While chatting with a fellow mid-life runner recently, it occurred to me how all this “shogging” madness began for me.
He said that he had read that many people begin their running careers late in life after something catastrophic occurs in their lives. Up until this conversation, I had believed that my catastrophic incident was when I stepped on the scales and discovered I was 30 pounds over what I weighed in college. (Did the term “Holy Toledo!” come from the exclamation after looking down at one’s Toledo-made scales)? Or perhaps it was when my doctor said medication would be necessary to control my high blood pressure and high cholesterol.
But the reality is that all of these awakenings occurred well before I decided to start shogging. So, putting my fast-fading long-term memory to work, I determined that my shogging career started about five years ago and the catastrophic event was the death of my father.
My dad died five years ago this month, which coincides with when I started shogging. I never equated his fight for his life with my lifestyle change but now it makes sense. In my dad’s last few weeks in his heroic battle with kidney cancer, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. And those of us close to him saw the pain and anguish that goes with watching a heralded World War II OSS combat soldier fight a losing battle for his life.
While we were there for him at his bedside, there was nothing we could really do. In those last weeks of his life I saw determination like I had never seen before. I saw persistence, strength, discomfort, and the intense desire to endure. I saw a man who was battling to extend his 84 years of a life he loved but realizing that the obstacles were insurmountable.
It was his battle physically, but I had to find a way to deal with it as well. Thus I started running, or in my case, shogging.The benefits were many-fold for me. My time spent running served to clear my head as I sought solutions for my dad’s woes. The early morning runs that I thought I would detest were a great solution to the sleep lost as I shared my dad’s struggles.Watching my dad’s struggles awakened me to the fact that since genetics play a role in one’s health, that I’d better start paying attention to my own maladies.
Moreover, until recently, I did not realize that by running long distances, I was exhibiting the same characteristics that my dad had showed me in the battle for his life.All of what I saw in my father’s battle was necessary to successfully run the long race ” persistence, strength, mental anguish, pain and endurance. Now, I am using those same characteristics, not as a desperate struggle for my life, but as a strategy to extend my life.
My dad taught me a lot during my formative years but nothing quite so valuable as what I learned by observing the last weeks of his life. My dad’s death was a catastrophic event in my life but now I realize that it was inspirational and instructive as well.
I often get the question, “Why do you run?”And now I know the answer.

Harry Paidas
is the vice president for
public affairs and marketing
at Mount Union College.

These days it is becoming more difficult for me to determine the difference between a qualitative and quantitative experience.

This was brought to mind recently when I was training for the Athens Marathon and having successfully completed that, what I might attempt for an encore.

As a 50-something “shogger,” all of my training runs have been about quality. In other words, my running times have not been a priority, thus to try to quantify my shogs is pointless. When the end goal is to finish, as it has been in my case, the clock is superfluous. The only reason numbers have mattered has been to answer questions, like “How far did you run?” or “How many miles do you put in per week?”

While a running log has been helpful at times, I have not been married to it. What has been most important to me is dragging my butt out of bed on a consistent basis, working up a good sweat, and feeling good about the fact that I have gotten the run in. My wife, Kathe, often asks me after a shog, “How was your run?” to which I inevitably reply, “Good,” with the same enthusiasm my father used to answer my mother’s constant questions while his face was buried beneath the newspaper.

It’s not that I don’t hear the question or appreciate Kathe’s support, it’s just that sharing the details means I may have to quantify. Does she really want to hear, “Well, I ran for 70 minutes and had one-mile splits of 9:30 and ran eight 400-meter intervals, which now gives me 12 miles this week toward my goal of a 30-mile week?”

The fact is, shogging has been a welcome respite from a world that is becoming increasingly thirsty for quantifiable evidence. It’s everywhere. A simple question like “Hi, how are you?” might be replied to with a “Fine, thanks” followed by “My blood pressure is a little high at 128 over 84, but my cholesterol has dipped under 200 thanks to Lipitor. However my triglyceride count is creeping up and my BMI index indicates I am borderline obese.”

In most cases the questioner is looking for a qualitative answer and instead gets the quantitative one. After all, the bean counters feel an obligation to make us all accountable in nearly everything we do.

Interestingly, while in Greece, there was considerably less pressure to worry about numbers. In many cases, the menus did not have prices and when the check was presented it was a suggested price, subject to our satisfaction. This by the way, shed light on a major difference between my brother and me. My brother, more than satisfied with the meal, offered to pay a higher price than that which was suggested, as my mother no doubt would have done. I, who take after my late father, was appalled by that strategy and couldn’t believe that quality would win over quantity. Hmmm, so maybe I’m more about quantity than I would like to admit.

