The Morning After ...

The morning dawned clear and Joan and I woke up invigorated.   Downtown Richmond was like Oz glimmering with the sunrise.   We were able to secure the last parking spot at the James center.     Warm bathrooms rather than portable potties!

Joan took off with her half marathon and she was happy.   The waves seemed endless.   The marathon itself was more ho hum, people got in line and at 8 o clock, we simply started.

Andrea and Jay were my companions.   They are strong runners.   I knew that we were going out too fast for my Achilles, but I stayed with them for the the first seven miles.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Feeling a part of a unified organism, a part of the whole, we ran down Monument avenue.  It was a glorious morning.    We did not feel pain.    We wondered how fortunate we are to feel this good and be able to run.   The friendly people lining the streets were wonderful.   We almost had an obligation to entertain them, those who brave the cold.

Normally, I can run twenty miles without much discomfort.   Two weeks earlier, running up a steep hill in downtown Richmond, I felt my right Achilles go, and could barely walk for a mile.   Stupidly, I finished the twelve mile run, and have not been able to run since.

I am a lay expert on Achilles tendons, having ruptured my left Achilles playing tennis.  It was my match point, and Mike hit a drop shot.  I remember the thought, "how dare he hit a drop shot on match point"  and then a a sudden collapse.   I fell to the ground, a lancing pain, and a helplessness as I could not stand.  Needless to say, I lost the match.  

After surgery and and a ugly scar, I understood better the the legend of Achilles, and the vulnerability of our bodies to this large tendon.   The Achilles is  so strong but lacking in blood supply and at risk to fatigue and sudden strains.   Once ruptured, we are helpless.  Indians used to cut the Achilles of their vanquished foe so that that could not fight again.  Now we have orthopedic surgeons who can sew them together, but the tendon is still suspect.

As we crossed the Hugenot bridge after mile seven, I began to listen to the dull strain that my virgin right Achilles was singing.  It was mixed with Stevie Wonder and Bob Dylan.   "How many roads ..."  I had hoped that music was my anesthetic, but my body's limbic system was very strong.  The mid calf muscle started to cramp, and it became difficult to keep cadence.  I saw Andrea and Jay recede into the distance as Pink Floyd began to sing Comfortably Numb. 

Running is an unconscious event, and beautiful runs are often effortless.  When we are injured, each foot step requires some instruction, and we are poor taskmasters to automatic functions.    Trying to protect the left leg resulted in straining  the right heel.   The hips go next, as the jarring constrains your stride.   Your posture slumps, the arms hang, and your vision begins to be restricted to the pavement rather than the beautiful vistas ahead.  Back ache ensue, and I am now bent over, octogenarian osteoporotic posture.

I kept reasonable pace until the the half way mark, and as we turned toward downtown and the Lee bridge, people began to pass me.   It is a strange sensation.  There is nothing that I could have done to keep up.   A "bumble bee" passed me quickly along with a 80 year old incredible man, Woody Whitlock, who was running his eight marathon in eight months to celebrate his eightieth birthday (Richmond Times Dispatch, Friday) .   His motto was, "if  I can do it, so can you."    I could only admire the back of his shirt and soon he was absorbed into the haze ahead.  He was running upright!

My thoughts turned inward with pain.    This pain is not the exhausting good pain of prolonged effort, but rather the red light sensors of your body telling you "what is wrong with you " persisting in this activity.    At the fifteen mile marker, Noah and Ben gave me some Tylenol, and I was becoming a traffic impediment to the hoards of runners streaming by me.    I tried to stay to the side.  Simple tasks became difficult.  My stride shortened.  Vision became tunneled. 

The people exhorting, " you can do it" and "one foot after the other" probably looked at me with pity.    I could not think of the task at hand, but had to live in the second to second.   If I knew there were ten miles to go, my intellectual left brain could not stomache it.  Emotion is stronger than intellect.  

So I tried to shut out my left brain, and let my right side take over.   I concentrated on the smells of the road.   Sticky rice restaurant and the frat boys with beer passed by.    My breathing was semi musical.    Joan Armitradin and Lou Reed serenaded my steps.  I felt the sun on my skin and tasted  sweaty salt.   My life compressed into each moment.  There was no past or future, just now.  There was no desire.  Life was bearable because there was no future. 

