Going the Extra Mile - Conclusion

I have been humbled these past few weeks as I’ve made preparations for participation in the first annual Tour De Broward. The support from family, friends, acquaintances, and even total strangers has taken me aback. In this era where aloofness has been elevated to an art form, people readily offered me encouragement, and in a couple of cases financial assistance. I’ve already mentioned Hanger Prosthetics stepping to the plate; but two other local businesses did as well.

Aside from my past week’s blog postings, I only told a handful of people that I was running in this event. One person I told works out at the same gym I do. Steve is a real runner, as are his two sons. Steve participated in this past year’s Chicago Marathon, as well as the Disney Marathon held in Orlando. I mentioned to him that I would be in need of a Dry-Fit shirt in case the heat got too bad. He suggested that I try Runner’s Depot located a couple of towns over. The owner Renee Grant, had helped him out by giving him an entrance fee way back when, perhaps she would do the same with the shirt. Unexpectedly, she did more.

I told Renee of my dilemma, and that if she would be so kind as to give me a shirt, I’d gladly emblazon the Runner’s Depot logo on the sleeve. I spoke of the expected media interest, and assured her I would mention the store if the opportunity presented itself. Renee said that would be fine. She inquired as to whether I planned on running in the shoes I was wearing. I said that I was, and she said they would never do. Renee proceeded to outfit me not only with a shirt, but some bad ass Brooks running shoes, and Therlo running socks. Needless to say, I emblazoned her logo across the back of my shirt; the front was reserved for Hanger Prosthetics.

It is difficult to find a graphics company that will handle only one single item. Renee suggested that I go to Shirts-R-Us. The woman there Lydia, said she would be glad to help out. After I explained what the shirt was for, she remarked that as a member of the Broward County Rotary, the Tour De Broward had recently been a topic of discussion at their last meeting. Lydia also mentioned that her company had done the graphics on the shirt I was wearing that touted Miracle League Baseball. Lydia said that since I was running for such a good cause, there would be no charge for her services, even though I told her Hanger would pay the bill. There is goodness in this world, dispelling the rumor that goodness had been on life support for quite some time now. Because of the generosity of others, I was fully outfitted and ready to go. As a small gesture, I told Lydia to put her company’s logo on the sleeve.

Unlike eighteen years ago, I did not agonize for weeks in advance over what the future held were the race was concerned. It wasn’t until last Wednesday that I had the first inklings of any trepidation at all. The cause for this tightening in my scrotum, Sunday’s weather forecast. A North Face parka would have been more appropriate attire rather than my Dry-Fit shirt I was so concerned about. Maybe I could get a nice pair of red long johns with one of those cute little trap doors in the ass, might as well make a fashion statement while I was at it.

David Bernard, our local CBS4 News weather anchor, was predicting a cold front to come sweeping into South Florida Saturday night. As I watched the television screen in horror, I could have sworn he was sneering directly at me. The Sunday morning temperature would be in the neighborhood of forty degrees. Oh yeah, by the way, David happily chimed in; a stiff breeze will make it feel in the low 30’s. Are those fangs I see in David’s mouth?

Sweatpants are out of the question, too difficult to run in. Because of all the effort this will take, a sweatshirt is out as well. I was confident I’d be sweating profusely without the shirt and pants that are supposed to bring sweat forth. I addressed my angst diplomatically. There wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about the weather. I needed to shut-up, and cowboy-up.

Saturday night I loaded up on carbs, protein, and electrolytes. I went to bed early since I had to be up at four-thirty for a seven AM start time. I had stretched everyday for four weeks. I was as prepared as I possibly could have been. I was reminded of what I used to tell students I saw cramming the morning of an exam; “If you don’t have it by now, you’re not going to. The last ten minutes before class isn’t going to make a shit of difference, except it will make you more nervous.”

True to his word, David Bernard was spot on with his forecast, rat bastard. I didn’t need to go outside to know how cold it was. The rods in my femurs sung like they were tuning forks hit against an anvil. I ate a banana, a piece of toast with peanut butter, and four ibuprophen. I washed it all down with some Gatorade. My wife Helen and I made our way in the dark to Miramar Regional Park, the scene of the upcoming crime if you will.

I registered for the race, and received my race number, goodie bag, and an electronic bracelet that would register for all posterity precisely the amount of time it took me to complete the 3.2 mile course. I wisely wore a sweatpants and a hoodie to try and fend off the cold. Sadly, I would begrudgingly remove those items about ten minutes prior to the start of the run. Oh look! The sun is finally coming up! This solar event did not have any effect on the temperature, thank goodness for adrenaline.

My neighbor and former Miami Herald delivery man Robert was there with his wife Janet. He seemed gratified that I was participating in the run. Robert and Janet enter marathons on a regular basis; 5K was nothing to them.

My friend Walter and his wife Marcy were there to show support. It didn’t hurt Walter any to be there anyway since he’s a bigwig with Memorial HealthCare.

My friend and prosthetist Jesse eventually arrived. He had planned on running after I said I would. I told him I didn’t want him babysitting me. I’d see him after I was finished.

On my way to the starting line a gentleman asked me if I was cold. I told him that yes, indeed I was. Just because a part of me is missing doesn’t mean that I’m impervious to the weather. He shook his head and told me he hoped I didn’t have a heart attack. Every fiber of my being wanted to reduce him to a puddle of amoeba snot right there in front of his wife, but I summon all my restraint, I didn’t want to be late for the start.

I took my place at the back of the field so I wouldn’t hold up the other more adept runners. When it came time for me to move, I did my best impersonation of someone attempting an unreasonable facsimile of running. Into the “brisk” wind I headed. By the time I reached the one mile marker I felt as if I had logged enough miles that the remaining race distance would surely put me just over the Georgia border. The race leader then passed me on his way back to the finish line. He was kind enough to yell over some words of encouragement.

I saw a couple of people throw up; I did not join them. I saw several people gasping for breath while they clutched their sides; my gait never wavered. At the two mile mark with my sweat arriving as anticipated, a woman felt it necessary to dispose of her empty water cup into a refuse bag carted around by one of the race volunteers. She cut directly in front of me, nearly causing me to fall. While my stride was temporarily disrupted, I stayed the course. I presumed she drove the same way, as if she were the only living being on the planet.

As I made my way down the home stretch, I could see Jesse standing outside the park gate waiting for me. Once inside I saw Helen. Her look was one of relief rather than exultation. I espied the race clock; it read 48:17 as I crossed the finish line; I had bested my time from eighteen years ago. There were hugs all around. I said to Jesse that perhaps a 10K was feasible. Helen rolled her eyes.

What drives individuals to try and accomplish certain things can vary greatly. Pacification (my parents) served me as a high school student. Competition, the need for attention, and the fear of failure are a few of the other psychological cattle prods that spur us on to greater heights.

Sometimes we do things so we don’t let down those most important in our lives. Sometimes we do things to impress them. Sometimes we do things so they’ll be proud of us. Then there are times we are driven to do things because it’s the right thing to do for ourselves and for others. Running in this past Sunday’s 5K Tour De Broward was one of those. I didn’t need to run this race to validate my life. I didn’t need the media there to acknowledge my accomplishment. As a matter of fact, it was more rewarding without them. I do things now because I can, and I should.