Midnight on South Mountain (Part III: The Finish)

Finish!  The last few strides and the passing of the slap bracelet, and it was over.  I found myself fighting for air, but my part was done.

A few weeks ago, as I lay in bed talking with my wife, she turned to me and told me that she was proud of me and how she thought I was so successful.  I responded…no sorry, but I’ve failed so many times, and in so many ways, I couldn’t be that successful.  I then shared that it was like the Pittsburgh Steelers.  They might win this game and that game…but then they might lose the next.  They won the Super Bowl only to lose another…so success was too fleeting of a term.  I’d rather be known for what I was doing, rather than what I did.  I would rather be a good husband, good father, good chaplain, or a good runner.  And I would instead leave the word “success” for someone to mention of me after I finish my life.
This last remembrance of the Ragnar race of September 23 and 24, 2011, has been painful for me to write.  Difficult simply because it is about the “finish” so let me continue.
When I originally signed up for the race, my three legs were the combination of a 6-mile run, then a 6.6-mile run and a final leg of 6 miles.  But a race like life changed

and changed without my permission.  Due to parking issues, the race organizers moved the relay zone to an elementary school where there was parking.  So they shifted my last leg about 2.8 miles in the wrong direction.  About two weeks before the race, I had learned that my final leg was to be an 8.8 miles section of Rock Creek Park and the Georgetown Branch Trail into Bethesda, Maryland.

As I ran the last section, I could feel the accumulative effect of the sleep deprivation that I had imposed upon my body.  Having only 3 hours of sleep during the previous 24 hours, and that little sleep delivered while lying on a bench seat of a van did very little to aid my body in recovering.  My left knee was still sore from the first leg, my body ached from the excretion over South Mountain, and my mind was now numbed by the lack of sleep.  To be honest, I was even more aware in this last section, I would end up walking and crawling to the finish.  As I stood once again at the relay zone, my teammate gathered around.  All expressed, to me, confidence in me that I knew I lacked.  As I took the slap bracelet, my simple prayer was “Lord, don’t let me let them down.” As I headed away from the starting line, I saw Lt Colonel David Vernal.  His leg still bloody from his first leg fall, but he had run so heroically despite the bruised foot and knee. I couldn’t let him down.  And so I pushed on.  As I turned into Rock Creek Park, I thought about Jason Dugan, our speedster…he had run his three legs hard and
fast.  He had such a natural stride and was a last minute replacement to help out our team.  I couldn’t let him down.  As I ran through the park along the trail up and down the little rises, I thought of Captain Mary Garavelli, she had been handed the hardest of the legs, the monster 3rd leg that was the first significant mountain climb.  We had cheered her every step as she climbed the first mountain of the race.  And at the top, she was just bouncing with energy…I couldn’t let her down.   As I ran up and onto the Georgetown Branch Trail, I could feel my body going…and I thought of Captain Michael Johnson, who at the last leg fell asleep right before his leg and we had to go find him to get him to the starting line.  We then watched him fly like he had jet wings to make up the time he lost and gained back several extra minutes, I couldn’t let that sacrifice he made go for not, so I pushed on.   As I ran along the Georgetown path, which was an old train line, I realized that this was going to be a lot tougher than I imagined.  But Ken Myers didn’t let down on his first, second, or last leg.  He had pushed it into me every time he made his hand off of the bracelet to me, and I couldn’t let him down, and so I pushed.  About this time, I started to pass slower runners who now were falling apart.  They were walking and stopping to stretch. 
These were the team that had been beating us…I couldn’t fail my team.  I thought of those in the other van, Captain Brian Viola and his wife Cynthia, who I had been handing off to, Master Sergeant Tom Harmon, Master Sergeant Cozette Teasley, and our team captain, Senior Master Sergeant Jorge Laurel, and our anchor runner Captain Markenson Dieujuste. They had been there cheering me on…and now I had to run.  As I left the trail heading the last mile uphill into Bethesda, I pushed…I only had one mile left to run.  And if I had too, I would lay it all out here on this hill and die, I would not be passed, and I would finish…no so much for me but for them.  I would run for them who had kept faith with me and did their best.
As I finished my leg and passed the slap bracelet on to Mrs. Viola, it hit me…we weren’t home yet.  There was still the other van of six runners who had to finish.  So our six runners left and headed for the finish line in DC Harbor.  Around three, the
other van came in, and we gathered together about 300 yards from the finish line, and we waited for Captain Markenson Dieujuste to arrive.  On his arrival, we all joined him that last 300 yards, and together we all finished the race.
After the team received our finisher medal and had a group picture taken, we went to a pavilion where there were pizza and beer for the finishers.  As we sat around a table, we talked about our adventure and the twist and turns that come our way.  We shared pizza and beer.  As we celebrated the end, it was heaven to me.
Heaven, because in my theology, and in the practice of my faith…it was heaven.  I honestly believe that when this life is done and my final race has been run, I will gather together with others who have been a part of my life and we will sit around a

