The bed was warm and I lay wide awake. Four of my running friends were on the opposite coast set to run the Boston Marathon. Anxiety and excitement rolled around my nerves making sleep scarce.
I glance over and watch the clock flip to 4:00 a.m. Should I just get up and go for a run? Knowing I was headed to the track after work to run with others from our group, I decide the smart thing to do is rest my hamstring. My next marathon is 3 weeks away, and although I am not racing it, there was no need to push my recovery back into injury.
Local cable did not carry coverage of the Boston Marathon; I had to be content with pulling it up online and watching it on the computer. My social media newsfeed began filling with pictures of the Athlete's Village and bus rides to Hopkinton.
The race begins, my family and I watch all while preparing for a normal Monday. My heart longs to be there. There is no jealousy, simply twinges of longing knowing your friends are there experiencing one of the world's greatest marathons and you are home missing the party. With a sigh, I shut the computer down and head to work.
Once at work, I go about my day while keeping one eye on the Athlete Tracker. I have plugged my friends' names into the online tracker and I watch their 5k splits. Karen, Pat and I trade emails throughout the morning rejoicing with each new split that appears. 3,000 miles away and we are watching Arlane, Melissa, Kathy and Amy nail their goal times.
The 3 of us become concerned when Kathy's splits stop at the 20k mark. For well over an hour we are left wondering why she seems to have stopped racing. Injury? Faulty timing chip? We knew it had to be something big to pull her off the course. To travel that far, to run that race and not finish would be heartbreaking.
Little did we know how prophetic our fears would be.
At the 35k mark a split floods in and we are relieved to realize she is still running. It must be a faulty chip.
Amy finishes, soon after Arlane crosses and a moments later Melissa does too. We are ecstatic. We watch and wait for Kathy unsure of anything as her chip is not working correctly. Did she already cross the 40k mark? How close is she to the finish?
Then it happened. Panic set in at the realization our friends were right there. After racing, Arlane and Melissa would have made their way back to the finisher's chute to watch Kathy come in. Wasn't the explosion near their meeting point? I felt ill.
Karen called me immediately. We both cried openly as we tried to make sense of the senseless. I called Stephanie, who was there on the sidelines solely to cheer on our friends. I couldn't get through. Text messages went out to all of them, even though we knew they weren't running with their phones.
After 30 agonizing minutes Stephanie was able to call me. Arlane and Kathy are unaccounted for; she was with Melissa and Amy. The phone went dead. Emails, phone calls and text messages fly rapidly between Karen, Pat and myself. Social media was flooded with little information, just many questions. I cry when reading "All from Bellingham are accounted for except Kathy and Arlane."
An hour later a number I do not recognize registers on my cell phone. I answer before the first ring finishes. Stephanie has made it back to the hotel and they are now with Arlane. They have heard from Kathy. Relief floods every fiber of my being and I collapse into my chair.
Arlane comes to the phone, she speaks, I cry at the sound of her voice. We talk and I am hard pressed to register anything she says, I am just so happy to hear her voice. We hang up and as I post an update to our group I receive a private message. It is from Kathy. Strangers have taken her in to their home. She was safe.
I cry again.
******
Spring skies open to a downpour. Rain bounces off the ground. I am heading to the track to meet my friends. After the bombings in Boston and all the emotion of the day we knew, now more than ever, we still needed to come together. We needed to run.
The rain has all but stopped as I pull into the school's parking lot. Karen is waiting in her car. We jump out of our cars and hug each other. We cry again. Today wasn't suppose to be like this, today was suppose to be a celebration of our friends running the greatest run of their lives. Pat pulls in and we share in more hugs. The sun begins to break from the clouds bringing a glisten to our tears.
We walk toward the track. Stepping onto the black rubber of the quarter mile oval we feel at home. But home is empty. Part of our family is not there. We begin to run with our hearts 3,000 miles away. Our emotion spills into the run; anger quickens our pace, heartbreak propels us forward.
As numb as we feel, we are filled with gratitude. We will see our friends again. We will lace up our shoes and run together again.
