Running With the Pumpkins...

It’s true that I had never run a half-marathon race until today, even though I had run plenty of 13+ mile training runs and 3 marathons. I must elaborate that most of those miles were run decades ago, specifically the marathons, during my carefree 20’s before marriage, babies, weight gain, weight loss, and injury. This new 13.1 experience was to say the least, trying.

I wasn’t even sure I would be able to finish the run, as I had been fighting hamstring issues and metatarsal arch concerns since August. Not to mention the fact that I had spent the last year dealing with plantar fasciitis. It has been a rough year running.

Scheduled to run the Runaway Pumpkin Inaugural Half-Marathon last year, I was forced to abandon the goal amid the pain of the dreaded running ailment, plantar fasciitis. Initially it was suspected that the pain, which had been growing for months, belonged to a possible stress fracture in my heel. Oh how I wish that had been the case, a stress fracture heals and is done, while plantar fasciitis just hangs on indeterminately and depending on the cause, treatment can take on a variety of actions. Such is the plight of many runners.

So when I decided to tackle the Runaway Pumpkin this year I vowed not to be deterred. But when my thigh began to ache, just sitting in the car, I winced and reluctantly phoned my physical therapist. I was back to painful debridement and more exercises… However I was direct and told my most excellent PT, Justin, that I would run the Pumpkin Half and nothing he could tell me would stop that. It was a week to week process and training runs varied between painful and wonderful. I concentrated on the miles, leaving the speed work to another time.

Finally the day arrived, and so did the rain. However, nothing was about to dampen my determination. I was running! It was exciting and nerve wracking at the same time. The anticipation drove me nuts and 13.1 miles seemed like a long run and pacing is not my strong suit. I left my watch in the car, so I could run the way my body felt and not get stressed out by time. I would later regret that decision…

I lined up with the 10 minute per mile folks, even though I was hoping to finish in less than 2 hours. It took almost two minutes to cross the start line but no worries the race was chip timed. The start was along a narrow path for the first mile which added to my slow beginning pace, however it may also have been a good thing, as I tend to start off too fast and run out of steam at the end. So, once we hit the open road, I tried to pick up my pace and felt pretty good, I passed a few folks I recognized. The rain had started before the gun and just kind of hung in there for most of the run. I was still undaunted, after all I live in Oregon, and rain is just a part of life!

About the 6 mile mark, the road began playing tricks on my psyche. The rain, the cold, the feeling of nausea, maybe it was diarrhea, the slight rolling hill, and tired began to seep into my muscles. Maybe I had picked the pace up too fast. I wanted my watch. But, I was almost half was through… that helped my feet continue the trek. Left, Right, Repeat…

Crossing the bridge and rounding the corner, a drum line was playing… the 9 mile marker. A little more than a 5k left, spirits lifted and I was on the final stretch. I decided that I wanted to finish… and finish now! So I picked up the pace. I felt a stinging pain in my left foot. I ignored it and it went away. Good.

I was looking for the 10 mile marker and feeling tired. Second thoughts filled my head; there is much too much time to think during a half-marathon. There was also confusion; runners were on both sides of the road. Did I miss the sign? Up ahead I spied a marker, immediately joy filled my soul, only a 5k to finish, but wait… it was the 11 mile marker… I did miss the 10 mile. But that was even better… only 2 miles to go!!! My hamstring started to twinge. I really needed to finish and finish quick, I was about to fall apart!

The rain was beginning to dissipate, but the skies were still dark and threatening. I kept up my pace. I wanted to be done and I was hoping to be under the 2 hour mark. Why had I left my watch in the car!!! At the 13 mile mark I started to kick, I still had it in me! Maybe I had started off too slow, however the finish line was in sight and nothing or nobody was going to stop me! I had to dodge around celebratory runners as I crossed the line and forgot to look at the time; I guess it wasn’t that important after all. Final time: 2.06.27. I think I can beat that next year!

The Holly Hoop '12

I have run dozens of races lately, most of which are the 5k or 10k variety. This one was no different in that respect, a 10k. What made it different was the fact that it was a benefit run for friends. A couple that had suffered the death of their tiny infant daughter, Holland. It was clear from the beginning that this race, however many people chose to run it, would be a most intimate affair. But since, Nick and Lexie are friends with most of the world; it quickly became an intimate run with humanity. Holly is a symbol, a representation of all that is right with the world, the embodiment of innocence and pure love. We were running to save the world from tragedy.

The run began with an excited crowd gathered at “Papa” & “Nona’s” home (Holly’s Grandma and Grandpa), if you look up gracious in the dictionary, their pictures are posted. The sun was out and even though you had to run up a small hill, enthusiasm flowed. Nick led the charge at 3:33 (the time sweet Holly was born) and we followed like lemmings, through a wooded grove onto the school yard, it felt exhilarating. We were on a mission to rid the planet of injustice.

