Running Legends

Strep throat set in motion my love affair of running.  While at the doctor’s office, to confirm I was suffering from more than just a store throat, I was asked to step on the scale.   Here I discovered the weight I had put on during my last pregnancy did, in fact, come off.  Despite being sick, joy exploded on my face.

To keep the weight off I started to run.  Not far at first, but I ran.   As a busy mom of two boys, in order to find the time to run it would have to be done before they woke.  The darkness of the early mornings worked perfectly as no one could see me.  Afterall, I wasn’t a real runner and this way no one would have to know.

It took over a year before finding the courage to run in a local race with other runners; a race where there were people wearing real running clothes and running with a runner’s stride and running fast.  Never had I felt so out of my league.  Afterall, I was just a mom who ran to take off the baby weight, I wasn’t a real runner.  Except I loved that race, I loved the runners and I loved how incredible that finish line made me feel.

As the years went by, I entered more races and went further distances.  Everything about running I loved.  Runners are some of the most incredible people and I met plenty of them out on race courses.

Not long ago after finishing the Victoria Marathon, my friends and I sat around the table celebrating our race with food and drinks.  Stories were told, memories recalled and I reflected on an incredible year.  In the past 16 months, I had met some of the biggest names in running.

June 2010 Meb Keflezighi sat at a table in an obscure corner of the finish line at the Seattle Rock N Roll Marathon.  This Olympic athlete brought home a marathon medal in 2004, the first America had seen in 28 years.   In 2009 he won the New York marathon, which an American had not won in 27 years; and there he sat being completely unnoticed by all the thousands walking by.  The day before he had been at the expo where the line was extremely long just to meet him.  And now, he sat perched on a stool with only a single person talking to him.  My friend Sharlene and I made our way over to him and I, with complete star struck shyness, got him to sign the only thing I had, my race bib. 

A few short months later my Pastor, and fellow marathoner, told me Ryan Hall would be speaking at our church.  Ryan, an Olympic marathoner and the American record holder of the fastest half marathon, spent the weekend in our town speaking at our church.  Being at a couple of the services, I was given the great opportunity to spend time with Ryan and his wife Sara.  What an incredible night of inspiration.  6 months after meeting Ryan, it was a thrill to watch him in the Boston Marathon and run the fastest marathon ever run by an American. 

May 2011 brought me to the streets of Eugene, Oregon; a city rich with running history.  Here I’d run my 8^th marathon and soak up all the history in the fabled streets.  Some of this country’s greatest runners train on the streets of Eugene and on Hayward Field.  My friend Jeff introduced me to the legendary Joe Henderson shortly before the start of the marathon.  A man recognized as one of the world’s authorities on running, he smiled a genuine happy smile.  We spent several minutes talking, and he asking me questions about goals and pace and training.  The evidence of his coaching greatness came out as we talked and I wondered how great it would be to be coached by him.  Crossing the finish line of that race, the first person to greet me was Joe.   He grabbed me, hugged me and said, “Great job today Cheri!”  Joe Henderson not only remembered me, he called me by name!


5 months later in October of 2011 I am afforded an incredible opportunity of meeting 2 great running icons.  Bart Yasso, the Chief Running Officer at Runner’s World magazine and a runner who has run more races than he can remember, ran with several of us the day before the Victoria Marathon.  A truly kind man, who we easily and quickly found ourselves lost in conversation.  The cruelty of Lyme Disease robbed him of his ability to race distance, but it couldn’t steal his joy.  The man who devised the Yasso 800 training plan, touched athletes everywhere and has left his mark on generations to come. 


Later that day, I talked with Kathrine Switzer; the woman who shattered the glass ceiling in the marathon world allowing women to run the distance I love.  In 1967, 2 short years before I was born, she ran the Boston Marathon with an official race number (261) pinned to her shirt.  No woman had ever been given entry into the marathon, nor had it been the intent of the race officials that year either; but she had a number and she ran it.  Her race on that day paved the way for women – for me – to run in the marathon.  Her love of life shows on her face and her desire for all women, in every country, to have the freedom to run if they so wish is contagious.  The barriers she broke that day opened up possibilities for me that I have always known to be.  Her blood, sweat and tears have brought much joy to thousands and thousands of women.

Crossing the finish line of my 26.2 mile journey in Victoria I was first greeted by Kathrine, who giving me a giant hug, told me how proud she was of me.  Right behind her stood Bart.  Giving me a hug he congratulated me telling me of the great job I’d done.  A few minutes later after I’d wandered to where my friends were standing, I was happily surprised to hear Bart call out to us and walk over to carry on our conversation we’d had the day before.   For 10 minutes we talked and laughed and enjoyed each other’s stories before he had to make his way back to the finish line.