Come to think of it, what do I prefer, an all-you-can-eat ribs and chicken buffet or a nicely presented expensive meal? As long as I can run off the calories, I’ll have the buffet. What would I rather own, a luxury gas guzzler or a compact fuel efficient beater? The beater. What would I rather wear while shogging, my (late) Value City shorts, shirts and socks or Under Armour gear. It’s Value City for me. In each case I have made a quantitative decision over a qualitative one.

Let’s take it a step further. I recently returned from the Super Bowl where I met my son, who is attending college in Florida. We are both Steelers fans (please no comments from Readers Tell Us). Matt and I were spending quality time together during the pre-game and through the first three quarters. When the Cardinals took the lead our qualitative experience was being adversely affected by the quantitative reality of the score. Once the outcome was determined and the Steelers quantitatively beat the Cardinals the quality of our experience returned.

By thinking out loud here, I am surmising that there aren’t too many qualitative experiences that can occur without quantitative influence. Even thinking back to my marathon experience, the goal was to finish, but the euphoria set in when I broke a secret goal of five hours.

Moving forward, here is the dilemma. If my next “impossible” goal is to qualify for the Boston Marathon, I will need to shave about one hour off my Athens Marathon time. If I wait until I’m 60, assuming I am still in good health, I would only need to shave 45 minutes off my time. Either way, it will require me to be more diligent about time and speed. I will (gasp) have to go from shogging to shrunning (shuffling while running).

This would also make my running experiences more about quantity than quality. But now that I have dug a little deeper, perhaps that’s nothing new.

Harry Paidas is vice president for public affairs

and marketing at Mount Union College.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Jogging & Jotting, a monthly column written by Harry Paidas, will continue to run in The Review on the first Wednesday of every month.

What Now?

So, after realizing a dream, what does one do for an encore?

As the holiday season rolled in and out and a new year rang in, I had a nagging question that needed an answer. The question was masked by the holiday spirit and the hubbub that included being with loved ones, opening gifts and eating incessantly. Nearly everyone I ran into during the holidays cordially referenced my feat in Athens followed by the inevitable follow up — “what now?”

Indeed, what now?

There is actually a name for what I am going through. It’s called PMS and it is not the PMS you are thinking. This one is known as Post Marathon Syndrome. It affects runners and “shoggers” who have put their hearts and souls (as well as soles) into an event and discover an emptiness about the future after the event has concluded.

This feeling is analogous to the longer range experience of being a part of your children’s lives, attending every athletic event, play, choir concert, etc., from the time they are in pre-school only to realize that once they have grown, the best you can hope for is to relive the experience through their children — or get a life of your own.

In the meantime, those of us affected by PMS find ourselves in a type of purgatory looking for the next challenge.

Having the new year come along as it did has been fortuitous. Along with the new year come the inevitable resolutions. Thus, I have been able to work in some shogging goals that can provide an antidote to PMS. Here are some things I intend to do, and if you are interested in being more active in 2009, allow me to recommend them to you:

n My shog will become as routine as my other morning sh-actions that include shaving and showering.

n I will try to avoid streets where dogs bark at me starting at 5:30 a.m.

n I will attempt to eat breakfast at least three days a week even though my previous idea of a good breakfast is a jelly doughnut and coffee.

n I will run in Silver Park at least once a week.

n I will not eat anything solid after 9 p.m., which is my naptime that eventually leads to my bedtime at midnight.

n I will limit my viewing of the weather channel to 10 minutes and will refrain from referring to the weather channel anchors as though they are part of my family.

n I will run the Glamorgan Castle 10k Run on Labor Day (I recommend this to any of you in Alliance whether you are a casual runner or not).

n I will register for the Ohio Challenge Series, a series of fun runs in northeast Ohio sponsored by Subway, which provides sandwiches at the end of each run. For more information check the Web site at ohiochallengeseries.com.

When I think back to the start of 2008, many of the things I did were not on the radar screen in January. In fact the notion of a marathon in Athens in November didn’t hit me until March. Thus, I feel I still have some time to pull out of my PMS. Here are a few of the things I am considering.

n Perhaps running the Athens, Ohio, marathon in April (can’t get enough of Athens).

n Perhaps talking one of my boys into running a marathon with me (a long shot but maybe one of them will feel sorry for me).

n Perhaps working on my speed as well as endurance to someday qualify for the Boston Marathon (I will need to shave an hour off my best marathon time — yuck).