At the 2.5 mile mark was the only water station as well as the separation of the 5k and 10k routes. There was a line of folks waiting for water, so I passed and I took off across the street and up the hill that led to the 10k course. I quickly realized that I was on my own, what I didn’t comprehend when I chose that path was that it would be a solo run till the course again collided with the 5k route and I would catch some new found friends with strollers.

It was a lonely section of the road. I started to process…

At first I was not concerned, I had run races before and there is a level of my consciousness that knew that I would not see a course marker until there was a change in direction. However, this was uncharted territory, was I on the correct side of the road? Did I miss something while processing? I was scanning my memory for the map and trying to remember the street names I would need. There were people going in different directions in cars and on bikes, but they were not aware of my goal, or my path. They were engulfed in their own busy lives and aspirations. Then it started to rain…

At first it was a light sprinkle, perfect and cooling for a long run. However, it quickly became a more persistent drizzle, spilling in my eyes and soaking my clothes. I again became concerned that I had missed a sign and was quickly becoming lost along the winding roads and trails to which I was unfamiliar. Then the wind began whipping around and the rain would hit like thousands of pins and needles, not my favorite weather to run in! I looked at my watch… just past half way. It didn’t matter, forward or backward, the distance was the same. It isn’t in my nature to turn back on any run, but even the fleeting thought was inconsequential. I was still on a mission but somehow the focus has shifted, from ridding the world of injustice to just finishing in one piece!

I began to reflect that this run was not unlike life. Most of us begin life in positive and wonderful surroundings, even though the road is up hill and we are learning about life, it is exciting, new, and fun and we are ready for the challenge. But somewhere along the path, we meet obstacles. Most of our own making, as in choosing to run the 10k distance and realizing the consequence is to face the path alone. But there are some that we don’t choose, as in the death of a child, that sting and cause pain. Although we knew, on some level that it might rain, we certainly didn’t believe it will happen to us. Life isn’t fair. It wasn’t meant to be, yet the desire for justice rings true in our mortal minds.

The rain continued, but there was a friendly, yet unfamiliar, face waiting on the path ahead to give directions, directions that would make the road easier. As I turned down the appointed path, I could see the temple peeking through the trees. It was a welcome site. I knew my good friend was inside and I brought to memory the feelings of peace I had experienced there on occasion. Another friendly, yet unfamiliar, face encountered in the parking lot and a welcome comment gave my step a little bounce. I was on my way back home and it felt good.

The rest of the course was pretty straight forward. The rain began to dissipate and then disappear. The sun began to peek through the clouds and even though I was tired, I knew I would make it. As I came out from a tree-lined roadside path, there stood the church where little Holly’s funeral had transpired nearly one short year ago. It was encompassed with the most magnificent rainbow. I gasped. It was the pain and the promise wrapped in a serene view. The Pain of facing the most horrific situation imaginable and the Promise that God was there, knew the hurt, and wanted to help. I just wanted to stand and bask in the beauty of the scene; nonetheless there were still roads to conquer so I pushed on. Life has a way of creeping into existence and pulling our focus away from more important perspectives.

It wasn’t long before I met up with folks finishing the tail end of the 5k course. It was a welcome sight, even though I did not know them personally, I greeted them with a welcome sigh of relief, for it was yet another sign that I was almost done. I relished in the thought that my tired muscles would soon find some relief. Somewhere close to the finish line, for it was clearly past the 6.1 miles generally ascribed to a 10k, I got a honk from Brett Nelson. For some reason, that boost made the final hill just a bit easier to transcend. I imagine it to be something akin to a smile that can brighten the day for an estranged soul.

It was the end and I was tired. I had probably run much too fast for the race, even though I was slower than my intended pace, I will most likely feel it next week when I am tested with my first half-marathon! There is something about a run with other people that makes my ponies want to break free and take to the open road! I just can’t control myself, yet. I probably didn't stop any injustice or tragedy during my run, however I showed up and contributed to the healing of my dear friends. This is their story and I am grateful to be in attendance to and view their journey of grief.

Death is a mortal barrier we all must face and from which you cannot return, it is final and painful. That is what makes it so tragic, even with the promise of eternal life and salvation, the hurt encompasses ones core. But the death of a baby is different, out of order. No one knows the ache of losing a child, except those who have suffered the same. It is an event that shapes your soul and defines the rest of your life. Running is one way I process that pain. The monotonous repetition gives my brain that uncanny ability to bring emotion into focus. Perspectives seem to gel and perspiration gives way to inspiration. Somehow the release of endorphins gets me through another day.