Sitting at the table that night, I marveled at it all.  How could it all be possible that I, a small town Mom of two boys, met and spent time with some of the biggest names in running?  Although we all have different running speeds, and different training plans and different distances we like to run, each runner understands the other.  We understand how hard it is to get out and run when we’d rather not, we understand how hard one works to create a new personal best, and we understand how incredible each finish line feels.  And in that, a small town mom is exactly the same as the Olympic athlete.  Running is the road that brings us together.

Seeds of Tradition

Fall presses against my kitchen window as the wind drives the rain.  The sky begins to brighten telling me the rain will stop soon.  My hands are deep in pumpkin innards searching meticulously for the seeds to which I'll roast.

Sunday football plays in the background as the boys and I talk about the masterpieces they are carving.  Creativity abounds while sibling rivalry for the best pumpkin rises.  The carving is getting crazy; I remind them they are playing with knives.

Somehow time had sped up and it wasn't until today, the day before Halloween, did I realize it was in fact the day before Halloween and pumpkins still hadn't been bought and carvings needed to be done.  Could I find the time today for this yearly tradition?  A trip to the store was had.

Watching the boys now, they talk of the past and the creations they made through the years.  And of the pumpkin seeds.  This makes me smile as it is a very simple recipe, one I stumbled on years and years ago, but my boys love it.  Every year the pumpkins are carved, I fish out the seeds and spend some time roasting them. The smell heralds fall and the approaching Thanksgiving season.

This reminds me of the importance of tradition.  Life moves forward and one day my boys will have homes and families of their own.  As they carve pumpkins with their children, my hope is that although they may not remember this particular carving afternoon, they will remember that every year we carved pumpkins and roasted seeds.  Life was never too busy for an afternoon of pumpkins and seeds, creativity was celebrated and traditions created.  No matter where life brings them, the tradition will take them back to their childhood and home.  And they feel warm because of it, even if the rain falls hard against the kitchen window.  

A Run In The Rain

Darkness was broken by the headlights of my car.  The light illuminated the road ahead revealing rain falling with such force, the drops bounced back up off the pavement.  Fall in Washington State has arrived.

Pulling into a parking spot in downtown Bellingham, I notice Pat and Melissa had already arrived.  Today is Melissa’s Birthday Run.  I grab my things and jump out of the car; I place my key in a plastic bag before tucking it in my pocket.  The eaves of the old brick building provide dryness while we wait for the others.  Steady streams of water cascading off the building edges spill onto the sidewalks and down the street gutters.

With the arrival of Brad and then Kathy, we decide to head out into the warm, but very wet, weather.  No one talks of the rain, there is no reason to bring up the obvious.   Our route leaves downtown as we head to the marina.  Conversation flows, only being broken by someone occasionally yelling, “Puddle!” or “LAKE!” to which we will all dodge, jump or run around.
 
We head back to where we started and up ahead I see Karen and Amy waiting for us, right on cue.  Runners are always on time.  As we run through the streets, making our way to the South Bay Trail, the vendors are out beginning to set up their wares for the Farmer’s Market.  The rain has stopped, the sun does not shine.
 
The trail runs above the ocean, eventually winding its way down to the shore.  Below us a train rumbles by, concealed by the thick evergreen trees we are running through.  Only runners are seen on the trail today. 

Gentle rain has started to fall again.  We are now on the ocean edge.  The grey of the rain filled sky melts seamlessly into the grey of the Pacific Ocean.  A blue heron flies bringing a tiny bit of color to the drabness of the landscape.

We climb Taylor Dock and run through the oldest part of town, it’s history speaking loudly in the architecture of the buildings.  Had it been a hundred years prior and we ran these streets, I wonder if we would have been arrested due to the shorts and skirts we wore breaking some Victorian indecent exposure law.  This makes me chuckle.

The Interurban Trail greeted us with a thick canopy of branches providing a tiny relief to the rain falling.   Every square inch of me was wet, and now the mud from the trail kicked up onto my legs and shoes.   And it felt great.   There is something very peaceful about going for a run and getting the dirt from which we came caked onto your legs.  This must be why kids love mud puddles.

Reaching the turn-around point, we run toward downtown once again and the coffee shop that awaits us.  Despite dripping clothes, hats and hair we get our warm drinks and settle into a couple of tables and chairs we’ve pushed together.  Next year’s marathons are discussed; ideas are tossed in and contemplated.  With coffee cups emptied we part ways each looking forward to a hot shower.
And dreams of runs we will run in the new year.