Just One Marathon

A Tale of Two Runs

It was the best of runs, it was the worst of runs. It was an autumn of running goals achieved, it was an autumn of running goals ignored. It was a season of speed, it was a … oh, you get the picture.

 

I have gotten a ton of stuff done in the last eight weeks, but unfortunately very little of it has been running-related. And the results showed in two 5K events I ran throughout the fall.

 

First of all, the distractions. I finally, finally (finally) finished my most recent university course on managing change. Finally. And I don’t mind telling you, I did myself proud. Only had to hand in my final assignment once, and then rocked the exam and ended up with an A. So that’s done. Just three more courses to go in the certificate program I’m completing, but I’m not thinking about that for the next couple of weeks.

 

Secondly, we renovated our kitchen. What an emotional rollercoaster that was. It all went pretty smoothly, but I doubted myself at every step of the way. The cupboards were delivered and I decided I hated them and they were all wrong. Then I decided they were just fine and I loved them. Then I went through the same process with the counter, sink, backsplash and just about everything else. It was, to use a term coined by a friend, a full-blown bourgeoisie crisis. Yay for patient contractors. But it’s over now and we have a very nice kitchen and our only remaining problem is how to pay for it. Here are a few pictures of the renovation process:

 

 

    
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thirdly, the big hockey monster emerged from its summer hibernation and is now on the rampage, eating up our free time. This year, I’m the manager for my son’s hockey team, so I’m actually busier than he is, although he’s much faster on skates.

 

And, oh yeah, I did a little running. Very little, actually. Up until mid-September, I was training to run a half-marathon on the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend and had actually gotten my miles up to within spitting distance of the half. Then I came to my senses. My entire family (parents, sisters, spouses, niece, nephew) visited from Toronto on Thanksgiving weekend, and running a half mary on the same day as The Big Dinner would have been a little too much like running a full marathon. Or two. So I ran the 5K that morning and had a wonderful, relaxing run. Not too fast, but still managed to bring it home in under 30 minutes, which is pretty good for me.

 

Earlier in the fall, I ran another 5K during Ottawa’s Army Run weekend. Because I was actually running regularly back then, I was faster and completed that run in under 27 minutes. Not a PR, but close. I sprinted the last couple of hundred metres to get under 27 minutes and actually thought I might vomit after I crossed the finish line. I had to give myself a pretty stern talking-to about how pathetic it would look to vomit after a 5K race. In my book, you need to run at least 40K to earn the right to puke your guts out.

 

The Runner I Married, on the other hand, smoked in both those 5K races. At the Army Run, he ran a speedy 22:40 race, despite being hampered by the huge crowd of racers, and traumatized by cannon blast that started the race. At Fall Colours, he was even faster – ran the race in just over 21 minutes and came in second in his category. My hero.

 

My 15-year old son also ran the Army Run. We had a little bet going about who would finish first. I won’t say who won because apparently, gloating about besting your children in a foot race makes you a “bad mother”. However, he was only seconds behind me. Also, he is completely in my good books for getting up early (for a teenager) on Thanksgiving to walk the 5K with my Dad and actually enjoying himself while doing it. Here’s the evidence that he is a great kid and that my Dad is kicks butt as a walker:

 

Race times:

 

Army Run

Reluctant Runner: 26:58

The Runner I Married (TRIM): 22:40

The Truculent Teen: 27:40

 

Fall Colours

Reluctant Runner: 28:56

TRIM: 21:20

Truculent Teen and His Speedwalking Grandfather: 43:00

 

It's nice to be back blogging! I'm recommitting to writing and running over the next couple of months.

Another Late Assignment: Half-Marathon Race Report

I've submitted my second assignment for the course-from hell. Woohoo! But just 12 hours later, it was returned (unmarked) by my tutor for revisions because it’s improperly “formatted”. Crap. Those revisions are made and now, while I wait for the next exciting response from psycho tutor (I hope she never finds this blog), I’m taking a break to file my race report for the National Capital Race Weekend.  

 

In an effort to avoid porta-potty breaks while running the Ottawa half-marathon, I went to the bathroom six times in the two hours before the race. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was just something my body needed to do that morning. Whatever. I lined up, used the facilities, then got right back in the line again. And again. And again.

 

Still, as I stood in the crush of over 9,000 runners waiting to start the race at on Sunday morning, I had just one thought: “I really have to pee.”

