Four Life-Changing Miles

Saturday morning, I ran my first "long run" since I was cleared to run by my doctor.   It ended up being a very reflective run.

Backing up a bit...in September 2013, I fell and injured my foot while training for the Chicago Marathon.  Five weeks before.  Things haven't been right since.  I finished the marathon but it wasn't pretty.  I didn't run for weeks after and went on to complete the Savannah half marathon in November - I like to refer to that as my 13-mile walking tour of Savannah.

Since November, I've rested my foot, been to a sports medicine doctor and got orthotics for my shoes, got new shoes, tried running and finally gave up/in and went to a podiatrist.  The good doc put me in a walking boot - up to my knee.  I cried when he told me it was a must for 4-6 weeks.  He, in turn, told me that runners are the craziest group of people that doctors deal with because we don't ever, ever, ever want to hear that we can't run.  Period.  For probably the first time in my life, I strictly followed doctor's orders because that was the fastest way to get back in my running shoes and on the road.

A week and a half ago, the boot came off.  I have strict instructions to take it slow and to start over with running.  I ran one mile last Monday.   I ran 2 miles on Thursday and Saturday, as mentioned earlier, I had my first long run with my running group, The Runagades.  I ran 4 miles.

When I got into mile 3, I thought, "I'm just getting warmed up and I have to stop in less than a mile?  I want to run!!!!"  And then I thought about my very first long run...

My first long run was with Team in Training in August of 2006 - 8 years ago.  The training schedule called for a 4-mile run.  When we started, I was quite sure there was no possible way to cover that distance.  Four miles was stupidly long and impossible and crazy and what was I thinking!?!  My coaches, Kenny and Jackie, were by my side and got me through it.  It was pouring rain - the rain was coming down so hard it hurt when it hit my skin.  But we didn't stop.  There was no stopping.  I was registered to run a full marathon in Phoenix 5 months later.  There was no time to waste.  I recall thinking, "How in God's name will I ever run 26 miles if 4 seems so impossible."

Five months later, Kenny crossed the finish line with me in Phoenix and it was magic.  When I returned to my hotel room, I retrieved a voicemail from Jackie congratulating me and telling me that he was proud of me and it was perfect.  It was a magical, perfect day.  And it was the beginning of my running addiction.  

Ironically, those are the only two runs I remember from those five months of training.  There were 2-3 runs per week for five months and I only remember those two.  The first one and the last one.  I remember the friendships that bloomed and the breakfasts we had together, etc., and I even  remember being out on runs and enjoying my time with the group, but the only runs I specifically remember are the first one in the rain and the last one that had a finish line.

For me, both of those runs were life changing.  I found running and in all the places I've run since and at the 20+ races I've completed, I found a fraternal group of people who no matter the speed, the condition, the size or the shape, accept and embrace one another due to a common love of putting one foot in front of the other and covering the distance.  I found a strength and determination in myself that I didn't know existed.  Most importantly, in Kenny, Jackie and the rest of the running group, I found a family of friends that without running, I would have never met.  We come from all different walks of life, range from 20s to 60s, from various professions, from different parts of the country and are all at different stages of life.  They are all priceless to me.

What I realized Saturday in my little ol' 4-mile run is that first 4-mile run almost 8 years ago has turned out to be the one that means the most to me.  It actually changed my life.  Without Kenny and Jackie right there, in the pouring rain, guiding me through those 4 miles, I have no doubt that I would have stopped at mile 2 and said, "To hell with it!" which means so much would be different.  With their encouragement, I finished and I was so proud and in that moment, I believed that 26.2 was possible.  I believed that with the right people by my side, I can do anything.

I ran again last night.  It was hot and really humid and I was a sweaty, heavy-breathing mess at the end.  But when I got the 4-mile-beep from my GPS, I smiled and very quietly said, "Thanks, Coaches."

Jackie & Kenny, you are so special to me.  Thank you for those four life changing miles.

More to come.

Running TALL,
Julia

One Word Makes a World of Difference

As I've been injured since September, this is another post that is not running-related.  Boo.

Mid-day Monday (four days ago) I was in my office having a quick catch-up telephone call with my husband, Mark.  I asked if he'd received a text from Little Mister who had sent a text picture of the 100 he made on his math exam (Woohoo, Little Mister!).  Mark reached for his mobile and in a horrific, alarming manner starting saying things along the lines of, "What?!"  "Oh no!"  "No way!"  "What?!"  As you might imagine, I thought he'd lost his mind.  100% on a math test is the goal and gets a "Hell yeah!  That's my boy!"  Then he read to me what he was reading on his phone.

Before I tell you what it said, let me back up a bit.

We moved into our home almost fifteen years ago.  Until the last couple of years, our neighbors had not changed and we've grown to adore the familial nature of our cul-de-sac.  One of the homes is occupied by the Rhodes family.  (Yes, names have been changed.)  Paul and Linda Rhodes are kind people who greet you with a smile and a squeeze when you see them.  I know they are a bit older than we are but I don't think it's by much - not even ten years.  Their daughter, Julie, lives in southern Florida with her husband and pre-K son.  Two years ago, their twenty-year-old son, Ian, was killed - shocking everyone around them.  Linda's family all live close by after moving from California years ago so we see them often as well.  Her father has been ill so they spend a lot of time caring for him and helping out Linda's mom.  Friday or Saturday of last week, I saw them in their driveway when I looked out the window.  All was well.

So Monday, when Mark could finally speak, he read the text to me.  "Hey Mark just wanted to let you know that Linda passed away."  All I could say was, "I don't understand."  We hung up the phone and I was speechless.  Absolutely speechless.  

After a few moments, the southern girl in me popped up.  Ok....time to notify people.  I made a couple of calls to neighbors to start the process.  Ok....time to help.  Paul probably needs paper products for all the people who will be coming to his home to comfort him.  In times like these you can never have enough paper cups, Klennex and toilet paper.  Perhaps I'll make a lasagna or a nice one-dish meal that's easy for folks.  

Poor Paul.  How is he feeling?  How is he managing?  He lost his son and two years later his wife?  

Mark replied to Paul's text asking what we can do to help.  No response.  Not shocking.  He had plenty to do, right?  Later in the day, Mark called Paul and left a voicemail.  Nothing.  For the entire evening, the house was dark.  No one was home - and we looked out often because we were very worried about Paul.

Tuesday, Mark called again.  Paul finally answered.  Mark asked him how he was holding up and he said, "It's hard and Linda is tired and helping her mother."  Okay....  

It seems that Paul left one word out of his text.  It should have read, "Hey Mark just wanted to let you know that Lindas father passed away."  

In the weirdest way possible, we were so relieved.  Obviously we wished nothing but the best for Linda's father and his health...but Linda is still alive.  Mark and Paul were able to laugh with one another.  We spread the word about what will now be a great story that we all share.  Even in the sadness of the loss of Linda's father, as usual, we all laughed.  That has been the nature of our cul-de-sac for fifteen years.  One word - or lack of - changed the meaning of one text. 

One word makes a world of difference.


© Copyright Julia Vertreese, January 2014