And I suppose that alone makes for the greatest run of our lives.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
A Much Needed Answer
To say I've been struggling with my running over the last year is to understate my battle. Although I've tried to keep my struggle private, it often flowed out into my words as I told of my races; most notably the Wintrhop, Bellingham Bay and the California International marathons.
Any runner can attest to having a bad run or a bad race day; I was experiencing a bad race year. The head games birthed from so many consistent bad races left me feeling more than overwhelmed. I spent many quiet moments debating on giving up racing, especially marathons. My friends are the ones who would push me when I couldn't.
About 6 weeks ago a group of us met for an easy 8 mile run; it was 8 miles on a simple route at a conversational pace. I couldn't keep up. I was walking at mile 6. Mile 6. I felt as if I had no skeleton and was running on empty despite a solid week's sleep and eating right. Once I got home the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. For 3 days.
This is when I knew something was wrong.
Not one to run to the doctor for a sniffle or an ache or a pain, my doctor knew something was amiss simply because I was sitting in her office. She asked a multitude of questions, poked and proded. We sent my blood sample away to the lab and awaited results.
The answer didn't take long to receive. I am anemic. Never have I been happier to hear there is something wrong with me. This diagnosis validated my struggle. It wasn't that my mind wasn't tough enough, or I wasn't determined enough, or I wasn't good enough. My body could not physically do what I was asking it to do. Iron deficiency stole my ability.
I stand now in the middle of hope and promise. There are millions of people who live with this every day and I know I am not alone. But right now it has given me an answer, a much needed answer, to questions I faced for too long.
A new marathon season lies ahead and now, finally, I am excited to see what it holds.
Any runner can attest to having a bad run or a bad race day; I was experiencing a bad race year. The head games birthed from so many consistent bad races left me feeling more than overwhelmed. I spent many quiet moments debating on giving up racing, especially marathons. My friends are the ones who would push me when I couldn't.
About 6 weeks ago a group of us met for an easy 8 mile run; it was 8 miles on a simple route at a conversational pace. I couldn't keep up. I was walking at mile 6. Mile 6. I felt as if I had no skeleton and was running on empty despite a solid week's sleep and eating right. Once I got home the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. For 3 days.
This is when I knew something was wrong.
Not one to run to the doctor for a sniffle or an ache or a pain, my doctor knew something was amiss simply because I was sitting in her office. She asked a multitude of questions, poked and proded. We sent my blood sample away to the lab and awaited results.
The answer didn't take long to receive. I am anemic. Never have I been happier to hear there is something wrong with me. This diagnosis validated my struggle. It wasn't that my mind wasn't tough enough, or I wasn't determined enough, or I wasn't good enough. My body could not physically do what I was asking it to do. Iron deficiency stole my ability.
I stand now in the middle of hope and promise. There are millions of people who live with this every day and I know I am not alone. But right now it has given me an answer, a much needed answer, to questions I faced for too long.
A new marathon season lies ahead and now, finally, I am excited to see what it holds.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Cows, Roosters and a Run
Karen’s headlights illuminate the ground as she turns down
our road. I tiptoe out of the house with
my shoes in hand. Slipping them on my feet,
I then walk to her car as she gathers her things.
The sun is not quite up hiding the grey of the sky. No rain; yet.
After our “Good morning!” to each other, we start our watches and head out of the driveway. We wind our way through the neighborhood and Karen takes in the everyday surroundings of my daily runs. The waft of fresh farm fertilizer hits our nostrils with it’s pungent smell.
“Oh my gosh, is that a cow mooing?” She asks.
“Yes it is. There’s quite a few of those around here."
“I do not think I’ve ever heard a cow moo on my run before.” Fifteen seconds into our run and there is already laughter.
The road we take is a straight route leading us to Corrinna who is waiting for us at the 2 mile mark. There are more Good Mornings and the talk of ripeness of the farm. With Karen at our side, the route Corrinna and I often run becomes new again; the countryside is an unexplored frontier for our city dwelling friend.