table, stand behind chairs, we will slap each other on the back and high five each one another.  We will share stories of the road and will celebrate life.  And Jesus will be there, and he will take a piece of pizza and hand it to us and say this is my body, and then he will take up a cup of beer and give it to us and say drink this is my blood.  And we'll celebrate…

So…am I successful…today…tomorrow…I might lose but in the end…I guess it doesn’t really matter because it is the journey….  It’s the journey that’s the critical part.  (Oh…by the way…last leg, 8.8 miles was done in 1 hour 18 minutes and 18 seconds…which is an 8:55 per mile pace, I never did those 9: 45-mile legs that I had a plan on doing.)

Pittsburgh Marathon - Its the shoes...my fault.

I was prepared to run what I thought would be one of my best races in the last few years, but unfortunately that was not the case. I ran a "Okay" race but not a great one...and that's alright. One of the things that I have learned through all of my races is that somedays you are on and some days...its just not there. Sunday...it just wasn't there. I ran my plan, but at about mile 4, my shoes didn't feel right and by mile 8 my feet were in total pain. I actually thought around 23 miles that I had broken my right foot because of the pain...but the reality was "new shoes."

Okay...remember this rule and keep it. Don't change shoes in the last few weeks before your big race.

Right after the National Marathon, I was developing soreness in my right ankle and I also realized that my racing shoes, that I ran with on the treadmill were breaking down. So I a few weeks ago I went out and replaced them with a new pair of shoes. I thought I broke them in by running a few easy miles on the treadmill...but...on Sunday as I was running on the roads around Pittsburgh, I realize that the shoes were a piece of junk. Yea...the problem was the shoes. Wrong...the problem was me. I changed shoes and didn't run with them on the open road before hand. Had I tested them out, I most likely would have worn my training shoes, but I didn't do it. So again, like at that National...No excuses...just didn't perform the way that I wanted to. Yet...I did finish and I now have 26 Marathons to my name.

As for the race itself. I ran pretty much like I wanted to, but because of the shoes, I slowed down at the end. Can't say that I hit a wall...but my last 8 miles were in the 12 minute/mile range. As for the course. It was great...and I can't wait to run it again next year...yea...I'm going back...and I won't change shoes during the last two weeks again.

AT - Challenge for the future

Yesterday after church, my wife, son and self went up to Harper's Ferry, WVa for the afternoon.  We ended up hiking a little bit on the trails around Harper's Ferry.  For you who don't know--the Appalachian Trail ,that runs from Georgia to Maine, passes through the town.  Also the Appalachian Trail Headquarter is located in Harpers Ferry as it is considered the half way point on the trail.

It was great.  A bit on the cold side and we did get wet from hiking in the rain the last quarter mile of our trek...but it was great getting out and seeing spring starting to arrive.  The trees were budding, there were wonderful wild flowers poking up out of the ground.  It was perfect.

I've even come up with another challenge for the future as we were hiking along the trail.  By the end of summer, I'm going to do the Maryland section of the AT.  It is about a 40 plus mile section, so I think I could easily do it in three days.  So besides all these half marathons, and marathons I have schedule.  I now have a wilderness experience to look forward to enjoying.