Then again, I am reminded of the scene from Forrest Gump when Forrest ran and ran for days on end for no apparent reason. Then, one day he stopped.

It leads me to ponder whether my shogging days are nearly over, or whether they are just beginning.

If all has gone well, as you read this, I have landed in Athens with just a few days to go before I attempt the race for which I have been training since April. During that time, I have shed 20 pounds and logged more than 1,000 miles while competing in three half-marathons, two 10Ks, two 5 milers, two 4 milers, and five 5Ks. In every race I have been considered a heavy underdog and have not disappointed anyone.

When one “shogs,” victory is the furthest thing from the mind. The only goal is to finish. In your own mind you set artificial time goals, but these are just to satisfy a mind that still tries to convince you that this is a competition and not just an endurance test.

I want to take this opportunity to thank all of you who have encouraged me and inspired me to continue to pursue this dream. I hope you realize, my only goal is to finish and live to tell about it. Of the 5,000 possible runners, I do not expect to be among the top 4,000 — most of the entrants are serious runners who are trying to beat a particular time or qualify for another race.

This is to take nothing away from the feat I am about to attempt. Having finished one other marathon, I know how tough it is. Delirium, disorientation and hitting the wall were all hurdles I had to overcome in Sarasota in March of 2007. For all of the punishment, both physical and mental, the exhilaration at the finish supersedes all else.

There is at least one person back home who will not settle for less than a victory. That person is my mother. She is also the one person, who with 85 years of wisdom on with which to draw, cannot understand that a son to whom she gave birth and raised well would want to go to Europe to run a punishing race that he knows he will not win.

Bless her heart, after every race I have run, after making the obligatory phone call to let her know that I have finished, she has been consistent in her response. One recent conversation was typical.

“Did you win?” Mom asked.

“No, not this time,” I responded. “I don’t enter these races to win — I use them as incentive.”

“Did you get that idea from the priest? You know, he uses incense.”

“Never mind, mom”

“OK. Well, who won?”

“Mom, I don’t know, and I don’t really care. It was probably somebody from Kenya.”

“Well at least it was somebody from Ohio.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you almost go to school there?”

“No, that’s Kenyon and that was my cousin Harry who almost went there. He ended up going to Denison.”

“Well I still don’t understand why you are running if you aren’t going to win.”

Mom has always believed in a purposeful life. In fact, I credit her for my penchant for endurance. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from second-grade to eighth-grade, I was required, after school, to attend Greek school at the church in Warren. Six years of kicking and screaming led to a modest proficiency in reading, writing and speaking Greek.

“Someday you will thank me for this,” my mom said more than once as I cursed the fact that I couldn’t join my friends on the junior high football and basketball teams. “This is such a waste of time — how can this possibly help me?” I responded. “You’ll see,” she said, dragging me into the car as I cut loose with some of the choice cuss words I had learned from my Greek school friends who had joined me in this early life endurance test.

So as I approach the home stretch of chasing this dream during a month that calls for giving thanks, I am grateful to all who stuck with me including you, the reader. But mostly, I owe this experience to my mother. She inadvertently taught me about endurance but she spent her life making sure I was proud of my Greek heritage leading me to run the ultimate race following in the footsteps of Pheidippides, the warrior who ran the original marathon route to proclaim victory for the Greeks over the Persians. I think she would have preferred that I follow in the footsteps of my great-grandpa, Father Dimitri, who for years presided as the priest in the village of Egrigoros in Chios, the island from which my family sprouted.

My mother was prophetic when she said someday I would thank her for this. Thanks, mom.

Harry Paidas is vice president for

public affairs and marketing at Mount Union College and has been training for the Athens (Greece) Marathon being held Sunday. He writes an occasional column for The Review and his Jogging and Blogging blog can be found on The Review Web site.

Uh oh.

It was probably too much to ask that a 56-year-old, chasing his dream to run the Athens Marathon in November, would be able to begin his training in April and get to the starting line pain free.

At the beginning of September, I had just had my best week of training — 60 miles including a one-day, four-hour run. I had recovered nicely but about a week after that four-hour run, I developed a dull discomfort, like the tongue of my shoe was out of place resting awkwardly on my left foot. I ran a few more times with that nagging discomfort.

Then a day or so later, while “shogging” a 6-miler with my occasional running companion, who also signs my paycheck, Richard Giese, the discomfort turned into pain. “C’mon, suck it up,” said my mentor. “No, I’d better stop,” I countered. “This hurts in an unusual place — the top of my foot.”

