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epic, or, "the no ER PR"

January 14, 2007

here's a picture...

i didn't want to do it.

i really, really didn't.

i mean, over the past several months, i've faced long runs, and even races, with an increasing sense of dread. "dread" is one of those words that naturally falls in behind "with an increasing sense of..." but the real word is fear.

sleeping at nick and gabby's in san antonio before the half marathon in november, and again before the ten miler in december, i slept fitfully. i loved the feeling of being there, with friends in the next room, their basset hound-beagle mix, dean, nestled next to me all night on the air mattress in the living room. his soothing breathing was that funny mix of satisfaction and world-weariness that dogs seem to be able to pull off. their other basset hound, frank, slept on the couch right above us. i felt in the midst of love and warmth. i was not alone.

but i woke constantly, would think of the morning, and look at my watch hoping it would only be midnight. i would feel near panic. i feared the race, of not being able to finish or meet my goal. this might be normal. i feared the pain i would feel trying to push myself to finish and meet my goal. i feared that it still wouldn't be enough. i even feared just waking up, the weight of fatigue i would feel and could do nothing about. and yes, mr. roosevelt, i feared fear itself, the choking, gasping feeling of not being able to breathe. the fear was physical, enough to shake me up, make me despair.

i had not fallen out of love with running, but i've been in and out of touch with it. i've been out of touch with so much in my life as a whole that i've had to work not to let running become just another demand made, another thing to do when i already often feel like i'm struggling to breathe and stay afloat. the demands of it, physical, mental, emotional, can make me feel detached and isolated - lonely. and for me, loneliness is the greatest exponent to my fear.

i had sworn i wouldn't do the 20-mile race in San Marcos, partially as a joking nod to last year's 20-miler, with its subsequent ambulance ride and hospital field trip. but i also was going to sit this one out because i knew i was burnt out mentally, and was just finally starting to rebound physically from the training for the Chicago Marathon, and the six weeks that followed, in which i ran that marathon, a 5k, a half marathon, a ten miler, and a five miler, setting five personal records in four of those races (my fastest five miles was run in the first half of the 10 mile race).

but i was feeling better, and my running was improving, and quite frankly, as the race grew near, one fact grew stronger than all others: everyone else was doing it.

so, i signed up a week before the race, before the entry fee went up, and for that week, i mentioned the race often in conversation, but never without preceding it with "the stupid", or "the [expletive]".

this made me feel a little better, but saturday night, the fear was there again, worse than ever. sunday morning, though, i woke with a sense of acceptance, or maybe resignation. i moved through my ritual calmly: eat bagel first, re-check the weather, weigh myself (dammit, you've got to be kidding...), apply band-aids and body-glide, make the last trip to the toilet, step outside, point the car south, and go.

resignation was not enough - i needed inspiration, some fire. i listened to a track from the Rocky soundtrack, the one with the bells, the one called, appropriately, "going the distance." i listened to it three times. i needed more. i put the chicago marathon video highlights on, and played the audio through the car stereo.

well down I-35 towards San Marcos, i thought about the front tire that looked like it was ready to explode into thousands of crusty rubber bits, and about what i would do if it chose this morning to do so. would i call someone to try to get to the race, or just take a nap in the car until, say, mid-afternoon?

not a couple of minutes later, i saw a bmw pull over to the shoulder and stop. i smelled burning rubber. i looked to see if it was someone that might need help, and saw the telltale glint of reflective striping on black tights.

i pulled over and ran back down the highway about a hundred yards to the bmw. i noted that i sort of felt good running.

the runner, a svelte asian guy in all black tights, was digging through the trunk for the spare. the wide and undoubtedly expensive rear tire was in shreds.

"dude. that sucks. are you going to the 20 miler?"

"yeah."

