#runningstories

Running for Dad

  I started training over a year ago. Making the decision to go for it one more time, I religiously kept up my training schedule enduring many long runs in all the elements. My mind was clear, my body strong and invigorated. I was happy and I knew I could do it. I told myself this repeatedly. I slept well, considering, and ate a light breakfast.  My muscles were warmed up from a long bout of stretching. But for whatever reason, the start for me was always filled with anxiety. My stomach jumped and fluttered, anticipating the blast of the starting gun. A few deep breaths and a quick prayer took the edge off my nerves.

I was running Grandma’s Marathon in Duluth, Minnesota.  The annual event has been held each June since 1977.  The race course is a point-to-point rather than a loop so participants are bused to the starting point near Two Harbors. The starting point was the highest point of elevation on the race course and the entire race is literally downhill. It’s a beautiful course along Scenic Route 61 on the shores of Lake Superior. I had no expectations of coming in first but I was determined to complete the full 26.2 miles.  The bus ride had been relatively quiet as all the runners mentally prepared themselves for the grueling task ahead.  Only after we departed the bus did the chatter start and anticipation mount.

The gun blasted off at the starting line and a swarm of bodies flowed like a river of bobbing heads onto the course, leaving the starting line behind. Taking off from the center of the large mob of highly spirited contenders thrilled me. Lake Superior lay to my right and I recognized the music that was blaring as the theme from the movie Chariots of Fire. This is why I chose Grandma’s Marathon. The views are spectacular and the energy is unrivalled!

Clouds and a damp mist in the air hadn’t thwarted the attendance numbers and I preferred it over a baking sun. The mist collected on my face and moistened my lips, mingling with my perspiration. My body heated up and I pulled the cap from my head tucking it in my jacket pocket. By mile three I shed my jacket and tied it around my waist. My mop of hair was pulled tight at the base of my skull but the fine texture allowed strands to slip from the binder and fuzz around my face. Eventually it would be soaked in sweat and stuck to my brow and neck. I didn’t mind.

The mob of runners thinned as the stronger athletes pulled ahead and slower ones lagged.  I started strong but found myself tiring and looking at my wrist tracker too often. Right on schedule, my mind started distressing, as usual by mile five. I practiced the techniques runners use to stay motivated with positive self-talk. I took the drinks offered by racing staff from the sidelines to nourish my fatigued muscles. As anticipated, based on my training experience, at mile seven I increased my pace again and enjoy a second wind. This carried me through to mile ten and eleven but my psyche was once again overwhelmed by the physical toll my body was enduring.

The war between mind and body had begun. Mental strength was as important as physical strength and I liked to believe that I was well trained in both areas. ‘You can do it, you can do it.’ I chanted in my head. ‘My ass hurts, I‘m going to puke! I’m going to trip and fall!’… ‘No you’re not going to fall! Run through the pain. Keep going, you know you’re tough! You’re a beast. You’re strong and fit!’

I’ve always loved running. If I didn’t love it I probably wouldn’t have run two previous marathons. I love competition and challenging myself.  When I run I try to keep my mind occupied so the negative thoughts stay at bay. I count red cars, blue cars. I count how many trucks pass me.  I catch up on listening to my favorite music.  I mentally make to-do lists and gift lists. I make plans. I make decisions and promises to myself. I pray for my children and my husband. Mostly, I really enjoy the alone time, the solitude, gratitude that my body can do these things.   When you spend that much time doing something rather mundane, your mind can create some wild thoughts. I pray a lot and think too much which causes me to sometimes cry. This was my third full marathon and I gathered from the signs my body displayed, that I would be in recovery for a while. I wondered if this would be my last. Visualizing myself crossing the finish line, I see it in my mind’s eye. I’m going to make it…I think.

With a blink of my eye, I lurched forward and my feet left the ground.  The grating of blacktop against my palm, elbow and shoulder was excruciating as the skin peeled away. I tripped over a fellow runner who lost his footing in front of me, sending us both into a rolling tumble of flesh and gravel. A group of spectators were forced from their comfortable chairs, their beers and sodas tipping and littering the grass. I tasted weeds and gravel in my mouth as our bodies came to a halt. Laying stunned on the side of the road, it took several minutes for everything to work again.  Shifting to all fours, I spit out grass and sand. Tears spilled forth. I stood with the help of an outstretched hand. The poor fellow in front landed on his chin and I saw fragments of gravel and green driven into his flesh. We brushed ourselves off, shook hands, he apologized and we headed back onto the course.