The Last Week

We've been studying the book, The Last Week, by Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan in the Sunday School Class I teach. If you haven't read it...it is really well done. But as much as I like it I have problems with some of their discounting the "predictive" words of Jesus as he enters into the final week. They tend to side on the writers of the Gospels reinterpreting the context of Jesus' words in light of historical events. In the past I read, John Polkinghorne's Quantum Physics and Theology...also an great book. But I like how he views these "predictive" words of Jesus...so I'll share his opinion in the hope of stimulating your thoughts on Mark 8:31, 9:31, 10:33-34 and their parallels in the other Gospels. 

"Many scholars have regarded these predictions as being prophecies after the event inserted by the gospel writers, but I am not inclined to accept that judgment. No doubt the exact wording has been influenced by a subsequent knowledge of the events, but it does not seem at all strange that Jesus should go to Jerusalem that last time keenly aware of an implacable opposition to him on the part of the religious and civil authorities, realizing what its consequences were likely to be, and prepared to commit his destiny into the hands of God his Father. I believe that the predictions show us that he accepted the outcome that would follow, and that he trusted in God for his eventual vindication." 

Often in my own life, after I've gone through trials and tribulations; I tend to color my story as one emphasizing my tenacity of faith. I could see the events coming at me. As I encounter those events, I could easily see what was coming and the consequences. There was nothing miraculous about what I saw…but the difference between Jesus and me is that part about being “…prepared to commit his destiny into the hands of God….” To be honest…I’m not that prepared. 

Last year while I was deployed to Kuwait, I finished my 20th year of active duty in the Air Force…and that means I can hang up this job and walk away from the military with my retirement in hand. I am also at the point in my life where there are many options opened to me and I have a strong desire to put down roots. These life events are making me realize that there are events coming in the near future and decisions I’ll need to make concerning those events. I can even predict several of those events outcomes even though they are months and maybe a year away from me…based on the past. But as a Christian…am I willing to place my destiny into the hands of God? As much as I would love to say…yea…I’m right there…the truth is…. 

I’m human…my nature is to make things go the way I want them to go. Can I trust? Bottom-line…if I’m really going to follow Jesus…then I’m going to have to be prepared to accept the outcome and follow…trusting in God for vindication.

Bob Wilson, Father and Pastor...but always just "Bob"

My father who passed away over a year ago wrote the following.  As I reflect on what he said in it...it really discribes who he was.

One morning, I went by the office of the church where I had pastored for 15 years.  There in the kitchen were a group of men from the church discussing various concerns about the church and it's place in their lives.  I sat there for a while listening to their discussion, without getting involved.  One of the men said, "I don't know what to call the new pastor."  He then turned to me and asked, "What did people call you when you were the pastor here?"

I thought about the question for a few moment and replied, "Well, when I graduated from Seminary and became a pastor of my first church, a few individuals called me 'Reverend.'  Then when I went into the Air Force some called me 'Chaplain.'  After retiring from the Air Force and coming to this church, I returned to seminary and earned my doctorate degree which gave me the privilege to put Doctor in front of my name."

There was a few minutes of silence as I continued to think about the answer.  Again the gentleman asked, "So what did the people in this church call you?" 

I said "Bob."

As I think about my Dad...yea...that was who he was to the people he served..."Bob."  I only hope I can have the same sense of service that titles never go to my head.

Photos of the Snow

The snow outside the house. 

The house and yes that is about 45 inches of snow and drifts up to 50.

And this is the hill I run up everyday...

Back to the Fires

I have to be honest...running with camels isn't fun at all. They are always stopping to scratch themselves on the street signs. Here is one of my running buddies...scratching himself on the post...I just ran off and left him.

Well, I'm home now. Back to southern California and our wild fires. We have a fire right here in Palos Verdes today, so I had to alter my course, but still got a nice 7 mile run in this afternoon. Also the weather here is so much nicer then what I had to deal with in Kuwait. So I'm not going to complain about anything.

This past 6 months I was working with the US Army at Camp Buehring in Kuwait as the senior ranking chaplain. Being an Air Force Chaplain embedded with the Army had some very interesting twist to getting the job done, but in the end it was and always has been the same job...taking care of Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines. I had the chance to meet and work with incredible people and we as a nation should be very proud of our service men and women. Also this was the first time I worked with our National Guard. I had the pleasure of working with units from Oklahoma, Alabama, Minnesota, and Wyoming National Guard. Their professionalism and heart to serve was second to none. My prayers are with them daily as they go about their duties and responsibilities.