“Oh, it’s probably a stress fracture,” said Dr. Giese, who thankfully is a Ph.D. and not an M.D. So I limped the half-mile to my home, and visions of a failed mission to Athens weighed heavily on my mind.

While the pain in my foot was intense, the thought of perhaps not being able to run in Athens was crushing. Interestingly, about six weeks before my first and only other marathon in Sarasota, Fla., in March of 2007, I encountered a burning sensation on the outside of my left knee that was later diagnosed as an issue with my iliotibial band. When I first heard the diagnosis I thought it had something to do with having gone to too many rock concerts, only to discover that this is a common malady among distance runners. Once I knew what it was, I was able to treat it with the proper stretching and icing.

Although the IT band issue did slow me down during the marathon, I was able to finish, not without pain, but with the satisfaction that despite some adversity, I had accomplished my goal.

Now, here I was more than a year later with a different issue, every bit as mysterious as the first. I really should have paid closer attention in my health and science classes. Instead of making fun of those graphic but hilarious health videos that made hygiene look pornographic, I should have been paying attention to the names of the parts of the body. Instead of trying to figure out whether I was dissecting a male or female frog, I should have paid closer attention to the difference between tendons and cartilages.

So with a modicum of knowledge in tow, I began asking, e-mailing and calling my trusted advisers. My wife suggested plantar fasciitis, which at first I thought was ridiculous because I thought she was asking me to prepare for placing the spring bulbs. My cousin Nick thought it could be a neuroma, which I took offense to because I thought he was accusing me of being psychotic. My friend Paul suggested tendonitis which would require orthotics and he suggested that I visit an orthopedic specialist. I tried to tell him there wasn’t anything wrong with my teeth.

When I realized what an orthopedic specialist was and that a visit to him was the prudent thing to do, I made the appointment fully expecting the worst — Dr. Giese’s original diagnosis of a stress fracture.

After checking in, I was escorted to a room that reminded me of Halloween with all kinds of bony structures surrounding me. The nurse said that the first order of business was an X-ray of my affected foot. The minutes that followed seemed like hours as the doctor entered the room. He placed my X-ray on a backlit screen and showed me, much to my relief, that my foot looked normal.

He did say, however, “You have a pronate problem.” To which I replied, “Will I need to see a urologist?” After scoffing at my obvious attempt at a joke (which it wasn’t) he explained that my foot pronates and I have been compensating as I run. He suggested that I purchase a pair of orthotics, which was Paul’s original assessment.

I am happy to report that the orthotics have helped and I am running again, with some pain, but not enough to make a difference. In fact, I ran a half marathon at the end of September, and while my left foot let me know it was there, I was able to adjust whenever I was on the verge of worriesome pain and went on to a personal best time in that half marathon.

So, this crisis has passed and it’s back to training with five weeks to go. As race day approaches I have plenty to think about from IT bands to pains in my left foot. The mental part is tough enough, but now the physical part has become a factor as well. Ironically, the orthopedic specialist sounded the same advice that Dr. Giese had offered initially: “You are just going to have to suck it up.”

My mantra is now a compound sentence: “I will suck it up and I will finish.”

Harry Paidas is vice president

for public affairs and marketing

at Mount Union College and is training for the Athens, Greece, Marathon in November.

He writes an occasional column for the Review and his Jogging and Blogging blog can be found on The Review Web site.

With two months to go before the marathon in Athens, there is plenty to think about. In fact the preparation, while physically demanding, takes its toll mentally as well. Perhaps the most challenging mental obstacle is motivation.

Since I like to run in the morning, rolling out of bed is a good first step, but motivation is more complicated than that. In fact, I have found inspiration from deep within my psyche that goes back to my boyhood and continues through today. That inspiration comes from the voices of the coaches with whom I have interacted during the past several decades. It is these voices that inspire me when I am lacking for motivation.

Take my high school basketball coach, for example. At 5-6, I was not destined for the NBA but I was fortunate enough to make the varsity basketball team at Warren Harding High School. My coach, Jack Gysegem, had taken Harding to the state finals just a couple of years before, so I was in awe of him and the returning players.

One day at practice, while observing my two-handed jump shot, Gyse turned to the JV coach and said, “What are we going to do about Paidas’ jump shot, it looks like hell?” To which the JV coach replied, “I wouldn’t mess with it. It ain’t pretty but it goes in.”

In some ways, the “ain’t pretty” theme has become my mantra. It seems nothing I do athletically looks pretty — I shog instead of jog; my golf swing looks like a misguided construction crane; my tennis backhand is nonexistent — I switch the racket to my left hand in order to have two forehands; my bowling release hits the pocket straight on instead of curving from right to left; I hit to right field in slow pitch softball. Are you getting the picture?

