national response. But as I assess the individual contributions, I challenge my players to see what pace they are running these days. Are they still elite, still gritty, still giving it their all? Or are they slower, hobbling along, worse, are they even in the race?
Last week, at a regional meeting focused on continued education and benchmarking, I delivered pace-provoking opening remarks. I had been asked if our 'All In' mantra was still relevant. The question came from a man who believed the rally cry was tired, that people were bored of hearing it, that we needed something fresh. My public response was that only 65% of the region were at this meeting. Only 50% attended our global convention. A percentage in between is who attended our regional rally last fall. I said being 'All In' wasn't just as relevant as it's ever been, it's even more necessary in this environment. I said 'All In' would remain our most valuable problem to solve until 100% of our players have their heads and hearts in this race.
The room got quiet. The statement forced self-reflection and a deeper look in the mirror. I had gotten my point across.
Being All In defies age and pace though, it's about character, grit, and ambition. And if you aren't as fast as you used to be, it takes an assessment and game plan of how to account for your deficiencies. You can either:
- Become acutely self-aware of your pitfalls and close the gaps by yourself.
- You can hire talent around you to make up for the shortcomings, leading and teaching, but letting the experience and expertise of the next generation provide the fresh legs.
- Or you can step aside and leave the race. I liken it to that moment when you come to the realization that you are now a walker, but will always fondly remember the days of being fast as hell. And there should be nothing short of pride and appreciation for the legs, runs, grit and determination of the past.
As I assess my pace, personally and professionally, I still consider myself a runner and a pretty quick one, despite a nagging hamstring injury. I don't really know how I look running, but it's probably a little more effort filled than what appears in my mind. Slower than I used to be. Less effortless. But I still smile a lot when I'm on the trails and on the roads. If I'm listening to music, I occasionally insert a dance move. I attack the hills, and exhale as I fly down them. I wave or nod to everyone I run past. I love the rhythm, the push, the joy of it all. My gait is similar to how I lead, and my runs are integral in how I show up every day. But there will come a day when my body tells me it's done. There will be signals on the trails and in my job, that something isn't right. I'll join the club of those that walk while dreaming of their glory days.
But for now, I'll keep running.
Lo.
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