My goal for this year was to run 12 marathons in 12 months…so that one when down the drain really fast. Before I deployed to Kuwait, I twisted my left knee during the Surf City Marathon which caused me to drop out at the 18 mile point…then the following Friday I re-injured the same knee running my Air Force Fitness test. I then flew to Kuwait the following week. So I arrived in Kuwait with a bum knee and feeling very out of shape despite having just finished 7 marathons in the past year. I set two goals for myself. The first was to lose 30 pounds in my 6 month deployment and the second was to prepare myself for a marathon on my return from Kuwait.

One of the advantages of being deployed is that the food is the same day after day. Selecting low fat diet really wasn’t hard…staying away from the Ice Cream was…. So over the 180 day, I went from about 194 to 163. Talk about the difference the weight makes…I feel so much better losing that weight.

My second goal was to run a Marathon…well I’m signed up to run the Marine Corp Marathon in Washington in October. This year I’ll be running the race with my oldest daughter who lives in the DC area. It will be her first marathon and I’m looking forward to enjoying the adventure of running around DC with her. Another side note to this is the fact that I’m moving to DC as well at the end of September. I have an assignment working there starting in October. I will miss California and Los Angeles, but this move gets us closer to family back east…so it is a good move for us at this time in life.

Who knows since I’m back east there, I may even try to do the JFK 50 miler in November.

Running...In Memoriam

Tomorrow, I will toe the line with a few thousand fellow runners at the Surf City Marathon. Many of us will be there for different reasons but with one goal of finishing 26.2 miles. As we struggle along the Pacific Coast Highway at Huntington Beach, we will each make the journey in our own ways. Yes, each one of us will be placing one foot in front of the others, but some will be in wheelchairs, and some will run on artificial leg or legs. But the distance is the same. The test is not only physical…but more so a test of our mental and spiritual abilities.

For most first time marathon runners and many non-runners, they see the marathon as only a physical task. But those of us who have accomplished the task before know that in the final measure of the race, is it’s the spiritual side of the equation that tips the scale from not finishing to finishing the distance.

In October 1977, I ran my first marathon. At mile 23, I was beaten. I was on the verge of quitting. Snow flurries swirled around me. As I broke the crest of the hill walking, there before me were a handful of people clapping and yelling encouragement…still I wanted to stop…but one elderly man setting in a wheelchair on the side of the road caught my attention. He was clapping and yelling for us to finish. On his lap was a list from the local newspaper with the name and number of each runner. He looked at the paper then at me. I was walking at the time. And I heard him call my name. “Don…you can finish this.”

With tears in my eyes, my body tired beyond belief, I found myself running. In those final three miles, every time I wanted to quite and walk…I remembered that man in the wheelchair…and I kept going…for him. That connection for just a quick moment on that cold October morning got me to the finish line.

This marathon tomorrow will be my first since my father died. My dad saw a few of my High School races, but he never saw me run a marathon. But I think, as I run tomorrow…he will be there by my side. As I make each stride, as my body fatigues from the distance and effort, and as I fight back the desire to quit, I will remember him. And that will give me the toughness to carry me to the finish line. So this race tomorrow is for my father…my mentor and friend.

Running on the Western Edge

The other day I made mention of my spiritual run along the strand in Manhatten Beach. A friend asked what does the place look like. So today, I'm adding a few photos I took this morning during my run. Enjoy. Manhatten Beach Pier

From the pier looking back to the shore

Another runner and his dog.

Doing your best

This week has been a blur. I was focus on getting a few key projects done and on the running side of the equation, was looking at how I was going to run the Long Beach Marathon in October. But at 12:30 on Monday afternoon that all changed. I was notified that one of the primary runners on our Los Angeles AFB Team was out because of medical reason and that they needed me to step up to fill out the team.

On Thursday we flew out to Dayton, Ohio for the race. This was to be my twentieth marathon. So there was no doubt in my mind that I could complete the distance the question was how fast could I do it?