I still remember what Gyse said about me when the basketball media guide came out: “Harry is a good team player and has excellent court awareness.” Translated, team player meant, “in practice Harry plays the role of the other team’s player and by kicking his butt it gives our guys more confidence.” And as for court awareness, the translation is “Harry gets a good view of the court because his fanny is never leaving the bench.”

What does this have to do with my current mental preparation? Well, my past has given me mental toughness so when I am shogging, I tell myself, “it ain’t pretty, but you are going to finish.”

Moving forward several years, I feel very fortunate to be at Mount Union College where I have a chance to learn from some of the greatest coaches in the world. Larry Kehres is the winningest football coach in the history of the planet and he is a world renowned motivator. John Homon is the premier track coach in the Ohio Athletic Conference and Richard Giese, the president of the College, is also the all-time leader at the College in winning percentage as a tennis coach. It is only natural that I would turn to these men for motivation.

When I was preparing for my first distance race, the half marathon at Hilton Head Island, S.C., I would occasionally train on the track in Mount Union Stadium. One fall day, the football team was practicing while I was finishing my laps. Coach Kehres was not happy with his Purple Raiders on this day and his voice was careening off the covered stands so that most of Alliance could hear him. Suddenly, he turned to the south end where I was shogging and he hollered, “C’mon Paidas, you’re running so slow you’re putting holes in the track.” My pace quickened, and I thought, no wonder he gets that little bit extra out of his players.

On the eve of the Hilton Head half marathon, I e-mailed Kehres looking for one last bit of advice before the biggest run of my life. His reply: “Good luck. Don’t wear anything that says Mount Union on it.” How much more inspiration could I ask for??

Then there was the time when I was running around the indoor track and heard Homon yell, “Geez Paidas, if you run any slower, it’ll look like you’re moving backwards.”

Or my mentor and president, Richard Giese who upon hearing that I was training for a marathon, said, with a look of disbelief, “You’ll never finish.”

Even my good friend and occasional running buddy, Paul, dissed me to a degree during our run in Hilton Head. Paul had agreed to run with me to keep me company at my pace during the half marathon. After the first eight miles of the 13.1 mile race, Paul turned to me and said, “Do you mind if I go on ahead, I’m tired of walking.” He crossed the finish line about ten minutes ahead of me — so much for companionship during a run.

While motivation comes in many forms, great coaches know when negative messages are more effective than positive reinforcement. Based on the fact that the greatest coaches I know have all used negative messages on me, I must be the type who responds when someone says I can’t do something.

Along the marathon route in Athens people will be lining the course shouting their encouragement. “You can do it!” “Keep going — you are doing great!” “Don’t stop — you are almost there!” These are typical refrains from on-lookers on a distance course. But I will be tuning them out in favor of the voices that have inspired me. I love being told I can’t do something — that’s all the motivation I need. It may look ugly, but I will finish.

Harry Paidas is VP for

Public Affairs and Marketing at Mount Union College

and is training for the

Athens, Greece marathon being held in November.

His Jogging and Blogging blog can be found on

The Review web site.

When preparing for a marathon, even shoggers like me have to step up the routine. With the Athens, Greece, marathon now less than four months away, the 20-mile weeks have given way to longer more arduous 40-45 mile weeks, and will eventually peak at 50. One day each week is designated as a long run day and involves a three to four hour shog (followed by a jelly doughnut as a just reward).

While the mental and physical strain increases, so does the excitement. Moreover, the longer runs allow for more reflection. In fact, the remainder of this column was “written” in my head on one of my longer shogs through the city of Alliance. During this shog, I determined that we take a lot for granted in this community. With apologies to David Letterman, here, in no particular order, are the top ten things we take for granted in Alliance.

n Our parks. I cannot imagine anything more beautiful than the sun rising as I head into Silver Park to experience the hills, not unlike the hills I will be experiencing in Greece. The ducks are now used to me and don’t even budge as I waddle among them. Depending on the time of day, Silver Park can be serene with walkers and picnickers or it can be a flurry of activity replete with ball players and tennis players (yes, people still play tennis in Alliance!). The condition of the parks is immaculate due to a hard-working corps of people who take pride in their work. These park workers do a lot of behind-the-scenes work to make our community more attractive.