"me, too. ok, get your stuff. let's go."

it turned out he was a rogue runner, too. he was training for his first marathon, which he was projected to run in about 3:30. despite the fact that he would likely finish his first marathon over an hour faster than my second one, he was still a newbie, and i fell (hopefully without arrogance) into the role of the calm veteran as we talked on the way to the race.

it was good to see everyone at the start, including the surprises of seeing kate, who was leading a pace group, original running buddy tiffany, and gabby, who can pretty much go run long-distance races whenever she has nothing better to do. so, i felt sort of weirdly at peace, finally, when i started the race.

i saw tom's head and shoulders poking up through the crowd ahead of me. tom is the 6'10", 310 lb. former professional basketball player that i had started the freezescale marathon with last february. lately, we've worked together in our quality workouts, pounding up the long hill on scenic blvd. at speed, or running paced workouts at his slightly, yet still significantly, faster pace.

for the race, we were supposed to run at our marathon goal pace (mgp)for the entire 20 miles, which put him at 9:45 per mile, to my 10:00 per mile. so, i was starting another long race out alone.

but the first mile featured a long downhill, and our pace groups were moving slightly too fast. pretty soon, i decided it was worth it to catch up to him. it was the single smartest decision i would make in the race.

tom's size certainly makes him an extraordinary individual, but it's his personality that makes him an unstoppable force. in short, he's an incredibly funny and compassionate person who you feel is ready to back up his humor and compassion with every bit of his 6'10" and 310 pounds.

we ran and talked, and while miles still didn't fly by, it all seemed so doable, because it wasn't lonely, and because i had the sense that tom wouldn't accept, or allow me to accept, anything short of our best.

the first six or seven miles of the course had uphills, but also long, gradual downhills, and tom and i made time - too much time. on some miles, he was as much as 15-20 seconds ahead of his per-mile pace, which made me yet another 15 seconds ahead of my own. i thought of carolyn telling me just a few days earlier about the "rule of four" - how for every second you're too fast at the beginning of a race, you'd be four seconds slower at the end. we tried to reel it in a bit, but we just felt too good.

the conversation with tom took a bit of a philosophical turn, and in the course of talking about the value of life itself, he told me the story of his son, R.J.

he told me that before his birth, it was discovered that R.J. had a condition that resulted in a series of defects that would inevitably prove fatal within days of his birth. tom even spoke of his son's "deformities" with an honest, loving humor, because they were simply part of his son. he and his wife accepted the situation, wouldn't think of an abortion to save themselves the pain, and insisted on celebrating R.J.'s birth, declining the ominous white rose the hospital put on his wife's door after the delivery.

his friends and neighbors understood, and welcomed R.J. into the world and into the neighborhood when he came home with his parents.

days later, R.J. died.

tom told me it took a while, hours, before the full force of the pain hit him. it snuck up on him when he was alone in a room for a moment, and he fell on the bed and cried.

i've always wondered in amazement at the ability of a 6'10", 310 lb. man to run marathons. certainly, there's the fact that professional basketball players, even the big white guys down low, are unusually extraordinary specimens. but listening and looking over at tom pounding through the miles as he told me the story of his son with love and humor, sorrow and acceptance, but not resignation, it all began to make sense.

just past mile six, we began an out-and-back portion of the race, where runners ahead of us were now coming towards us. the first runner we saw was gilbert tuhabonye, a local favorite known as "t-bone." people cheered him as he passed, and he cheered right back, smiling and high-fiving people.

beginning the out-and-back, the left hamstring that's been my nemesis for the last three or four months began causing weird little twinges of tingly pain, up and down that leg. the knee pain that had begun to emerge in recent runs showed up again, too, particularly on the left. and, for some reason, my left foot was blistering, which never really happens to me in the right shoes.

out-and-backs are often dull and tedious for runners, but it was good seeing all our friends, old and new, out there. we got to see our faster friends on the way out, and the ones behind us on the way back.

a little past mile 11, my knee actually buckled painfully, something it hadn't done in years.

before i began running, my knees were in constant pain from playing basketball, where i was unusually active for someone my size. i had gotten used to struggling up stairs and pushing myself out of chairs. when I started running, though, the pain disappeared, and regardless of the distance, i'd never had any knee problems, until the last month or so.