Behind the scheduled pace I set for myself and stinging from the fall, I forced my body to keep moving. Without a glance in my direction, the man who caused the fall sped ahead of me as if nothing had happened, and was quickly out of sight. I cursed in frustration over the sand ground into my own palm. I wiped it on the front of my shirt. Looking down I saw the face of my Dad. I’d had the shirt printed special for this race.  I was running to honor him. Dad was my hero and my inspiration. I wished he was here to cheer me on, to run alongside me for a few miles to lift my spirits and help with the struggle of negative thoughts in my mind. He would’ve loved it, the hills and the view over Lake Superior.

My Dad’s nickname for me was "Rocky" for Roxanne, and it had stuck.  Just like my Dad, I’m very competitive and driven. I was also real a tomboy. When I was just nine years old he took me to the movie ROCKY.  It's my favorite movie to this day because it had been just him and me that Saturday. I loved the scene where Rocky makes it to the top of the Philadelphia Art Museum steps. Maybe I’ll feel like that when I cross the finish line. 

Thinking about my Dad, I found a renewed determination and once again committed myself to completing the race, ignoring the road rash on my elbow and shoulder.  As I again found my running rhythm and fell into what I call “my runner’s zone”, I didn’t need to concentrate quite so much on what my body was doing and my mind started to wander.  When I had been considering what race to participate in, I chose Grandma’s Marathon specifically because it happened to fall on Father’s Day weekend.  Father’s Day had been really hard last year as it was the first one since my dad died.  I thought having a race to run would help me ease past the heartache of not having him here on earth with us this time around. Unexpectedly, I found myself smiling - remembering the way he would tease me and walk in a silly stiff way to mimic my stride when I was sore and limping after a long training session or a marathon race.  He always seemed able to pull me out of my silent misery of over-worked muscles keeping me grateful about what I had accomplished instead.  He and mom were quite a pair. They had a whole comedy act to bring the laughter out and pull me out of my self- absorption.  I recollect how often I see his characteristics and that silliness in my little boy.  The way he holds his head or the way his eyes twinkle when trying to convince me that he really does need another cookie for dessert.  The stubborn look on his face when he’s concentrating on getting his letters written exactly like the teacher’s example.  The sweet unconditional love on his face when he comes home from pre-school and runs to me for his usual welcome home hug.  I see my dad in him so often.  I found myself thinking about how my dad was so involved in me and my siblings when so many fathers weren’t.  I pray that my husband and I can do as well with our own kids.

Reveling in my memories the miles seemed to flow quickly under my feet.  Not long, however, and my legs reminded me exactly of how much distance I had covered.  My breathing became labored, my guts were wrenching and sure that I was going to vomit, I slowed and rested a moment. The acid burned at my throat and I spit. A bystander handed me a bottle of water and I drank a few gulps and the rest I emptied over my tear streaked face. Blessed water.  The generous man gave me a thumbs up and said I was doing great. How would he know how I was doing, I thought and wondered if he had ever done anything this hard. I was getting bitchy, I guess. I smiled weakly and thanked him for the water. I turned to look at the picturesque view of the lake alongside the race course. Grateful that I chose this spot to rest and drink in the beauty of sapphire blue waters and lush greens of the hillside. I considered lowering myself to the ground and calling it quits until I heard the gleeful greetings and cheers for a fellow runner. Obviously her family waited at this point of the course for her to arrive.

“Go Momma go!” Came a young voice so like my baby girl’s. 

Cleary most of the runners around me were struggling to a certain degree. I needed to circle around a woman whom I remembered seeing at the starting line. I recognized her pink and green outfit and recalled overhearing her telling her companion that they would meet at the finish line and go have a beer. I could see she was as near to collapse as I had witnessed yet and I slowed to a walk, putting my hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me and shrugged it off.

“Are you alright?” I had to ask, she was as white as a ghost.

She rolled her eyes, revealing her disdain. “I’ll be fine, just move along.” Angry and proud she didn’t want my help. Coming to a complete stop, she rested her hands on her knees. “Please, you go on ahead, I just need a moment.” I waited until a staff member came to her aid, helping her to the side of the road. It didn’t look like she was going to make it any further. She had at least ten years on me and should be very proud for having made it this far. I wondered how her companion was doing and thought about the beers they would share.  A beer would taste good and I hoped I could have one too. For some reason the woman having to give up her fight to the finish line gave me a mental boost or maybe it was the enticement of a cold beer.

