Nine ye
ars ago, I began training for my very first Half Marathon. Having it as a goal at that point in my life was therapeutic, as I'd recently lost a brother and my business and was healing from a crippling tennis elbow injury. I was also caring for my elderly mom who had minor dementia. Psychologically, running helped me feel free and "unstuck" and was really helping my body grow stronger.
I post this now for people who may be considering venturing into long-distance running and marathons/10-Ks as a New Year intention.
I am here to tell you that anyone can do this, if they truly want to, and to cheer you on. I went on to complete three more half marathons before finally taking a break.
But this was my first experience:
When I saw the small, gray
triangular silhouettes fast approaching in the northeastern sky…I turned off the
music on my iPod and raised an arm to point at them.
“The F-16s!” I exclaimed to the
runners around me.
In the next few seconds, they roared
overhead on their majestic fly-over that signaled the start of the U.S. Air
Force Half Marathon. The next thing I knew, I was sobbing…overcome with emotion
from everything that had led up to this particular moment in time. The courage
it took to become a distance runner this past spring, how running kept me sane
in one of the scariest and most uncertain times of my life, the long and
grueling training schedule through one of the hottest Ohio summers on record,
all the minor muscle injuries I had to patiently treat and rest as my “rookie”
body got used to such a workout, and how those jets and airplanes in general
were what my hometown is all about. The Birthplace of Aviation.
“Okay, Tony,” I silently said to the
spirit of my departed brother, who was the first distance runner in our family
long ago. “Be with me today and be my guardian angel of the marathon.”
BOOM!
The starting gun went off and
everyone around me starting cheering. I let out a loud “woohoooo!” and turned
my music back on—U2’s “Magnificent,” and began to dance and groove while
waiting for the massive crowd to start moving forward. Seven minutes later, I
was through the gate and trotting out of the Air Force Museum grounds…working
my way around people into the free spaces. I felt the energy and excitement of
the runners pulsating all around me and propelling me forward.
Gate volunteers clapped and cheered
as we were off and headed up Springfield Street. Under the railroad trestle and
out of the shadows, the morning sun shone brightly in our faces. Through my
headphones, New Order sung:
I
used to think that the day would never come
I'd see the light in the shade of the morning sun…
The playlist was no accident. I had
carefully chosen and placed songs with particular tempos, grooves, and lyrics
at the precise times I would need them the most.
The next stretch through Huffman
Prairie was my favorite phase of the race. We ran a couple of miles through a
cool, shady, and tree-canopied trail. Runners and walkers of all shapes, sizes,
and in multiple colors wove in and out of one another…there were even a few
wheel-chair runners and G.I.s doing the marathon in camouflage uniforms and
laden with a heavy backpack. Wow. I could tell that everyone was feeling
comfortable and running at a sensible, steady pace. Somewhere to the left of us
stretched the long, flat field where the Wright Brothers once experimented with
their first biplanes.
We passed our first water and
Gator-Ade station where a volunteer rock band was wailing away on some loud and
driving tune. I laughed to myself, thinking how disorienting it must be for a
band to be rocking out so early in the morning—when they’re used to closing
bars at 2 a.m. and sleeping in till noon. Perhaps they pulled an all-nighter.
The next phase of the race took us
through Area A of Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. Grassy green spaces gave way
to the perimeter road that eventually took us along the flight line and through
sections of the golf course. Now Michael Franti was urging me on:
Everybody ona move (la la la)…everybody let’s move (la la la)
And you don’t stop, and you don’t quit, and you don’t stop…
Dear God in heaven, Skeel Avenue
never seemed so LONG when I used to drive down it on my lunch hour, during my
years of federal employment in a building nearby. Now it stretched out
endlessly before me, only to be conquered one footfall at a time. Half way down
it, I glanced up toward the Officer’s Club, where I used to go swimming as a
child (my dad was a civilian, but ranked high enough to enable us to enjoy the
facilities), and thought how very long ago that was.
Finally we ascended from the hot
concrete to the lovely, tree-shaded housing area of generals and other high-ups
in the military. People sat in lawn chairs in their yards or along sidewalks
cheering us on. Little kids held out their hands to high-five the runners as
they passed. I came upon a team of female runners with purple shirts that read:
“Over 40 and kicking asphalt.” Of course I had give them a loud whoop.
The route got a little creative as
it wound through homes and buildings…even going in a complete hairpin turn at
one point…before proceeding out to the exit gate and ramp that led to I-675…where
we merged with the full marathon runners coming in for their final leg from Fairborn.
I smiled to myself when all the
runners around me stopped and walked up the ramp to the overpass. It was long
and steep, and we knew we had to reserve what energy we had left for our big
finish. And it was beginning to feel really hot with the sun overhead.
Only the seasoned veteran marathoners trotted up slowly, but they were
sparse…and I suddenly remembered a t-shirt I’d seen on sale at the Expo that
said: SLOW IS THE NEW FAST. Hee hee!
A young G.I. stood near the top of the
ramp and cheered us on, “You’re almost to the top. You can see it from here.
Way to go!”
Finally a downhill and back to
running! Bono sang to me:
Oh…you…look…so…beautiful tonight – in the city of blinding lights
We left the overpass and headed up
the road that runs behind Wright State University—my alma mater. I passed the
daycare where I did part of my student teaching over a decade ago. WSU was
supposed to be a huge spectator area, but there weren’t as many people as I
thought, and none of them were my sister Carol—an experienced marathon runner
who had come up from the Cincinnati area to support me on my big day. Oh
well…onward and upward.