tom and i continued, trying to hold pace. at mile 12, i finally gave in to my other, more consistent nemesis - i had to pee. i hated getting separated from tom, but i had been holding it for eight or nine miles, and it was really bugging me.

i blew several minutes waiting for a port-a-potty, since there were no really discreet places along the road. we ran alone through the prettiest section of the course, a winding two-lane road surrounded by trees. i occasionally passed someone i knew. i saw a strong runner from our group who was having severe stomach problems, walking. we had seen her earlier, and she had struggled to run when she could, but she said she wouldn't be running again.

it was getting difficult to hold pace. fortunately, i had been going too fast with tom, so i was able to drop a little and still stay close to my goal pace.

just before mile 15, as we began to reemerge from the tree-lined stretch of road into flat and unshaded dullness, i saw a pack of runners ahead, almost clustered around a central runner who was literally head and shoulders above everyone else. it was tom.

i saw tim and his dog at the turn at mile 15, and he gave me a high five and some encouragement, which helped propel me a little quicker towards the target of tom's bobbing cap up ahead.

tom was struggling a bit, as I was, but we weren't alone. we had seen people having trouble along the way, as early as mile 10 or 11, but now there were even more people with their heads down, feet shuffling, some walking.

i gained ground on tom going up a long hill, and shouted to him that i had worked my ass off to catch him so that he could pull me the rest of the way in. i passed him just before mile 16. i thought of staying with him, but there were hills again, and i knew that i was a stronger hill climber, but that he'd stay close behind.

on one long uphill, though, i kept "running" the whole way up, but every time i looked up, the girl walking in front of me was still maintaining her distance. i found this annoying. i stopped and started walking for a few steps at some point, but it didn't feel right.

i saw holly and chris somewhere near mile 17 - another huge boost, but at this point, the "boosts" were not so much actually performance-enhancing as something just to keep me moving a little longer.

tom caught me shortly after that, as i waited outside another portable toilet. i was a bit dehydrated, which can help cause an irritating problem that you don't want to know or talk about unless you've experienced it. i gave up waiting and continued with tom. he kept us running as much as possible, picking points up ahead to run to before we walked.

along the way, we picked up another guy from our group named tom, who was having bad pain in his ankles. at this point, the road was beginning to look like one leading out of a recently-bombed city, with shell-shocked and undernourished people trudging forlornly to nowhere in particular.

we walked a long stretch of the 17th and 18th miles. climbing a short hill that would take us to the last turn onto the one and a quarter mile home stretch, i thought about what i was feeling, and i thought about the nature of pain.

pain suddenly didn't seem like the cold, lonely and hopeless place that i feared. for those of us running the race, the pain was just immediate and physical, and on the desolate back stretches of the course, I hadn't been alone. pain was a place inhabited by lots of people that day, in so many different ways.

and then there was tom, and the image of the marathon-running giant with will and personality equally indomitable, laying on a bed and crying for a son he only got to know for a few days.

i told the toms we had to come in running, and the toms agreed. we crested the hill, turned left, and inexplicably, were hit with a staggering blast of steady wind.

i cursed. loudly. it was round rock all over again. still, we moved, rolling slowly into a run. the wind was amazing. tom tried to get me to draft off of him. i tried it for 20 or 30 seconds, and it was incredibly easier and even a little quieter there, in the small cocoon of still air behind him. but i moved back out into the wind - there was no way i could provide as much of a benefit for him, and we were too close now, and we were all in it together.

we picked up another runner, a woman who would pass us running, then stop to walk. she rode in tom's draft for a while, but then we were climbing a hill, and she and tom two fell back. tom and i kept moving, telling each other, as we had several times that day, of the hill workout we had beaten earlier that week, and that this hill was nothing in comparison.

at mile 19, steve sisson, our head coach, was there. i've seen him at races before, yelling encouragement, but he knew the conditions called for a bit more, and he was a drill sergeant, screaming at us over the wind, "how many miles have you run?"

i'm not sure if my response came first from an attempt to be funny, or an automatic response:

"19 miles, SIR!"

"are you gonna give up running one more mile?"