Turning from a half mile jaunt of a busy state route, we run down one of my favorite country roads. Farms, homesteads and intermittent estates line both sides of the road. We share the road with an occasional car and always seem to be greeted by a wave from the unknown driver. Life is friendlier outside the city.
The first of 4 large hills looms up ahead. As we crest the hill our attention is grasped by an eagle swooping out of the towering evergreen tree rooted humbly on the side of the road. We see it’s bright white tail feathers peeking in flight as it effortlessly glides into the branches of a massive tree on the other side of the road. A short moment later, the unmistaken brown of a baby eagle rises from a tree and flies toward the parent, waiting with commanding nobility on the tree branch.
Hills lie ahead and we tackle each one. Earlier in the week, I had warned Karen in an email the route contained a few small hills. My ever present sarcasm lost in translation as today she turns to ask me, "Define small". I fear the 750 feet of total elevation gain today may have just cost me a friend, or at the very least have my name now associated with torture.
Rolling farmland gives us beautiful vistas in which we can lose the pain of climbing yet another hill. Horses and donkeys wander to the fence’s edge and stare as we run by the field they call home. I think I saw a twinkle of jealousy in their eyes. Then again, maybe they thought we were nuts for running those hills on purpose.
We turn around and head for home. We keep the pace easy as the hills have worked us hard. I am grateful the last couple miles are relatively flat and we can talk without huffing and puffing. Rain is beginning to spit from the grey sky; we are finishing our run just in time. Karen and I turn into the neighborhood and Corrinna continues straight down the road to head for home.
Just under 14 miles and it was not an easy run, yet the countryside invited us in and it was a run shared with friends ~ and an occasional rooster, cow and eagle. Ah, life in the country.
After our “Good morning!” to each other, we start our watches and head out of the driveway. We wind our way through the neighborhood and Karen takes in the everyday surroundings of my daily runs. The waft of fresh farm fertilizer hits our nostrils with it’s pungent smell.
“Oh my gosh, is that a cow mooing?” She asks.
“Yes it is. There’s quite a few of those around here."
“I do not think I’ve ever heard a cow moo on my run before.” Fifteen seconds into our run and there is already laughter.
The road we take is a straight route leading us to Corrinna who is waiting for us at the 2 mile mark. There are more Good Mornings and the talk of ripeness of the farm. With Karen at our side, the route Corrinna and I often run becomes new again; the countryside is an unexplored frontier for our city dwelling friend.
Turning from a half mile jaunt of a busy state route, we run down one of my favorite country roads. Farms, homesteads and intermittent estates line both sides of the road. We share the road with an occasional car and always seem to be greeted by a wave from the unknown driver. Life is friendlier outside the city.
The first of 4 large hills looms up ahead. As we crest the hill our attention is grasped by an eagle swooping out of the towering evergreen tree rooted humbly on the side of the road. We see it’s bright white tail feathers peeking in flight as it effortlessly glides into the branches of a massive tree on the other side of the road. A short moment later, the unmistaken brown of a baby eagle rises from a tree and flies toward the parent, waiting with commanding nobility on the tree branch.
Hills lie ahead and we tackle each one. Earlier in the week, I had warned Karen in an email the route contained a few small hills. My ever present sarcasm lost in translation as today she turns to ask me, "Define small". I fear the 750 feet of total elevation gain today may have just cost me a friend, or at the very least have my name now associated with torture.
Rolling farmland gives us beautiful vistas in which we can lose the pain of climbing yet another hill. Horses and donkeys wander to the fence’s edge and stare as we run by the field they call home. I think I saw a twinkle of jealousy in their eyes. Then again, maybe they thought we were nuts for running those hills on purpose.
We turn around and head for home. We keep the pace easy as the hills have worked us hard. I am grateful the last couple miles are relatively flat and we can talk without huffing and puffing. Rain is beginning to spit from the grey sky; we are finishing our run just in time. Karen and I turn into the neighborhood and Corrinna continues straight down the road to head for home.
Just under 14 miles and it was not an easy run, yet the countryside invited us in and it was a run shared with friends ~ and an occasional rooster, cow and eagle. Ah, life in the country.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)