Upward indeed! GAH!!! Another
sloping hill. I decided to run it. I was tired of stopping to walk—this was
getting ridiculous. Newly refreshed from a Gator-Ade station (it’s amazing how
a few gulps of that nuclear-looking elixir can perk you right up…that, and Blok
energy gels, which I was popping into my mouth a little more frequently now
that my energy seemed to be dwindling) and the Foo Fighters’ “Times Like These”
encouraging me…I got to the top and saw my sister waiting for me on a curb,
looking all smokin-hot in her purple tank top and sunglasses. I shouted her
name, pointed at her and ran straight for her—and she finally saw me and came
running up to give me a big squeeze and swish her hand on my back.
“Lookin’ good, Alex, lookin’ good!
You’re doing great! Keep going, you can do it! You’re almost there!!!”
I was so happy to see her, but the
hill had taken most of my breath. I giggled deliriously and rasped out my
thanks and stopped to walk for a little before she released me back into the
flow of runners and called, “See you at the finish line!”
Oy. I was getting tired.
But wait, what’s this? Along
Kauffman Avenue—the last long stretch before heading back to the museum—a huge
group of volunteers lining the road provided comic relief! Their theme was
“Welcome to the 80’s.” There were posters of Michael Jackson’s Thriller
album, Rubix cubes, and lines from the movie Top Gun. Two guys in wigs
(one blonde with a “Let’s Get Physical” exercise headband around it and the
other a long, black mullet) stood high-fiving runners. “You guys rule!” I
yelled at them as I ran by.
And then just ahead of them were the
Nerds! Complete with tape across the bridge of their birth-control-glasses,
pocket protectors, flood pants, and painted on zits. I laughed some more and
high-fived them before struggling up to the intersection of Kaufmann and Rt.
444.
At Mile 11 I began to hit the
dreaded “wall”—just like I had in my high miles training. I somehow thought the
magic of marathon day would make it all better, but I found myself walking more
than running. Didn’t I eat enough carbs and protein? Didn’t I keep an even pace
in the beginning so this wouldn’t happen? The words my sister had told me that
morning came back to soothe me: “Whenever you feel yourself tiring, just tell
yourself, ‘I have a strong, courageous body.’”
The Foo Fighters, as well, wouldn’t
let me worry about it.
Done, done, and I’m onto the next one
Done, I’m done, and I’m onto the next one…
All I had to do was finish.
Nearing the Air Force Museum grounds
once again, I reached Mile 12. Only 1.1 miles to go. I’d wanted so badly to run
that final mile, but the energy just wasn’t there. So I walked and then ran and
then walked some more. At one point I remember a monarch butterfly floating
along with us…flying back and forth over the runners’ heads as though blessing
us and trying to give us strength. It was a surreal moment just before the
fury. Through the gates was one last hydration station. I passed it up, thanked
the volunteers (as I’d done at every other station along the way) and kept
going. Volunteers were cheering us on wildly, now. “You’re almost there!!! This
is it!”
We had to run down a long U-shaped
runway before circling around into the chute. I walked much of it, but didn’t
feel bad because others were walking too. We were pretty beat. Nearing the bend
in the horse-shoe, I saw my sister with a camera pointed at me.
“Uh-oh!” I yelled. “I better start running!”
So the shutter clicked, catching me
in a worn-out gait…but with the same smile I’d had on my face practically the
entire race. I was having such a blast!
She cheered me on one last time, and
then tried to run along beside me in the crowd until a bunch of old vintage
airplanes on display got in her way.
And then came the “chute.” Droves of
people lined it, leaning over the railings searching the river of runners for
their loved one. Kids held up “Go Mom!” signs…others had banners with the names
of their relatives emblazoned across it. People cheered and waved flags and had
all kinds of noisemakers that rang and clacked and whirred and hummed. I could
hear the motivational rock songs (We Are The Champions) blasting from the
speakers, along with the announcers calling out encouraging things and rattling
off the names of finishers, as their micro-chips registered on the computer.
And then I saw it.
A white sign stretched across the
track ahead, with the two best words a person ever wanted to read on a day like
this one: FINISH LINE.
Did I have that blissful look on my
face, like I’d seen on all the Flying Pig runners as they came toward me to
claim their medals? I was supposed to be looking for friends who were there to
watch me finish, but I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sign. It was
transmitting energy into my body that I couldn’t muster on my own, and
propelling me forward. In my haze, I saw someone holding out a sign that said:
THIS IS YOUR MOMENT.
Tears filled my eyes.
I raised a fist and cheered as I
crossed the finish at 2:36, and as I slowed to a walk again, I nearly passed
out from the pressure change in my body. A woman put a medal around my neck and
congratulated me (heaviest damn medal everrrr) and I stumbled into the recovery
area to catch my breath, stretch out my legs that were already beginning to
stiffen, and wait for the blackness and stars I was seeing to disappear.
They had water and Gator-Ade and
fruit and crackers and La Rosa’s pizza…and when I was good and rested I took a
slice and wandered out into the throngs of people. Miraculously, my sister
found me and gave me a big hug…and it felt so wonderful to have a loving
support person waiting for me after all that.
Holy crap, I had done it. What
started as a daring dream four months ago when I clicked “Register” on the Air
Force Marathon website was now a reality. I finally earned that pink “13.1”
sticker on the back of my car.
I am a marathon runner.