Back in October 1977, I ran my first marathon in Waynesboro, Virginia. I was a sophomore in college at the time. I ran the first half of the race perfect, but after the 18 mile mark, I fell apart and struggled to finish the race in 3 hours and 30 minutes. It would be seven years before, I would attempt my second. In 1984, I ran the Mississippi Gulf Coast Marathon that celebrated the 100 anniversary of the local newspaper. Although it was a November race the heat was a major handicap as I finished in 3:52.

In 1986, I began a program that took three years with the goal of breaking the 3 hour mark for a marathon. Over the next two and a half years, I ran two marathons each year, one in the fall and one in the spring. The result was a 3:07 at the Marine Corp Marathon in 1988. But before I had the chance to do the last one in the spring of 89, I joined the Air Force and was unable to finish the plan.

Since then my running has been erratic and never focused. That was until this past year. In February 2007, a friend of mine who lost his leg, but ran the 2006 Marine Corp Marathon, inspired me to get back into the sport with a purpose. The goal I formed was to run 5 marathons in 12 months. So I started training while deployed to Kandahar, Afghanistan.

So here are the five marathons:

1. Marine Corp Marathon, 29 Oct 2007, goal to finish, ran 5:24
2. Los Angeles Marathon, 2 Mar 2008, goal was to run with a group of friends...done...it was about friendship...not time
3. Big Sur Marathon, 27 Apr 2008, goal to run 5:00, ran 4:59:23.
4. Palos Verde Marathon, 17 May 2008, goal to run 4:40, ran 4:39:49.
5. Rock-n-Roll Marathon in San Diego, 1 Jun 2008, goal to run 4:20, ran 4:20:58.

So the goal was accomplished. My focus this summer was to help my daughter (#3) run her first half marathon. She did that on 31 Aug.

On Labor Day, I sat down to focus my running for this next year. My new goal was to see how fast I could run a marathon. Part of this goal was because I had been selected as alternate for the base team to run the Air Force Marathon. The challenge that it presented me with was: "How fast could I go? "

I had the Air Force Marathon penciled in on the calendar, but never expected to run. Then last Monday happen and threw all my plans off. I hadn't focused on preparing for the race. So now the question was: Do I run it fast or do I just run it?

So what happen? I started off the race on Saturday with an easy pace of about 10:00 per mile. But then in the second mile I found myself wanting to push the pace. I fought the feeling, knowing that I hadn’t run over 14 miles in the past two months. But then at about 10 miles, I realized that I was still feeling strong…so I gave into the desire to push. And push I did. At about 20 miles the heat and sunlight started to drain me and the lack of training started to take their toll on me. Still I hung in there and ran a 4:10:40. I have to go back to 1994 to find a marathon that fast in my logs. So I know I still have some ability to run fast. Saturday race provide that to me.

This race on Saturday has helped me focus my running even more. I know I am capable of running a fast marathon. Maybe the 3 hour mark is reachable…but the goal for this year is run 3:45. So stay tune…

104 Miles and 3 Flat Tires???

Picture here are the guys that got me to ride this 100 mile, ride of horrors. The two in the back ground were the really conspirators. The guy in front helped me with my blow outs. Read on:

It was a long day and what made it painfully long were the three blow outs I had. No one else in the group lost a tire, but I ran over a nail, and then blew out the replacement tube about 40 miles into the ride. Finally at about the 75 mile mark, I again blew the second replacement...luckily a fellow rider had another tube. The biggest problem was with the Tire. It was split, so we had to rig it with a patch and plastic to make it work for the finally 29 miles. But it turned a 6 hour and 40 minute ride into a 8 hour ordeal.

Still, I am glad I finished. I was ready to throw in the towel at the 75 mile when the tire was shot. That plus my upper legs were killing me really made me want to just quite.

But I didn't I got up and finished the thing. And so my first century ride is done. Yea...my first, there will be others in the years to come...why...because I know I can ride it faster and not blow a tire. That is what really drives me. How can I improve on this? I'll figure it out and then press back and do it all again.

Promise Kept

A little over a year ago, my daughter (#3) ran in a local 5K race. Several people who watched told my wife how great our daughter ran and that when I got back home from Afghanistan I should help her run the Disneyland Half Marathon. When my wife and daughter got home from that 5K race they emailed me, and of course I told my daughter that I would help train her to run the next Disneyland Half Marathon. Well today we did just that. We ran stride by stride.