Let’s not forget Butler-Rodman Park either. Though not as hilly as Silver Park, B-R has its own charm and certainly has a lot of history that includes some of my favorite memories coaching Hot Stove League baseball kids and ACSC soccer players. Some day the “shrinks” of my former players will thank me for all the business I likely created for them.

n The Carnation Festival — When shogging through Silver Park, I cannot pass the grassy area at the bottom of the hill without thinking about that period in August when everything comes to life. Carnation Days are a tradition that we should cherish because not many communities come together like this anymore. There is something magical about greeting friends and neighbors that you see routinely only now you see them in this setting. You also have to love the fact that for a two-hour period, we shut down two state routes to celebrate who we are with the Grand Parade. All this doesn’t just happen; it takes dozens of hard-working volunteers laboring behind the scenes for the betterment of all.

n Our schools and their facilities — One of the Godsends for me personally has been the use of the track surrounding Len Dawson Field. I have shogged hundreds of miles around that track, some in the most extreme conditions. I have watched the sun rise and set and I have shogged while a middle school football game was in progress, fantasizing that the cheering was for me even though a young Aviator was diving in the end zone at the opposite end. We have beautiful buildings and outstanding teachers, and most importantly, we have great kids. Don’t let those knuckleheads in Columbus try to sway you with test score data. Instead, spend a day in any one of our schools — you’ll be convinced.

n City services — When you put in dozens of miles a month, you get to a lot of different parts of the city. I think you would be hard-pressed to find another city of 25,000 that has a full-blown fire department with a first responder program, an active, professional police department, and a city government that responds well to citizen demands. Plus, where else will you find a leaf collection program like ours?

n Glamorgan Castle — What an awesome building! A lot of fact and fiction surrounds this place but it deserves our respect. We should be proud it is a part of our town even if it is odd that our school administration is housed there. On Labor Day, it is the focus of the Castle Run, a 10k sponsored by the Rotary. If you run only one race this year, this should be the one. Runners and shoggers come from all over and it’s a lot of fun.

n Downtown — Reports of its death are premature. I have shogged our downtown streets with no fear. In fact, it is not hard to look down Main Street and imagine a time when the buildings were full and the place was hopping. People older than I no doubt remember the fine clothing stores and restaurants that drew people to Main Street. It may never be the same, but you have to love the attempts at revitalization. I don’t think it is my imagination that a few more stores are occupied and certainly the Friday evening events and Saturday Farmers’ Market are proving that there is hope.

n The birthplace of the state flower — I am struck by the irony of the signs at our city limits. One sign says we are the Carnation City because the scarlet carnation, now the state flower, has its roots here. Another sign proclaims we are the home to the nine-time national champion football Purple Raiders. I like to tell people we are a city of tough flower gardeners.

n Mount Union College and the Purple Raiders — In the interest of full disclosure, this is the place from which I draw my paycheck. Having said that, imagine Alliance without Mount Union College. The relationship between college and community hasn’t always been peachy but I think those past issues have been laid to rest. The leadership at the college, and that starts with Dr. Richard Giese, is committed to a great town-gown relationship. Plus, the people at Mount are friendly, caring individuals. The college truly is a gem in the community. By the way, if you shog near the college, it is clear why the word “Mount” is in the name. If you approach Chapman Hall from any direction, you will be running uphill. While it isn’t the highest point in Alliance (there is a marker on Western Avenue with that claim), to me it represents my version of the Parthenon sitting atop the Acropolis.

Moreover, we are living through an unprecedented run in the history of college football and it is happening right here in our town. Our coach is the winningest coach in the history of college football and you can drive by the campus on any given day and he might be shoveling snow or on a tractor mowing when he isn’t coaching. This football success is an incredible story that we likely won’t fully appreciate until we don’t have it anymore. In the meantime, let’s savor it. Winning can never be taken for granted.

n Alliance Community Hospital and our physicians — Have you been inside our hospital lately? They treat you so well, it makes you want to go in for an overnight stay. If I ever get sick, I can’t think of a better place to have an IV stuck in me. And, I don’t know about you, but I am very happy with the physicians who have treated me during my 25 years in Alliance, including an unprecedented house call on one occasion.

n Our media — How many towns our size still have a locally owned daily newspaper that still runs Hot Stove League box scores and a locally owned radio station that gets involved in the community broadcasting local events and sports? It’s easy to complain about what appears in the paper or what is said on the radio, but try living in a community that becomes obscure because the larger, neighboring community has hogged the spotlight. There is still something special about reading, getting online or tuning in every day to learn about the people you know.

Interestingly, this started out as a column about running and has evolved into a rambling discourse about our community. But then, that’s what happens in a distance race. One starts out on task with goals clearly defined only to fall into a delirious, rambling state with the finish line as the lone remaining goal.