 

That could have been a bad moment. Fortunately for me, though, one of the very important skills I’ve learned as a working mom* is how to Hold It. Seriously, there are times when, after a full day of meetings, I am running from the office to the car and thinking, “Maybe I’ll have a chance to pee after dinner.” So running two hours with a full bladder? Piece of cake.

 

That was the inspirational start to a half-marathon whose theme seemed to be, “It could have been worse.” Sure I was 10 minutes slower than my PR, but at least I didn’t log a PW (personal worst). I squeaked in 3 minutes ahead of that benchmark.

 

Yes, it was one of the first really warm days of the season, which can be tough when your body is not yet acclimatized to hot weather running. However, there was a beautiful breeze blowing across the canal for much of the run.

 

True, my Garmin decided to “work to rule” just three minutes into the run and showed nothing but the time of day for the entire run. But I was able to keep the two-hour pace bunny in my sites for the first 11 kilometres of the race. Then I spent the final 10K of the race imagining I could feeling the hot breath of the 2:15 pace bunny on the back of my neck.

 

So, while it wasn’t the most transcendentally positive race experience I’ve ever had, it certainly wasn’t anywhere near the most dreadful.

 

Time: 2:09

Place (gender/age): 166/644

 

What was more inspiring was watching the rest of my family participate in race weekend events on the day before. Kudos to The Runner I Married for running 5K with my 12-year old son and his best friend at 5 p.m., then running the 10K with my 15-year old son at 6:30 p.m. Both races were sold out, so he negotiated a huge crush of people along both routes and still managed to finish the race in just over 48 minutes.

 

The boys did a great job, too. My oldest son, Will, has been keeping a daily health log as an assignment for his grade 9 gym class. When I read his “motivational thought” for the day before the race, I nearly fell off my chair laughing. It said, “At least if I die in my sleep, I won’t have to run 10K tomorrow.” In the end, he ran a PR and lived to tell the tale.

 

* I have no doubt that stay-at-home moms (who are also working) also deserve the Iron Bladder award. After their morning coffee, they're probably thinking, "Maybe I'll get to pee if the kids have a nap."

Race Day

If you had asked me a few weeks ago how my marathon would go, here’s what I would have predicted: I’ll eke out the first three quarters of the race with gradually deteriorating speed and energy, just as in both my 32K (20 mile) training runs. Then, I’ll limp through the final 10K, running at a pace that’s barely distinguishable from a walk.

 

But that was a few weeks ago.

 

A funny thing happened after my last long (32K) training run. I began to feel stronger. For the rest of my pre-race runs, I felt swift of foot and full of energy. I began to experience a sense of mental flow where time and the miles seemed to slip by. I was no longer counting the steps but relishing them. My body began to whisper, “I’m ready”.

 

When I wasn’t running, it was another story. I felt nervous and jittery. I obsessed over everything I needed to prepare for race day and scanned my body for signs of injury or tension. When I wasn’t running, I wasn’t enjoying myself.

 

But when I woke up at 5 a.m. on race day, all that tension miraculously evaporated. Refreshed and ready to go, I tossed on my race gear (Pearl Izumi short-sleeve tee, shorts, and trusty but very uncool hair band, and of course, my new slightly-larger sized-to-avoid-blisters Aasics). Had my pre-race breakfast of champions – oatmeal and canned peaches. Packed my water bottle and fuel belt (one gel, a bag of cran-raspberry Clif Shot Bloks, four e-Load capsules, and a couple of emergency painkillers). Headed out the door.

 

At the race site, I lined up to use the washrooms and then lined up to use them again. Before I knew it, it was time to join the other marathon hopefuls at the start line. It was sunny but cool (around 8 degrees C) to start, with very little wind. My husband, father and dear friend Lisa were there to see me off. Lisa had custom-made a special sign, screened onto a big pillow case, including my photo and a reference to my blog. I felt like a rock star.

 

I wish I could give a kilometre-by-kilometre description of the first half of the race, but I can’t because it just flew by. I felt borne along by a wave of support coming from the thousands and thousands of people who came out to cheer on the marathoners: little kids holding out their hands for high fives; people sitting at the end of their driveways in pyjamas; teams at designated “cheering stations” in costumes and make-up.  

 

Some moments stood out. At the 11K, Lisa appeared again, cheering and waving my sign. At 12K, we watched the elite marathoners pass by on the other side of the road, looking awesomely strong at the halfway point of their race. At 16K, I attempted my very first mid-run bush pee and wished I’d had the foresight to pack a couple of tissues. Except … what would I do with them afterwards?