I could say that I was proud of her but that couldn't come close to describe the admiration that I have for her. She was solid the whole race and her pace never slowed. When I was her age, I never had that kind of discipline...and at mile 10 she picked up the pace. All I could do was hang on for dear life. It was such a joy to see her enjoy what she was doing. What kind of words could I use to express my amazement of what she was able to do?

As we ran, I also reflected on my older two daughters as well. When daughter (#1) was a Senior in High School, we ran a half-marathon together, but daughter (#2) was too smart and skipped out of her senior year, heading off to college a year to soon for me. But how I wish they could have been with us today. They both were amazing runners in their own ways.

But there was another special moment as we ran through the park. It was as we passed the Matterhorn. It was more a feeling that thought. In 1960, I was there with my Grandfather. My memory is cloudy at best but I remember holding his hand as I looked at that mountain. And today as I looked at that same mountain for the first time since he held my hand...I felt sure he was still holding my hand.

Today was a good day. My promise kept running a half-marathon with my daughter. A memory kept in remembering my wonderful daughters who were not there with us. And I felt the touch of something eternal...holding a hand of someone who loved me.

So today, I made a new memory with my daughter. It will be there in her life for a long time to come. And maybe some 45 years from today as she runs a half-marathon with her son, she'll remember the time I ran stride by stride with her.

Why Run A Marathon

My apologies to Tim Noakes, author of The Lore of Running. I rewrote and edited this from his introduction to the book because it expressed my feelings so well. Tim Noakes is writing about the Comrades (an Ultra-Marathon) that he has run several times. But I have adapted this to marathons and my experiences.

At the start, there is neither doubt nor fear. The outcome is predetermined. Even when we have spent our last ounce of energy, there will be an arm for support, a shoulder to steady our shaking legs, and someone to carry us away from the finish line.

In Faith then, begins each runner knowing that this is the year. This year he is at his peak and is older, wiser and more experienced. This year at the moment of truth, when once more the pain and discomfort become intolerable and the desire to quit almost irresistible, the runner will fight back with more courage, greater energy, and supreme endurance. This year he will run the course on his own terms, and he will become the hero he was always meant to be.

I know all these things; I know that this is finally to be my year. The first part of the race passes effortlessly; the pace a pleasure. The friendship, the scenery, the weather--all have been perfect. But then, as always I notice the effort for the first time. Quite suddenly I no longer have breath to spare for conversation. My horizon comes down to the few feet of road ahead, and I shorten my stride, looking for maximal efficiency. Now the run begins in earnest.

Soon enough, I pass a group of people standing on the side of the road. They cheer as I pass by. I feel the warmth of our humanity. The distance has by now removed just about all the extra energy from my legs, yet I stretch out my stride knowing full will the waste of energy spent.

Now alone and unaided, I pass into the void beyond. It is here, in the sudden solitude of the quiet lane that for me the marathon begins. No longer do I progress on my own terms; the hopes and confidence stored in training now vanish before the reality. The course that I have held at bay is now running me. I am approaching the line, isolated, uncertain, and caring only for survival.

My legs detect the first signs of an ailing will; begin their own mutiny, their tactics carefully prepared. They inform me that this is enough. Geographically, they argue, the race is two thirds over. Why, they ask, must they continue to run, knowing that from here each step will become ever more painful, ever harder? After all there is always next year. Through the blanket of developing fatigue, I begin to appreciate the logic behind these questions; I begin to feel the attraction of that haven of rest at the side of the road, the bliss of not having to take even one more step.

Around me, I know that each runner is engaged in this same battle. In common suffering, we are alone to find our individual solutions. A glance up the road shows a string of runners, each running alone, each separated by a constant distance from the runner in front and behind. A common thread holds us together, but only reluctantly do we defile the sanctity of space that separates us; the space that is our universe, 20 feet of tarmac and just enough room for our thoughts.

