Number 20

I admit it readily enough:  Number 20 did not go as expected for me.  Perhaps it is just being 65 years old now.  In my training leading up to this race, I did two 18-milers and several tempo runs at a much faster pace than the conservative 10-minute miles I started out running.  But after the halfway point, I just fell apart - my quivering quads, and that tight upper hamstring cramping up from time to time.  The report I published in our Newsletter says it all:

"Your humble editor once won the Floridiot award for running the same difficult marathon course a second time, long ago in his fast years.  (I seem to remember it was a place called Knoxville), hoping to better his time - one famous definition of insanity.  This was the third time I ran the OBX Marathon course, so I am thrice a Floridiot for forgetting to anticipate – no, remember – how rough nearly three miles on the unpaved Nags Head Woods Road and then across mulch-covered sand dunes could be half-way through a marathon.  Although I remained on pace for the first half, my quivering quads slowed me to a crawl by the time I reached that 80-foot bridge over Roanoke Sound at Mile 23, giving me a time of 5:14:42 for this my 20^th marathon (good enough for 7^th place our of 14 in my age group).  Still, this course from Kitty Hawk to Manteo is a beautiful one in a beautiful part of the country (rated in the top 10 by Runners World magazine).  And I have never regretted crossing the finish line one more time."

 

And it is true:  I do not regret having had the courage (some might say insanity) to run another marathon.  There were so many impressions I had as I struggled through those last few miles - running until I had to walk, and then running again - that will remain with me for a lifetime.  You make fast friends during a marathon you will never meet again, like that young lady with the pony-tail here with a group of girlfriends, one of whom wanted to run a marathon at the age of 50 for her "bucket list."  Or the tall blond who kept calling me the "Green Machine" (in my green Boston singlet) until she left me behind.  Or the man with the shaved head who had had brain surgery for epilepsy 7 months ago, lost 50 pounds, and was running his first marathon.  

And, incredibly, my little angel appeared - there is one in every race! - at somewhere around mile 17 or 18.  We heard her voice for a long time, and several of us turned out heads to see this young Asian woman singing at the top of her lungs along with her iPod - "Oh Mother Nature, Hallelujah, Amen, Amen," stopping to take photos of houses we were passing on the bay, wrapped up in her deliriously happy little world.  She passed us by and we ran in her wake for awhile, energized and grateful that, yes, Mother Nature was beautiful and we were all glad to be alive and running this race.

I thought she was singing, too, something about it "raining men," and a search of the internet led me to the lyrics I had heard, from the song, "It's Raining Men," by The Weather Girls:

"God bless mother nature
She's a single woman too
She took for the Heaven
And she did what she had to do
She taught every angel to rearrange the sky
And each and every woman could find her perfect guy

It's raining men, Hallelujah, it's raining men, Amen
It's raining men, Hallelujah, it's raining men, Amen."

I don't know if my little angel found her perfect guy or not.  But now I know who The Weather Girls are.  And I know I wasn't crazy.  Well, maybe just a little.

Was it worth it?  Why of course it was.  After beating myself up for a day or two, I realized that yes, I had crossed another finish line, a finish made more triumphant and glorious because it has been so difficult. And not only that, I had finished 7th out of 14 in my age group, about what I usually do, and on a tough course at that.  Prayers had been answered, the hard months of training had prepared me as much as I could have been prepared, and I spent most of the race thinking about the blessings of good health, strong legs, undeserved breath, a beautiful wife and daughter, family and friends, and the gift of running.  I am a supremely happy man.

And 20 is a nice round number.