"FUCK NO, SIR!"

so we ran. my head was down, and i was on auto-pilot, when tom leaned over to me and whispered, "i'm gonna beat that guy." i looked up and saw we were gaining on a lone runner. apparently, he and tom had passed each other multiple times during the race. i muttered a breathless, "hell yeah, you are."

we caught the runner, and saw he was really struggling. tom told him not to give up, to come with us. i told him to look up ahead, that over the next couple of hills, you could see the massive american flag in the parking lot at the finish line. he ran with us, for a bit.

the last long hill, maybe three quarter of a mile out. i told tom i was gonna make it to the top, then walk just a little. i made it to the top, raised my arm wearily to bump fists with tom, then said, "OK," and started to walk.

tom looked back and said, "no, come on."

"no, just for a second, i"

with shocking quickness, tom swiveled around, arm out, slammed a massive hand into my chest, grabbed not only shirt and chest hair, but, i think, chest-meat, growled, "i said, COME ON!" and jerked me forward a full stride's length.

i started running again. i found it somewhat funny, but really, i was actually scared. "OK, man, but slow down, i'm coming with you..."

one last short hill. we're moving, not prettily, but solidly. we try to pick up another runner, tell him he's too close not to run. he joins us.

we crest the hill, and where there was only pastures and lots of nothing, a new vista opened up - 300 meters of downhill stretched before us to the finish line on the street running between the two outlet malls, to the crowds, and the highway beyond.

no matter how bad i feel, i love a finish. i saw coach carolyn standing by the course ahead to the left. i felt the downhill and the adrenaline hit me, and i told tom to come on. carolyn, who knows i'm a finish line drama junkie, cheered for me, and i started to hit my stride. it hurt, and my heart was quickly pounding away. i closed my eyes and tried to let my legs go.

with about a hundred meters to go, i gained on two runners, kicked in another gear, and passed them. i thought i was at my max, but then one of the runners decided to make it a race to the finish.

i heard holly, who had moved to the finish line, yell at tom, "c'mon, tom! don't let him beat you!"

the runner caught me. i've always wanted a true race at the finish, and now i had it, and this guy was beating me. if nothing else on the day, i was going to have this victory.

with maybe 20 yards left, i found a little more in me, and began to gain, but while it seemed like everything was moving so fast, that gain was inexorably slow.

i heard tom, laughing through labored breathing, wheeze, "I'm gonna get ya, Rob!" in the slow-mo moment in my head, i laughed and thought, "sorry, man, but no. it's too late, but i'm catching this bastard."

i felt one last explosion in my chest, like someone had jammed an adrenaline-filled syringe in my heart, but it didn't spread, it didn't take as long as a sensation - it was just everywhere, immediately and completely. i was charged with energy that i felt like i couldn't contain, pushing me past the other runner, the remainder of the energy bursting out of my lungs and through my throat in a primal roar that caught me by surprise as i crossed the finish line just inches ahead of my unknown rival.

i half-collapsed on the fencing in the chute, hung on it trying to breathe. tom thundered across the finish, slapped a hand on my shoulder, and shuffled off to catch his own breath. holly and chris were there for me, and then we joined other friends at our base in the parking lot.

at our weekly happy later that week, there were more people than ever before, just like there were after last year's equally epic 20-miler. we were all the same people we already knew, but we knew each other a little better now, whether from thoughts and feelings and histories revealed, or maybe because we had all shared a story together, at different speeds, perhaps, but a story of pain and perseverence nonetheless, pounded out over 20 miles of asphalt, that reminded us that we aren't always alone.

Posted by Rob at January 14, 2007 07:39 PM

Comments

Posted by: Tom at January 15, 2007 05:40 AM

Posted by: Coyote at January 15, 2007 07:04 AM

Posted by: Jennifer at January 15, 2007 05:03 PM

Posted by: Janie at January 16, 2007 07:13 AM

Posted by: erin at January 16, 2007 04:44 PM

Posted by: Lorrie at January 17, 2007 09:46 AM

Posted by: Julia at January 17, 2007 11:10 AM

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