Harry Paidas is VP for public affairs

and marketing at Mount Union College and is training for the Athens, Greece, marathon being held in November.

He writes an occasional column

for the Review, and his

Jogging and Blogging blog

can be found at

www.the-review.com

After a shog on the beach while preparing for my first half-marathon two summers ago, I was chatting with an interested bystander who asked a question that still intrigues me.

He asked, “Do you eat to run, or do you run to eat?” My first reaction to this philosophical query was typical of my incoherence after a long shog: “Huh?” was my reply.

The questioner repeated the inquiry and gave me time to dissect the interrogative sentence. After I waded through the verbs and infinitives, I grasped the concept and declared, “I definitely run to eat.” The reaction of the bystander was non-verbal but haunts me to this day. He wrinkled his nose, turned, spit, mumbled and walked away. He left me with the impression that this was not the answer he was looking for, and given his long slender physique, I think he was hoping to strike up a conversation with someone who was serious about running, not some shogger.

As my shogging has evolved and I have become a little more serious about my approach, it has occurred to me that there might come a time when I will eat to run but for now I am trying to be careful not to take the fun out of it.

Allow me to explain. In an earlier column I mentioned that part of the incentive for beginning to shog was to lose weight. However, knowing how much I love food, I never intended to diet. So that meant that I had to burn more calories than I consumed.

I am a believer in eating the right foods, including loading up with fruits and vegetables, but I am also a believer that the occasional hamburger, pizza and milkshake are in order. Thus, I instituted a reward system. As incentive to finish a long run, I reward myself with a trip to CiCi’s all-you-can-eat pizza buffet or Doug’s or Heggy’s for a burger and shake. Counter-productive, you might say? Probably. But my mind and body have always operated best with the rewards system.

I remember in college pulling all-nighters on the eve of major papers and exams. Back then, the Red Barn (where the Taco Bell now sits) was the only place open in Alliance until 2 a.m. So at 1:45 a.m., I would go to the Barn and purchase four burgers, and on the hour, from 3 to 6 a.m., I would reward myself with a burger as incentive to stay awake studying. Bizarre? Perhaps. But it worked for me.

What I am finding as I train for these races and ultimately the marathon in Athens in November is that the mind and body need to be on the same page. The mind is constantly playing “mind games” by saying that you need to keep going while the body is saying you have had enough, or vice versa. So, what are you supposed to do?

If you listen to the body, you would never finish the race because the body isn’t made to run 26.2 miles. On the other hand, the mind plays these little tricks by telling you at one moment that you can’t make it up that hill and at the next moment feeds you that Little Engine That Could line, “I think I can, I think I can.” Most of the time, I find the mind goes along with the body but there are those occasional spats when the body says “I am ready to run six miles today,” and your mind counters with “Did you forget you only had three hours of sleep last night?”

My role, of course, is to keep the mind and the body in harmony. Thus, the reward system. If the body doesn’t feel like running, I need to push the mind to tell the body that it will be worth its while to run. Thus, the mere suggestion that a jelly doughnut and cup of coffee sit just beyond the finish line is usually enough incentive for the body to behave. Likewise, if the body is ready to go but the mind is worried about the weather, a nice refreshing hot fudge sundae at the end of the day helps nourish the mind.

I am told by more experienced runners that you can actually get the mind and body in harmony by just offering water and Gatorade at the end of a run. That would explain the disgust shown by the bystander at my “eat to run” answer.

Someday, as I close in on training for the marathon in November, this “run to eat” mentality no doubt will have to shift to “eat to run.” The hamburgers, pizza and shakes will have to give way to Power bars, Gatorade and bananas. The rewards system will still be in place but the rewards will become less palatable. I will have to convince both the mind and the body that the sacrifices they are making in incentives will be rewarded with the ultimate prize — the completion of the original marathon route, ending at Olympic Stadium in Athens.

The event is nearly five months away but I already have the image in my mind. As we descend into Athens with Olympic Stadium in my sights, I anticipate that my legs will be burning. I will be nearly out of breath but the exhilaration of having run the original route will keep me going. As I make my way into the Stadium, tears will be flowing, partly from pain, partly from pride. I will cross the finish line carrying the spirit of my Greek ancestors on my back. My dream will be realized.

Then, my mind will ask, “Do you suppose there is a McDonald’s somewhere near here?

Harry Paidas is VP for

Public Affairs and Marketing at Mount Union College and is training for the Athens Marathon in Greece in November.

He writes an occasional column for the Review and his

Jogging and Blogging blog

can be found on

The Review web site.