 

In terms of strategy, I stuck close to the 4:30 pace bunny, Mark, who earned my undying respect for running the entire race carrying a sign and wearing rabbit ears. The pace bunny followed the Running Room method of “10 and 1s” for the entire race. I decided not to walk every 10 minutes for the first half of the race, stopping instead at the water stations spaced 3 kilometres apart across the entire route. I wasn’t totally convinced I could keep up with him, but wanted to at least attempt my fantasy finish time.

 

I expected to feel fatigued at the halfway mark, but I felt energized. At about 22K, a group of belly-dancers entertained the crowd and provided a fun distraction. And beside the belly-dancers – my friend Lisa, this time with her family! The route from 23K to 30K runs along the Ottawa canal. When race routes are described as “fast and flat”, this is the kind of course they have in mind. I felt wonderful and even considered asking the pace bunny to let me hold the 4:30 sign (he was passing it around to anyone who wanted to do the honours). I thought it would be cool to be carrying it when I passed my family, who planned to see me somewhere around 34K. But some inner wisdom held me back – I suspected I might be running at a pace I couldn’t sustain.

 

Sure enough, at 32K, when the race course started to climb upward, I began to lose the 4:30 group. There’s a hill at this point in the run, which for many is topped by a big, looming, imaginary wall, but in reality is actually marked by a big, orange sign that reads 33K. I ran most of the hill, and walked a little, choosing to marshal my energy for the final 10K stretch. Unfortunately, that meant I had to watch the 4:30 pace sign get smaller and smaller, and eventually disappear. Now, I had a new goal: don’t let the 4:45 pace bunny catch up with me!

 

Can I be honest? The last 10K was easy. Sure, I slowed down a bit. Yes, it hurt. And part of me (especially the part from the waist down) just wanted it to end. But another part of me (from the neck up) was elated. People I knew appeared all along that critical last stretch. A co-worker and fellow runner waited for me at the 34K mark with Hershey Kisses. At 35K, my mom, husband and kids cheered, took photos, then sprinted to the car in a mad dash to the finish (they made it). My dad stood at 40K, bellowing encouragement with such enthusiasm that he got people around him cheering. And Lisa was there, of course, with my own personalized sign at the 250 metre mark. At the very end, I saw my ordinarily quiet and collected mom, waving her arms and yelling at the top of her lungs: “Way to go, Theresa!” I gathered up their love and support in that final stretch and wore it near my heart like the very best kind of finisher’s medal.

 

Then, all of a sudden, I was a marathoner. I crossed the finish line at 4:36:42 and realized that I had been stronger and more ready than I knew. And that was the big surprise waiting for me at the end of 42.2 – that my ability to complete a marathon was actually no surprise at all.

 

I had it in me all the time.

It's Just That Epic

A single race report – are you joking? Look up and to the left side of the screen, my friends. This blog is called “Just One Marathon.” This is it: the climax of the story. After this, I am officially on record as quitting and never running again. That means I want to make sure I get it all down in writing. Unfortunately for you, that means three blog entries – “Before”, “During” and “After”. So here goes.

Part 1: Before

 The week before my Sunday marathon was endless. The Ottawa Race Weekend has grown into a huge event, by this city’s standards. It attracts over 30,000 runners plus their family and friends in five different events. It has many corporate and media sponsors. Pre-race coverage is pervasive and endless. In the seven days leading up to the race weekend, our local public radio station broadcast running stories every morning and afternoon. The newspaper featured special pull-out sections. The local news station sponsored a team of recovering addicts who ran the marathon as part of their recovery process.

Even I was sick of it – and I was completely obsessed with All Things Marathon. I found myself thinking, plotting and monitoring the state of my body constantly. I swear I generated a pull in my right calf just by the power of my own thoughts. I couldn’t concentrate at work and counted the hours and the days until race day, mostly from excitement but partly just to get the damned thing over with and get back to normal.

On Friday afternoon, my parents drove in from Toronto to cheer us on through race weekend – the boys and their dad in the 10K on Saturday and me on Sunday (did I mention I was running the marathon?). They were a huge support. My mom even brought all the ingredients to make a great pre-race carbo-loading meal of spaghetti and meatballs for Friday. When they arrived, it really felt like race weekend had begun.

