My committee meeting
was days away. I was sick and run down. The night before the Rehoboth Marathon
I started to feel that all-too-familiar tickle in my throat, knowing a cold was
coming on. Only 6 days before this marathon I ran one in Florence, Italy. Probably
not the best idea I’ve ever had. And I’ve been known to have some pretty bad
ideas. Flying to Europe and back in a span of 4 days was much harder than I had
anticipated. And of course, I ran a marathon the day before flying home. I
mean, when my brother suggested we run in Florence when I came to visit I had
to agree. Just like when my friend asked me to run Rehoboth with her the
following week. Seemed reasonable. The plane ride put a lot of pressure on my
back, and it was hurting more than it had been since it was herniated. But
still, I was glad I was there. I was in a much better place than I had been merely
a week ago. The morning of the race I decided not to wear a watch. I didn’t
want to focus on my time; I just wanted to enjoy the nice scenic run through
the quiet beach town of Delaware. In early December. Which is exactly what I
did.
The course had been
changed from previous years, and it was far more beautiful. The temperature was
ideal and the rain held off. I started off, slowly. I knew I wasn’t setting any
records, and that was fine. I met a woman named Jackie. She too was running
slowly, a few weeks out from the JFK 50. We chatted for about 5 or 6 miles. We
talked about ultras. About our running partners. About our kids. She was
wearing a watch, which I heard buzz at the 13.1 mile mark, but she didn’t want
to look either. I left her slightly after the halfway point, and didn’t find
her again after that, although I looked for her in the tent after the race. Somewhere
between miles 16-17 I met Ira. She told me how she always struggled around that
point. I helped her through those few miles. She helped me get to the finish.
She said her husband, who ran the half, was meeting her at Mile 20 with a Diet Coke.
I briefly thought of that soda as I passed Mile 20, although I didn’t see her. And
then, just around Mile 22, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Ira, with her
husband alongside her. She handed me what was left of her soda. I couldn’t
believe she thought of me, and I was touched. She was pacing well in those last
miles, and I kept her in my sight. We remained close right up until the very
last stretch end, when I briefly stopped to stretch my cramping legs. I
finished in 4:13, a few hundred meters behind Ira. Not a particularly fast
race. But a good one.
And so here I was, just days before my committee meeting, and I couldn't start my work until I went for a run. Despite the cold that sunk into my chest, keeping me up at night coughing. Despite the physical abuse I put my body through over the last few weeks. Maybe it’s an addiction. Maybe it’s just what I need. I took my inhaler, and hit the trails.
 |
| Post race |
 |
| Rehoboth Beach Seashore Marathon. 3 years running. |