The beauty of jogging, or in my case, shogging (a combination of jogging and shuffling), is that you can do it alone or with others. There is no equipment necessary, and you can shog whenever it is convenient. The number of minutes or hours it takes is dependent on the length of the workout, which you set yourself, and the number of minutes or hours you spend in the shower.

Thinking back to my youth, in order to play baseball, we always had to get a minimum of 10 players, five per side. Each team would have a pitcher and catcher, two infielders and an outfielder (we had to close right or left field depending on the hitter). There was a variation of baseball called “off the chimney” in which case only two players were necessary — a pitcher and a batter. In this driveway game, played with a whiffle ball and with the chimney of our house as a backstop, certain landmarks were designated as hits. Into the garage was a triple; into the window well was a double; anything past the pitcher on the ground was a single and slamming it off the neighbor’s house was a home run. Breaking the neighbor’s window resulted in automatic forfeiture, a fine equal to the cost of the window, and the loss of a meal from my mother.

Even tennis required at least one other person. The trick there was finding someone who knew how to keep score. I always felt I had the advantage since I had taken the time to learn how to keep score because most of my friends were willing to go out and hit a tennis ball but they didn’t want to take the time to learn the difference between 30s, 40s and love. Of course, we all found out what love was all about by the time we reached our 30s and 40s.

With shogging, the time spent is entirely up to the individual. One can make it social, but that is optional. When I got up off the couch a little more than three years ago, I had no plans to make this endeavor social. I had made it an individual quest. I was going to get in shape and lose weight. Period. As I mentioned in my previous column, it was imperative that I establish a routine and I changed my lifestyle to become a morning runner.

Just to give you an idea. The alarm, set to WDPN, sounds at 5:45 a.m. This automatically sets my left arm in motion to hit the snooze button. The next time the alarm sounds, the right arm hits the off button and I am sitting up. The next move is to the coffee pot where by 5:57 the coffee is on just ahead of my 10 paces to the TV which has been set from the night before on the Weather Channel. The 5:58 “Weather on the 8s” tells me all I need to know including temperature, wind chill and humidity so I know how to dress for my morning shog.

By 6:30 the caffeine has kicked in and my exhaust system has proved to be functional. I proceed with 10 minutes of stretching (yes, stretching is mandatory at my age) and I am out the door. The length of the shog is dependent upon the day because after I started shogging regularly, I found that keeping a chart was the only way to keep myself honest. I started out shooting for 10 miles per week and felt proud of myself when I could accomplish that milestone. That 10 miles per week goal stayed with me for the first several months and I was content, until the subject of the half marathon reared its ugly head again.

During those first months, I was content to run at my own pace in a non-competitive stupor. However, in June, vacationing with my cousin Nick in Hilton Head, S.C., I took to shogging with him on the beach. In the course of our conversation, I found that he, who is three years older, had run a couple of marathons and encouraged me to get in good enough shape to try that half marathon that my niece had suggested the previous Thanksgiving.

While on that vacation, Nick showed me about stretching, pacing, drinking appropriate amounts of water, and several other tips that I had never thought much about. I also discovered that time passed more quickly when you are able to carry on a conversation, and I found that I enjoyed running and talking at the same time (although, to this day, I think I prefer the mind-clearing that running solo allows).

Also, while in Hilton Head, I discovered that a half-marathon was held on the island each February. When I left the island that July, with Nick’s advice in tow, I was convinced that I would be back in February attempting that half marathon that seemed so remote the previous Thanksgiving.

With about six months to get ready, I embarked on a quest that would require me to up my 10 miles per week to an average of 20 miles per week including occasional long runs of 10 miles at a time. I called my niece and told her about how her suggestion would now be my goal. I became excited about the prospect and sought advice from anyone who was willing to offer some.

In a future column, I would like to share some of that advice. In fact, I feel blessed because of the people with whom I have become acquainted as a result of this new found passion. Working at Mount Union, I have the privilege to know and work with some of the best coaches in the country. I have also discovered colleagues who have run marathons and I occasionally shog with a president who has an appreciation for fitness.

One of my running buddies is a former member of the 1974 Mount Union national championship cross country team (at least he is in the team picture; his statistics have mysteriously disappeared). My cousin Nick continues to offer encouragement. And most importantly, I have a tolerant spouse who understands my routine and mood swings and knows how to react to my erratic behavior that includes a voracious appetite and low tolerance for pain.

I hope you will get to know a little more about these people through this column, because while shogging may be an individual endeavor, you are never really alone.