Our clinic leader, Tom, suggested spending Saturday off our feet as much as possible. I tried to take his advice, but with two kids to entertain, it was impossible to just do nothing. We spent the morning meandering through a gigantic garage sale hosted by a local neighbourhood and the afternoon doing errands and relaxing. Around 4:30, we grabbed a quick snack, then headed downtown for the 10K, which started at 6:30 p.m. Our plan was to meet our friends, Lisa and Charles, at the race site at 6. They were both running their first 10K, and their sons (ages 14 and 11) joined us in cheering them from the sidelines. The traffic and crowds were as bad as we had suspected they might be, so we were really glad we left early. My friend Lisa was even smarter – a few weeks ago, she booked a hotel room downtown. They had spent the afternoon in the hotel pool, then walked over to the race site.

All the 10K runners in our party were cool and collected, except my 11-year old son, Jamie, who was intimidated by the huge swell of runners (more than 6,600) that stretched a few hundred metres back from the start line. One look at the crowd and he announced he didn’t want to run anymore. But my husband is an amazing running coach. – his easy-going, matter-of-fact manner got Jamie to the start line in reasonably good shape.

After we wished everyone good luck, we nudged our way close to the start line to watch the elites start the race, followed by a few thousand dedicated amateurs. We only managed to pick out Charles and Lisa (who looked gorgeous in a beautiful new peach-y pink running shirt) – the rest were lost in the crowd.

Then we fought our way through the throng of spectators to find a decent place near the finish line. By the time we got there and secured a spot, the elite athletes were already finishing the race – in just over 28 minutes! After the thrill of watching the winners cross the finish line, we settled in to watch the drama of the 10K race unfold for the rest of the participants. It was exciting and inspiring to watch so many people finish the race in so many different physical and emotional states – some intense, some relaxed, some exhausted and others looking like they could turn around and run back to the start line.

I expected to see my oldest son, Will, cross the finish line at around the same time as Lisa and Charles (somewhere around 70 minutes). I thought we’d see Jamie and Rob (my husband) finish in about 85 to 90 minutes. We saw Lisa and Charles first. They crossed the line in about 67 minutes, both smiling and looking like they were enjoying the whole experience. We screamed and waved signs and Lisa swung by for high fives. Charles had a little extra energy at the end, so he steamed ahead. After they had passed us, their youngest son Eric announced solemnly, “Dad beat Mom”. 

When Rob and Jamie came through at about 79 minutes, my heart skipped a beat. It was really beautiful to see them run together. My husband is a very fast runner; he has completed this course in around 45 minutes. Yet he looked happy and proud to be running the same distance in twice the time, helping our son achieve a goal he set for himself last fall. He talked Jamie through 3 kilometres of nervous jitters as he got used to the crowds and the excitement. Then, at the 5K mark, when Jamie told him he thought he could go a little faster, he paced him at just the right speed to finish under 80 minutes.

We waited for Will but didn’t see him. That only made me a little nervous, because there were so many runners, I knew it would be easy to miss him passing by. Still, a little part of me (the mom part) worried that he was injured or exhausted and walking for the last part of the race. We battled our way back through the crowds to the runners’ recovery area (they should give medals for crowd-surfing, too) and finally caught sight of Will and the others, though it was another 20 minutes until we were able to actually stand face to face. Will had made it in ahead of everyone else with a time of 59:25! 

We shared a quick feel-good moment before our friends headed back to the hotel and we made our way back to our cars. By this time, it was getting close to 9 p.m. We hadn’t eaten dinner and after an hour spent stretching and straining to see over the heads of crowds, my calf muscle was starting to tighten up with the phantom ache. I was beginning to worry that this wasn’t an ideal way to spend the night before the marathon. Also, we discovered that we’d forgotten to return our friends’ cell phone and hotel key to them after we parted, so we’d need to swing by their hotel to drop it off.

We picked up pizza on the way home and sat down to eat at close to 9:30. To ease the tension a little, I poured myself a short glass of wine and hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt me the next day. We were all pretty keyed up. But we turned out the light just before 10:30 and I fell into a deep sleep, only to be awakened at 1:45 a.m. by Jamie who had woken up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. My husband told me he’d handle it, escorted him out of room and I was asleep by the time he returned. (He insisted the next day that he’d helped Jamie get back to bed using a blunt object, but I later learned he actually removed an extra blanket to help the over-heated child get back to sleep).

So much for a quiet, restful day-before-the-marathon. 