My will power now comes from the volunteers working the aid station. Ever smiling, ever happy, they are pure encouragement, my sole precious link with a world that cares. In his hands he holds a cup of water or a sponge. His presence confirms that it is all worthwhile, that to him and his world, I am the most important runner.

In each race, I have learned, the desire to quit comes but once. It is a coward who once beaten does not return. The continual jarring of the descents and rises has taken its toll on my quadriceps, and every step now sends an ever more painful shock down each thigh. The muscles are in rebellion, depleted of energy; their connective tissues are now coming apart. I want to lie down and die.

You may think that even now I could still walk, that a few minutes of rest would restore the desire to live and would defeat the coward within. But you would be wrong, for the discomfort I feel exceeds my ability to recall or describe it. For me that desire to live does not come from within, not from any universal insights. For coinciding with these darkest moments, I learn from a lone spectator, preached on the embankment that the finish line is in sight. Just a mile or so left to run.

And so it ends. I am reduced to running each step by itself. My eyes see only the road at my feet. I now must obey the runner's rule ("Don't look up"), because I have no choice. I no longer have the energy even to lift my eyes to the horizon. The minutes speed by, but the road seems to stand still. I am straining to deliver full power but sound as controlled as a steam engine at full throttle. I wobble and groan monstrously and begin to hope that something will burst. I run oblivious to the noise and confusion around me as I near the finish line. Then I see the line; on the left a haggard group of runners, and on the right people yelling and cheering.

Later, when a measure of physiological normality has returned and I am secure in the knowledge that the last step has been taken, I know again why it is all necessary, what common bond unites all. Skill, you see is not our requirement, nor has our race anything to do with winning or losing. These are the spoils of other, lesser games that are unable to transport us to places we have been.

Indeed the only requirement, the common bond that links all runners, is the need to look for the mountains in life. We need to take the paths least traveled, to go against the common stream, to search for the unattainable, and finally to accept that we have no option.

So because I have not choice but to follow my fate, sometime between mile one and mile twenty six you will find me in mind, if not in body, somewhere on the road between here and there, secure in the knowledge that this is my year, that this year I shall finally defeat the coward within and so commence the hero's life.

(Thanks Dr Noakes for such a wonderful description, hopefully I haven't missed it up too much.)

Long Week

This is me in July 1976 at the Alabama AAU Championship Meet at Troy State University. I had just finished competing in the 6 mile open division.

I've not adding anything new here this week because I've been busy with life. That to me is the hardest part of living life. I make plans...then life happens and throws my plans out the window. But I'm still standing and I'm still running.


My stress this past week was my staff being out of the office. On any day, I had two or maybe three members working. In fact on Thursday there were only two of us in the office the whole day. And the work load was the same as any other day. My sanity was maintained because my daughter (#3) forced me out to run at sundown. The quiet and solitude was there, but my daughter, not normally a talkative runner, had all kinds of hard life questions she wanted to ask. In our conversation, one point that M. Scott Peck repeatedly makes in his books kept rising to the surface. "Life is difficult." And I would add that it is this overcoming of life's problems where we truly live.


I've also started to read Paulo Coelho's new book Brida. In the introduction he talks about each person taking one of two attitudes to life. The first is the builder who in his words: "...builders take years over their tasks, but one day, they finish what they're doing. Then they find they're hemmed in by their own walls. Life loses it meaning when the building stops." The second attitude is that of the gardener: "They endure storms and all the many vicissitudes of the seasons, and they rarely rest. But unlike a building, a garden never stops growing. And while it requires the gardener's constant attention, it also allows life for the gardener to be a great adventure."


When I read these words last night it put this week...and my life in a new perspective. I'm 50 years old and I'm thinking about going back to school to earn a second doctoral degree...I'm still trying to improve my running, though I'm long past my prime...I've helped two of my daughters grow up and get out of the house, but I've still got two more children at home to help them plot courses through life... I always thought I was building my life and at some point I would be able to look on my life and setback and enjoy the fruit of my work. After reading Coelho's words...I really think I'm a gardener and I'm enjoying my fruit as I work. So some weeks will be tougher than others, some seasons will be more productive then others...but the great adventure is still out there and comes everyday. I guess I want to see myself as the gardener for lots of reason but the most important one is that I know God gives the rain and the growth.