I looked around me and noticed the wide array of ages and body types. Some very young, some getting up there in age. Most of us were grimacing in pain and red faced from the sun and exertion. We are all gluttons for punishment, I decided. Maybe we’d all go have a beer together. I managed a small smile at the thought. “Let’s have another round, on me!”

Mile twenty came as a surprise as it meant I had reached the pinnacle, the remaining six point two miles would be the toughest. With an aching jaw and sore lips I tried to form a smile. I was probably clenching my teeth without realizing it. Although it had been overcast and misty at the start, the sun had been shining for a while and I could feel cracks in my lips break open.  Why hadn’t I brought my zinc lip balm? Pressing them together I tried to moisten them with a dry tongue, I tasted blood. Hell, this was tough.  I couldn’t differentiate knee pain from hip pain, head pain from stomach pain any longer. With each monumental step my mind screamed for permission to stop putting one foot in front of the other. I was at war with my thoughts and wondered if anyone could hear my cursing or if it was only in my head? I looked at the woman to my right.

“We are going to make it to the finish!” She announced with a chuckle. I shook my head in agreement and we ran side by side for a while. I felt a kinship with her and thought I would have liked to talk to her later, when we were both less winded and victorious, maybe over a beer.  The camaraderie of a silent running partner with the same stride length as mine was comforting and the slap of our feet in unison created a peaceful mood that stayed with us for quite a distance.  Eventually the woman’s speed slowed and I eased ahead of her.  I glanced over my shoulder to see her resting, bent at the waist, hands on her knees.  I was on my own again. Far from alone as a few hundred runners were still on this stretch of road.

I felt the familiar burning in the arches of my feet. The sharp needling jolts of pain through my shins and the slamming of my knees with every footfall. My left hip ached and I was sure my thigh bone had splintered and was driving its broken shards into my pelvis. I looked down expecting to see blood and bone but there was no blood, no splintered bone. The intense pain in my left hip had me nearing a limit I was unsure I would be able to overcome.

On a quiet stretch of the course, plodding along as best I could my thoughts strayed from one topic to another. I tried not to think about my hip.  I heard some rapid footsteps behind me and a young blonde women sidled up next to me. She ran in front of me but turned backwards so she could face me. I was forced to slow my pace to not trample her. I wondered how she could do that and not fall on her ass. Her smile was sickeningly sweet and she looked at me with piercing blue eyes.

”You look like you’re struggling there. Have you had a gel lately?” She held up the small gel packet. She reminded me of a cheerleader, all peppy and overly bubbly. Bobbing her head up and down, her perky pony tail bouncing. I almost hated her at that moment just for her vivacity.

“No, I took my last one a few miles back.” I think I said it clearly. My head was in a jumble and it sounded peculiar to my own ears.

“They really work. I think you should take this one.” The blonde was talking at me again. “It will help I promise. Here take it.” She was annoyingly chipper but I took the gel and ripped it open. Slowing for a moment I sucked on the sweet flavored gel, packed with nutrients. The cheerleader gave me a thumbs up. “You’re going to make it. See you at the finish line!” She shouted before a tight curve in the course put her out of my sight. I wondered where the hell she had come from and why give me any attention when we were clearly in a race with hundreds of others fighting similar battles. How could she still be so enthusiastic at this point in the race? It was maddening. I wanted to gossip about her to my new running friend but then remembered that she had fallen behind. I said a quick prayer for her and hoped to see her again.

The gel gave me a momentary heightened level of energy but within a mile or two I was near my limit again. The sun had boiled my brain and burned my skin. I wondered if it was a mirage but up ahead I saw a lawn sprinkler going back and forth across a patch of green lawn. Without another runner or a single spectator in sight I wondered if I had gotten myself off course. But I forgot to care. All I wanted to do was head for that sprinkler and drown myself.

As I stepped onto the edge of the lawn and into the spray I let my eyes close and felt the rush of relief as ice cold water rained over my face, arms and legs. With my arms outstretched I was able to relax, bit by bit. My body temperature lowered and my breathing was restored to normal. My heart rate slowed and I felt a soothing tranquility sweep over me. I could have easily slid to the ground and slept until the next day but I realized I was in some stranger’s yard. Most likely entertaining them with my worship of their lawn sprinkler. I blinked, straining to open my eyes. As my vision and my mind began to focus I saw a figure standing near and directly in front of me. The man’s face became clearer and he was smiling but also had a look of concern.  I blinked again and his mouth formed words. I thought I heard him speak. I stepped out of the spray of water and looked at him intently. He must have realized that I hadn’t heard him so he repeated the words.