It's Not the Cold, Honey, It's the Mileage

On the drive home from the Hypothermic Half, my husband and I discussed what was different about cold-weather racing. We agreed that in many ways, it was really the same as any other race.

For every race, weather is a factor. Dress for it, and you’re fine – as long as it’s not extreme weather. And for the Montreal Hypothermic, it wasn’t: -20C and sunny. I wore layers and felt great. My toes were cold for the first 20 minutes, but warmed up quickly. After that, if felt pretty balmy. 

My husband feels the cold more (I chalk it up to his having less body fat than me – he really should eat more junk food like I do). He especially feels it in his hands, but he slipped a couple of hand warming packets into his gloves and was fine. He also duct-taped the end of his running shoes to prevent the cold air from getting in but we’re not sure how well this actually worked since the duct tape fell off somewhere between the start and finish lines.

We both felt that the unique challenge of this run was the snow the race course. The course was laid out in three 7K loops. Most of the route was covered with a thin layer of packed down snow covering another thin layer of ice. This had two effects for me. First, I found I was shortening my stride and running much more carefully to avoid slipping. Secondly, I felt that for every step I ran, I slid back a little bit.

Still, that didn’t take away from the fun of the race. Not only was it an interesting athletic challenge, it was also a terrific rationalization for not meeting my goal time of 2:10. I did manage to clock a time with all twos and ones though: 2:12:21. That’s marginally better than my first hypothermic, which I ran in 2:12 and 45 seconds (or something like that). 

Those rationalizations only take me so far, though. If I ever forgot, this race reminded me that 21 kilometres is really, really long way to run. And there were hills. Not lots of them, but a few, strategically placed ones. The three-loop run gave me time to anticipate the hills, dread them, and generally get freaked out by them. I realized in this run that I did not do enough (i.e. any) hill training. Oops. The finish line was actually at the top of a snowy, slippery hill. So I can’t really say that I finished strong – but I did finish grateful, I can guarantee you that. 

The race was incredibly well organized. The check in was smooth, the race started on time and there were lots and lots of friendly and enthusiastic volunteers all along the route cheering encouragement in French and English. My hats off to them – it’s a helluva lot harder to stand in the cold for two and a half hours than to run in it.

So would I recommend a cold-weather race to a running friend? Absolutely! If you're a reluctant runner like me, it'll be the closest you'll ever come to participating in a sport that can be described as "Xtreme".

BTW, the title of this entry is inspired by the movie "Raiders of the Lost Ark". The embedding option was disabled on YouTube, but here is a link to the clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcwecV-Nj9U

My Inexcusably Long Race Report

By the morning of last Sunday’s 10k race, I was beginning to think I’d made a huge mistake.

First of all, I was not only running myself, but bringing along 11 other people to run in either the 5k or 10k race. (See my blog entry below.) It was a first event for eight of those people (my parents, my sister and her two children, my best buddy, her husband and one of her sons). I was really hoping they would all have fun and that they didn’t feel they’d been dragged into running by their over-enthusiastic daughter/sister/parent/friend (i.e. me).

Second, in addition to running the 10k, I was hosting my family for the Thanksgiving weekend. I love it – really love it. But it does involve some effort to host two big dinners (Saturday and Sunday), coordinate comfortable sleeping arrangements for eight extra people, and plan our activities for 48 hours. My type-A brain has been going a million miles a minute over the past week, waking me up early, keeping me busy during my free moments, and even preventing me from getting in that last brief run I needed on Friday or Saturday.

Third, I had the worst night’s sleep I’ve had in recent memory on Saturday night. Some teenagers at a nearby house were having a backyard party that lasted until well into the wee hours of the morning. Even more offensive than their loud talk was the fact that they played The Backstreet Boys as their party soundtrack. Three a.m. party music sure has changed since I was a teenager. I finally fell asleep at about 3:30 a.m. and was awake again when my early-rising father got up at 6:05. He was nervous and excited about walking the 10k.

Still, I felt surprisingly okay on Sunday morning. I have run two 10k races before. My first took me almost 65 minutes. The second took 58 minutes. Before the sleepless night from hell, I was hoping to do a little better than this. On the drive out to the race location, I began to think that a more realistic goal, given my lack of sleep and preoccupation with preparing a big Thanksgiving dinner later that day, would be to at least crack 60 minutes. Or just finish the damned thing.

