Get up Son; We’re Going Jogging

A man standing in front of a shoe wall

HOW ONE FATHER PLANTED THE "RUNNING SEED"

A man holding a pair of Nike running shoes


Besides being the most well-known jazz saxophonist in the country, my dad was an avid "jogger." He was known to run about six miles a day at our local Edwin Warner Park on the concrete bike paths. (In the 80s and 90s, the term "jogger" wasn't an insult; people jogged for general health.)

I was 12 years old, in eighth grade, and I’d put on a little weight.

One day, out of nowhere, my dad came into my room while I was still sleeping. It was 4:30 in the morning. He ripped the covers off of my bed. I instinctually shot up and half-screamed, half-muttered something like "Dad what the heck?!”

He responded, nonchalantly, and said, "Get up son, we're going jogging." … As if that was something a 12-year-old does, or as if we had done that at any point, like, ever.

The Run

He dragged me to the Edwin Warner Highway 100 entrance and, in his less than modest mid-nineties split shorts, ran me through his warmup routine, which consisted of calisthenics and old-school static stretching. Once we were good and warmed up, he walked me around the corner to the trailhead.

My heart sank as I took in the massive, never-ending skyscraper of a hill that towered before me.

"We're going up … that?"

"Yup, come on,” he said. And we were off.

Back then, my dad kept a steady 11-minute-per-mile pace, one that would be a restrained recovery jog for me today. But for kiddie Kyle, it was breakneck speed.

As we ran, my little legs spun a thousand tiny RPMs for every two of his loping strides. (My father has the lower body of an elite Kenyan distance runner). His slender, sinewy legs just chewed up the hills as he preached his "gospel of the run" to me while I staggered and belched with discomfort.


"You see, there's no such thing as a 'second wind;’ there are many winds. Each time you start hitting a little wall, you just gotta chip away at it. You'll feel great once you get through to the other side. And it can happen several times in a run; just
don't give into it. You'll always be glad you finished."

"You see, there's no such thing as a 'second wind;’ there are many winds. Each time you start hitting a little wall, you just gotta chip away at it. You'll feel great once you get through to the other side. And it can happen several times in a run; just don't give into it. You'll always be glad you finished."

It's incredible to me now how on-point his advice was. As a finisher of more than 18 ultra-distance runs (at the time of this posting), that simple advice about pushing through multiple walls is something that is now dear to me.

As 12-year-old me sputtered and cried and vomited inside my mouth that morning in the park, I hated my dad for what he was doing to me. I thought maybe I was being punished for something. I just couldn't comprehend why a loving father would do this to his son!

"Hey see that tree with the weird red mark on it?" my Dad asked me after what seemed like 30 minutes of huffing and puffing. "Run up and touch that tree, Kyle. That's your tree."

"What in the world are you talking about?" I thought to myself as I summoned the last energy in my entire soul to kick up to the tree and touch it.

"Ok stop,” he said. And I did. This time without the need to ask why.

"You just ran a MILE, man,” He yelled up at me and then walked to my collapsed, heaving body, and pulled my arm up, placing his hand on mine with the kind of tender "high-five" only a father can give to his son. "I'm proud of you dude!" And he beamed. He helped me up, and I walked back down to the trailhead while he finished his run.

The Afterglow

Later that day, at school, something peculiar happened. I thought I'd be exhausted the rest of the day from our maniacal endurance craziness (I mean, I ran one mile!), but, instead, I felt something else. …

I smiled and high-fived my school buddies. I laughed more and took notes more diligently. I even finally talked to the girl I had a crush on. I was glowing. The "runner's high" was real, and I was high as hell!

My dad and I kept going back to the park every other day for a few weeks. Until one day, I touched my tree at the mile mark and kept running.

It’s 20 years later, and I still haven't stopped. My dad showed me some tough love that day. He knew that if he could plant this one seed, even if it would take a few seasons of tending it to make it grow, eventually, it would bloom. And it did. Running is a practice that has quite literally saved my life more than once.

I thank him for that day every time I come home with a new 100-mile belt buckle.

#runningchangeseverything


LEARN MORE ABOUT KYLE. WATCH RUN THIS TOWN NASHVILLE NOW!


This story was written by Kyle Whalum. Whalum is a professional bassist. Running changed his life. Follow along on his adventures through Instagram: @kylewhalum