“Your Dad is very proud of you.” He said with assurance.

I have the image of my Dad’s face on my shirt but did the man know who it belonged to? “My Dad is very proud of me.” The man had said. Where had he come from? Did he know my family?  Where had he been when I was sure there was no-one around just moments ago.  Maybe he was the kind soul that placed his water sprinkler near the road so that the marathon runners might take a few seconds to enjoy the cool spray.  I stared at him in confusion as other racers streamed by. I wondered what I was supposed to say to him. “Okay. Thanks.” I said nearly dumb struck. It was all I could come up with. He just pointed at me and my Dad’s face under the dirt, sweat and the smear of blood on my shirt and smiled.  I slowly turned away and re-joined the group of runners headed down the hill. 

I tried processing the events but in utter confusion, I decided to just believe. His words were more uplifting than any others I could have possibly heard at that moment. The throbbing aches and pains in my body had eased and my mind was lucid.  I ran the remainder of the race with unwavering determination, for my Dad.

Canal Park came into view and I could see the famous lift bridge clearly. The train parked on the tracks alongside the course blasted its horn in revelry. The crowds cheered us on and I looked for my family and the banner they had decorated for the occasion. Too many spectators on the sidelines made finding them impossible. The bells they were ringing, the banners they flew and their roaring voices of encouragement seemed to provide support to every exhausted runner on the course, carrying all of us along to the end. I allowed more tears to roll down my face as I cleared the finish line. I found my husband and two children, ever so grateful that they were there. I had completed the full 26.2 miles.  It hadn’t been easy and I had scrapes and bruises on my body that proved it.  But I had done it.

I looked down at our youngest child wrapped around my legs.  The little boy that reminds me so of my dad grinned up at me.  I reached out to pull my 7-year old daughter in for a hug.  As I put my head down and laid my cheek against her soft silky hair, I realized that it had become the exact same color as Dad’s.  I looked at my husband who always supported my decisions to race.  I saw the same pride on his face that I had seen on my dad’s in the past. 

My dad had always been my cheerleader. Had he been here today, running alongside me? If not through the company of my silent running partner or the vivacious cheerleader then surely through the man with the sprinkler in his yard.

The date was June 15, 2015, two years after my Dad died and it was Father’s Day weekend. No one could convince me that it was all coincidence. 

Oh yeah – Dad was here alright.

Why you may wonder? Well, because my 5K on Sunday was TERRIBLE! I think I came out of that race with 41 minutes or some crap like that. It's absolutely ridiculous!

You saw my improvement in time remember? So how in God's name did I go from a 36 mins to 41 mins, especially when my goal is to sub 30 this year? 

Here is what "I say":

1. Do NOT and I repeat do NOT drink any form of alcohol 3-4 days before the event. (I drank wine)

2. Please, please, please, hydrate yourselves. Drink tons of water the week before leading right up to the event and continue the hydration past the event. (The levels of dehydration my body experienced was unreal)

3. Warm up properly. (HA! I didn't know what this looked like on race day)

4. If you live in a sunny country (like me) PLEASE prepare for ridiculous amounts of sun (I don't even know why I wasn't prepared...I literally am drawing a blank here....smh...I was dying)

5. Get a good night's sleep if possible do NOT go out the night before. (I went out and subsequently went to bed late....)

6. Come early on race day to secure your space at the front with the real runners, or else pacing will be a problem. (I came late, I tried to wait out the crowd but failed. There were TWENTY THREE THOUSAND people there....every time I got a good pace going I had to slow down because someone in front of me was walking.)

This is not my first rodeo. I have run so many 5K's before you would think that I would know to do better right? This just goes to show you that no matter how many times you have completed some action, you still need to go back to basics and review your strategy in each situation. The variables always change.

It was one of the worst 5k experiences I've had in awhile. Of course we must lay the blame where it is due....my damn doorstep....I realise I couldn't help the crowd, however if I had gotten up early perhaps.....?

Anyhoo, we will not play the what if game. I wanted to share this experience with you because, it's apart of my process, my journey to get where I want and as annoyed as I was (and still am) I will not dwell on the mistakes I made. I want that sub 30, so I'm going to go after it like nobody's business. Let my mistakes be a lesson to you. I hope I take my own advice, wouldn't that be wonderful? :)

Those are my take home points for you this week. Have any 5k stories you want to share? Any advice you want to give? I'm all ears! Hit us with an ask!