The race was held just east of the City of Ottawa, at the Cumberland Heritage Village Museum, which is a very pretty, hilly area nestled among farmers’ fields and overlooking the Ottawa River. Notice how I slipped the word “hilly” in there like it’s no big deal? We arrived, strapped on our Velcro ankle-chip-thingies, visited the porta-potties and tried to stay warm in the 10° Celsius morning air (little realizing that I should have been thankful that we didn’t face the terrible heat other runners did that weekend). The 5k-ers in our party then headed to their start line, and the 10k-ers (me, my husband, and my dad), headed to ours.

While we waited for the race to begin, I ran into a friend who had run this race before. I asked her about the terrain and she told me there were two hills, but that they weren’t too bad. My dad was feeling a little stressed about his ability to follow the route, since there were very few walkers and he would well to the back of the pack. I found the race leaders and they assured him there would be big orange cones marking the route. Dad’s goal was to walk the route in less than 2 hours and 30 minutes and preferably in closer to 2 hours.

Despite all my misgivings, I started to get really pumped up just before the race. I was very happy that I didn’t indulge in a lot of red wine the night before. My husband and I passed the last 10 minutes before the race running out and back on the first 25 metres of the route at a very gentle pace, just to get warm. My dad walked the same stretch to get his knee limbered up. A minute or two before the start, we took our places in the pack – my husband relatively near the front (he was aiming to improve on a 47-minute 10k he ran in the spring), me somewhere optimistically in the middle, and my dad a little closer to the back. We all wished each other luck. Then we were off.

My strategy was to run each kilometre in about 5:45. Add in a 1-minute walk break at the 30-minute mark and – voila! - a nice tidy 56-minute 10k. In theory. For the first kilometre, it was a brilliant strategy. I passed the 1k marker at 5:30, made a simple mathematical calculation (5:30 x 10) and began to hope I would run the race in 53 minutes. I should know better.

The next 4 or 5 kilometres of the race were uphill. There were, for the record, three hills, not two. They were not particularly steep and I felt pretty strong but I lost a little time on each one. I hit the 5k marker at about 31 minutes. Uh oh. I decided to walk for about 40 seconds, taking me up to 32 minutes, and then really try to boot it for the remainder of the race.

Then …Glory Hallelujah! … the course started to run downhill. The next 3k were amazing. I did something my husband does, which is to choose a runner slightly ahead of me and try to pass them. This motivated me to increase my pace, rather than get too comfortable. Plus it was kind of fun. Goodbye hip-hop teenager running in shiny track pants! So long, cutesy couple running together! Au revoir football-jock-gone-to-seed! Okay, I wasn’t passing Kenyan record-setters, but it worked for me. 

The last runner I passed was a gray-haired, long-legged athletic-looking older woman who was setting an excellent pace. It took me a long time to catch up with her. I’m ashamed to say that one of the big thrills of the race was beating this nice older lady. Afterwards, I kept looking over my shoulder to see if she’d pass me again, because she was a fast old lady.

Rounding the last corner, with about 25 metres to go, I saw my husband, sons, nephew and friends cheering me on from the sidelines. By now, I realized that I hadn’t made a mistake to join this run, and felt very clever to have brought along my own cheering section. I zipped past my mom and my 11-year-old niece who were just wrapping up a comfortable 5k walk. Final time: 57:43, making me 13 out of 26 in my age category. I’ve never made it out of the bottom third before – woohoo, I’m average!!

We were all finished now, except for my dad, the 10k walker. We shared a collective runners’ high and trade stories. Some folks headed home to prepare for Thanksgiving festivities later on that day, but three of us remained to see my dad cross the finish line. At an hour and 30 minutes into the race, we decided to find a good spot on the sidelines to relax and watch for him. We had barely gotten settled when he came around the corner, making incredible time. For the last stretch, I ran along beside him like a fool shouting “Go Dad, Yay Dad!” The other spectators along the way picked up on my enthusiasm and his determination and took up the cheer. He crossed the finish line in 1 hour and 33 minutes! He told me later that all the cheering really made him feel like a champ – which he is.

Anyways, it was a great day. At Thanksgiving Dinner that evening, we carried out our annual tradition of going around the table saying what we were grateful for. Many of us talked about the blessing of good health that allowed us to participate in the race earlier that day. I read a quote from Thornton Wilder’s play Our Town: “Do human beings ever realize life while they live it – every, every minute?”  I felt like that day, at least, we had.