My third and final
leg was going to be rough. It was hot,
uphill, and I was spent. I really had no
energy left for this. Although I had
already suffered through my first two legs, not that badly though, I could
still see life’s little pleasures and that a lot of stuff in this world is just
funny to me. But that phase of my life
was about to end. My new life would be
full of peril, and things and people just weren’t going to be as funny anymore.
I exchanged with
Shelley and took off up the hill—a gradual one, remember. I actually didn’t feel that bad. Maybe this was going to be all right.
A half mile later I
was already struggling, and I still had seven miles left to go.
Another half mile
and I thought, I bet I’m not looking all that pretty now. And I started remembering things, as if my
life was beginning to pass before me, and I saw these things from a new
humorless perspective. I remembered how
things I once thought were funny just didn’t seem funny anymore: weird dreams
about missing my first two legs of the relay, my Garmin flying off my arm, my
chasing an elusive cloud shadow, the man who gave us a weather report when we
asked if there were showers available, almost missing my exchange with Shelley
because I was waiting in the potty line, the woman who enjoys the Cascade Lake
Relays more than Christmas or her own birthday, the little girl playing
waitress and asking me if I wanted orange juice which comes with what I paid
for, the image of Connor running with tie-dye Nip-Guards with tassels on them,
etc. Those things used to seem funny to
me. And now they don’t.
I knew I was
entering some kind of danger zone when the van pulled over. Shana got out and ran with me for a
ways. She told me, “If you want, Kristi
can finish your leg for you.” She didn’t
even ask how I was doing or how I felt.
She’s just throwing me a life preserver before I was even ready to
acknowledge I was drowning. I looked
that bad. I knew I felt bad, but it’s
still kind of a shock to realize it’s so apparent, just by the way I look. And I imagined the discussion that must have
taken place in the van and who was placing bets on my living and who was
betting on my demise. And then Shana—Shana,
my life saver, my angel—saying, “That’s enough.
We can’t joke about this anymore.”
And I imagined her saying, panicked, “What are we going to do?” And maybe Kristi stepped up and said, “Stand
back, I’ll take his leg.” Or maybe Shana
demanded, “Kristi, I’m your mother, and you will take his leg. I will not have a runner die on my
watch.” In the old days I would have
found this imaginary conversation humorous.
But not anymore.
I told her I was
fine.
I knew that I would
be reevaluating that decision for the rest of the run, and I held onto the
option that I could change my mind, and Kristi could run for me. Then I remembered two years ago when I did a long
run training in Mammoth Lakes, California, where a lot of famous distance
runners train, because of the high altitude.
It was hot and I was out of breath, probably because of the thin
air. I had parked my car along the road
and planned to run out and back. On the
way back, I did run by Ryan Hall, the marathoner. He was running, while an SUV drove beside
him. Now don’t get me wrong here when I
say I ran by Hall. I met him going the opposite
way, and we passed each other on our way in opposite directions. I did not pass him because I’m so fast. He was coming towards me on the other side of
the road, blasting by just about the time I was slowing way down. A few more miles and still three miles from
my car, I hit a serious wall. I actually
scared myself. I think I was entering a
stage that could only be called a medical emergency. I had no support vehicle, no cell phone, no
nothing, and I had to get back to the car.
I walked a lot those last three miles and felt like I barely made it. If I made it then, I should be able to get
through this Cascade Lakes thing.
I don’t remember
too much about the run after that. I remember Kristi shooting me with a spray
bottle, and that felt good. I remember
Connor ran with me a ways, and then Shana jumped out of the car and blew me
away with a semi-automatic squirt gun that almost knocked me over. I know her intentions were good and pure, and
I told her I appreciated it, but the huge stream of cold was a little
intense. I did appreciate the thought
though, but the actual ammo hit me hard.
I liked it better when I got by her, and she was shooting me in the
back.
I think I remember Kristi
running with me for a while, probably to verify that she was willing to take my
leg. This maybe didn’t happen
though. Kristi might have been a
vision—a beautiful angel, volunteering to run for me.
Shana gave me this
thing to wrap around my neck that was full of ice. I think she said she got it from Sherri. It was nice.
It might have what I needed and what got me through this.
At some point I
remember hearing footsteps coming up behind me.
That didn’t surprise me because I was definitely shuffling along at this
point. But what did surprise me was that
the footfalls sounded like shuffling as well.
Was it actually possible that there was another gear for shuffling? I decided I’d let him pass. I waited for him to pass. I kept waiting for him to pass. What the hell? He was riding me, staying half a pace
behind. In my youth that used to be my
position before I would outkick the competition to win. I didn’t like him back there. It felt threatening. It felt like pressure, too much
pressure. He was going to make me set
the pace, and all I wanted to do was to be left alone to suffer in my own
misery. So I walked. And it worked; he passed me. Man, what has become of me that I just buckle
so willingly under the pressure?
I was glad to be
rid of him, so I started moving my feet again in a motion that resembled
running, and then, oh no, he walked. I
was in no mood to play this slow-motion cat and mouse game with him, but I
wanted to keep running so I could get this done, really done, my last leg. So, dreadfully, I passed him. This went back and forth, and I’ll have to
admit I lost track of who was where, so I don’t know who finally won in this
competition. I don’t care if he was
behind me or ahead of me. I just wanted
him away from me.
I don’t know how,
but somehow I finished. I handed off to
Sheri. This leg could have been my moment
in the sun. Maybe I didn’t reach any
moment of glory, but my moment in the sun came to an end, and it was hot!
Shana led me a
short distance away to the Deschutes Bridge, then down to the riverside, down
to the riverside for some kind of baptism.
She told me to put my feet into the river, and as much of my legs as I
felt comfortable with. First of all, I
hate cold water, and isn’t this the woman who just blasted a hole through my
chest with cold water? Second, I didn’t
want to put the effort into taking my shoes off and then walking on sharp
rocks. Just as I’m thinking this, Shana
tells me to just go into it with my shoes on.
I didn’t want to put any effort into thinking about why this seemed like
a bad idea or in arguing with her. It
did occur to me that I would never do this in my right mind, but here was this free-spirited
woman telling me to do this, and it just seemed easier to follow her command,
so I walked into the river with my shoes still on my feet. And it felt great! It was the best decision I never made for myself. I might call Shana next time I have a big
decision to make.
I stood in the
water of the Deschutes River, and let the cold water soothe my legs. I was finished—something to cheer, if only I
had the energy.
So it was time to
feel pity for Van 2. I was done feeling
sorry for myself and how hard our legs were compared to Van 2. I’ve got it easy now. They all had a leg still left to go, while I,
along with my van mates, soon would be at the finish line, eating food,
drinking beer, and just relaxing in the comfort of knowing I did this. I did this thing, and it was not easy, but I’m
done, and there’s some consolation in that.
(To be continued.)
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