By Gary Ishler

Those of us who started running in the 1970s might remember many early hits from the immortal band Chicago. In particular, a song titled, “25 or 6 to 4.”  Written shortly after Woodstock, the song’s said to be about a long night on psychedelic drugs, namely LSD.

My 75 in 48 at 64, while boosting higher numbers, also represents an extended period of time under the influence of a type of high and an addiction, not to mention a form of LSD (the long slow distance kind).

The semantic parallels between drug abuse and running are both astonishing and a bit disturbing!

Recently, I passed the 48^th anniversary of officially declaring myself a runner. I am about 100 miles short of 75,000. Initially, I thought progressing from 50K to 75K had taken longer than from 25K to 50K. Consistency has been my hallmark, and it’s never been better illustrated than in the spans from one 25K mark to another.

From when I began in 1975, it took me 16 years to reach the 25,000 mile mark, in 1991. Mileage increased substantially in the early 1980s and through my initial marathon years until 1988. During the 1990s, my mileage dipped a bit but remained steady and improved into the early 2000s. Thus, I hit 50K in the summer of 2007. I was surprised that I reached the next significant mark 16 years after the last one. One confession I must make: I did add about 800 miles in the past several years to account for all the runs over the documented mileage. For example, if I ran a half or quarter mile more than I listed, which I did many times. Some of my courses in the past might have been long, some short. I usually erred on the side of them being shorter when listing mileage. One popular route was about 5.5, but I recorded it as five miles. Relying on GPS watches and other tech, while maybe not precise, is far more accurate than figuring out distances via a car odometer.

Still modern tech is criticized for not being exact to the inch precise. In my experience, all the GPS watches I’ve owned (a total now of four) have given me consistent distance, as have the websites I’ve compared. Perhaps it’s not the device but the person trying to use it and desiring a better result.

My ability to run 25K in 16 years averages over 1500 per year, or 30 miles a week. Sustaining that over 48 years might be my greatest accomplishment. And not only over 48 years, but also over three, almost identical 16 year intervals.

In my book, The Run and Only Life, I created the “Age, Years Run, and Miles Run Rule of Decline.”  The formula combines three numbers: age, years, and thousands of miles. It provides a measure of how much wear we’ve put on our legs and a tribute to our perseverance. I theorized that 150 is a number demonstrating an admirable number of years and miles. Trudging beyond that is a matter of luck, good biomechanics and some degree of insanity for continuing to keep putting one foot in front of the other for so long. Given my age of 64, 48 years running, and 75 (thousand) miles, I’m now at 187. Each year adds about 3.5, so based on that progression, I’ll hit the 200 pinnacle in about four years. Not just because I’m so close, but I’d suggest anyone who scales and claims this summit ought to be feted in some way: new mattress-thick running shoes, knee replacement, or psychological exam. Whichever best suits the individual.

I don’t want to stop there. The next challenge, and the most formidable of all, is to run another 25,000 in 16 years (or likely more), reaching the 100,000 milestone at 80 or just beyond it. Maybe then I’ll quit. Running after eight decades will be a monumental accomplishment. I’d rather not get ahead of myself. I’m not to 75,000 just yet.

One advantage over the past 40+ years is that  I now have is more time. Yet, no matter how much time, the ability of the body, namely the legs, to continue to crank out the miles, no matter how slow, will be the determining factor. I’d like it to be “running” rather than walking. By some metrics, the difference, which I stated in the book, is a 13-minute per mile pace, but many people are doing races (especially on trails) at paces slower than that, and still proclaiming they are running. It might just be a matter of semantics. If one’s intent is to run and the pace is 17 minutes, then it’s a run. Maybe we need to move that line back a bit, so long as it’s not any slower than 20 minutes because that, while a brisk clip, is walking pace, save for the most gnarly footpaths.

And to think in the 1970s, the dividing line between runners and joggers was a seven per minute mile pace. Amazing how far we have come, albeit a lot more slowly.

Oh, those days when I could go 26 at 6 and 4(0)!

Gary Ishler is a runner, writer, retired teacher, and former radio personality who lives in Reedsville, PA. He’s previously contributed to RG, and has written two books on running: How a Decent Runner Can Get to the Starting Line at Boston—in Spite of Himself, and more recently, The Run and Only Life.

Both books are available from Amazon.

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