Janet and her marathon crew gave me a sip of Bud Lite near mile twenty, but I needed my faculties.     I no longer cared about the wonderfully trained soccer moms passing me by.  My tenth Richmond became a test of survival.   I wondered why I was running, and I realized that it was to celebrate life.    It was to mark a date when we can come together to test the hypothesis that we can still run.   Depite busy careers, raising children, being a husband and friend to my Joanie, that I could still run.  It is a selfish act but also setting an example to my kids.  

My frowns turns outward, and I regained my smile that I had for the first seven miles.   Usually, the marathon starts for me at mile 21, but this year it started a little bit sooner at mile seven.    Lucky for me, I thought, get in three times more experience this time.

As I turned the corner toward Pope avenue and the dread Pope avenue arch, my savior Kevin strode up.  He had been the coach for his half marathon teammates earlier and had run with each member to the finish line.   I think he had run more collective miles that morning than I did.

Kevin did not have to meet me, but he did and I was the benefactor.    He essentially saved my life and running yesterday.   We had been teammates on the Navy MTT in 2007 and ran Richmond together in 2008 (see Richmond Magazine Nov 2011, health section).   Kevin brought great cheer and began to regale me stories of his day.   He stayed with me through the Northside despite a blistering 13 mile pace, and only offered encouragement.  It was harder for him to shuffle beside me rather run his normal stride.  

Magically, with Kevin paving the way, the Brook road stretch passed quickly.   The head winds were warm and caressing.     We approached downtown via Lombardy, and I tried to keep pace with a woman from Ft Lauderdale.   As a true enthusiast, Kevin was encouraging all the runners around us!   He was checking on his former teammates, and tried to get a smile out our Florida woman, but she would not be dissuaded.   It made me smile, inwardly.

The last three miles were the longest.    Pain was present, but my mind was numb to it.  My body was hurting, but that was an old story.    I concentrated on keeping my feet moving and not falling.   I was very afraid that my left Achilles would snap just as my right did on the tennis court.    This would be "bad form" and certain to make Joan very angry.  She already thought  I was hard headed and had been worried about me the past two weeks.  

My Navy coaches joined us on the last mile, and they were uplifting.    I heard by the side that I was the last Navy runner, the anchor of the class for 2011!  I hoped that I was the Fortress anchor type rather than the Plow.     Kevin and I were able to pick up our  legs so that we ran in normally through the finish.    The fellow in front of me did a jumping jig.  I did a jumping collapse onto to the crates of Power-aid.

We all gathered at the Tobacco Company, an iconic Richmond institution, for French fries and beer.    Wealth is measured by happiness and a joyful steady outlook for the future.   I felt wealthy surround by my family and friends.    This tenth Richmond was one of my slowest races but my proudest thus far.    When I can no longer run Richmond, I hope to be one of those people on the sidelines, encouraging other runners to the finish. 

 As I look down on my legs, I see a beautiful bruise in the mid calf probably signifying a tendon tear and subsequent bleeding.  I will be looking for you in the doctor's lounge, Chris Young...These days of health care, I probably have to make an appointment and wait weeks.    I did not make the Richmond Forum last night as we have nosebleed seats in the balcony.    I could barely walk to the bathroom.  The day ended with a clear moon shadow casting a magical charm over the lake.      There are several more weekends before we retire Song of the Wind for the season.  The morning after today brings new hope and promise. The morning after today is grand.

The numbers...

	age	Year	Total	Half	20 miles
Skylon Marathon, Buffalo NY	22	1984	3:47:04
Richmond	40	2002	4:51:43	2:14:46	3:35:31
Richmond	41	2003	5:07:32	2:10:56	3:39:17
Richmond	42	2004	4:28:49	2:14:51	3:27:48
Richmond	43	2005	4:22:13	2:05:33	3:15:37
Richmond	44	2006	4:38:27
Richmond	45	2007	4:12:46	2:07:01	3:14:21
Richmond	46	2008	4:27:05	2:03:00	3:13:44
Richmond	47	2009	4:33:06	2:10:51	3:23:12
Richmond	48	2010	4:27:57	2:08:54	3:20:13
Richmond	49	2011	5:00:42	2:11:23	3:38:37