25 Seconds

On the first Saturday of October thousands of runners from nearly every state converge on the city of St. George. It’s been a tradition in Dixie now for 35 years. I (the old man) signed up again this year for a second attempt to run the marathon. My first attempt was in my opinion a complete success. I wanted to run a Boston Qualifying time. The standard for my age group was three hours and thirty minutes. I crossed the line in 3:24 and I smiled for days. I had many ask, are you going to run Boston. The answer was always the same, not this year, maybe next year.


I signed up for the St George Runners series which assured me a spot in the next marathon the
Monday morning after running and the preparation began. Although the next marathon was 363 days away I didn't wait. I had a job to do, I knew how to do it, and only I could do it. That’s one of the things I love about running, it’s up to you and only you. Sometime during my training that year I learned of a new standard for qualifying for the Boston Marathon. The minimum standard now is 5 minutes faster, and those running 20 minutes or 10 minutes faster get to sign up first.


I decided to try running 10 minutes faster than the minimum standard. I felt that would assure me a spot in Boston. My new goal time became 3 hours and 15 minutes. I designed an elaborate plan so as to best meet my goal. I worked hard and soon found myself boarding the bus at 5:00 am along with seven of my friends all wearing our Fatso Running Club shirts. Our shirts this year were designed to honor of one of our members. We approached the starting line, the gun sounded, we were off and running, each running with his or her own goal in mind. I crossed the finish line in 3 hours, 15 minutes and 25 seconds. I failed. I missed my goal by 25 seconds, which averages out to less than 1 second per mile. I was angry, frustrated and wanted to hit something, but I was so tired I could hardly stand. I had no energy left. I ran well but hit the dreaded wall at mile 23.


After eating and drinking so I wouldn’t pass out I headed for the massage tent. My toes and back hurt fiercely and I felt that I had somehow earned the right to a massage. Maybe a good rub down would ease my frustration. I had convinced myself that the 25 seconds had been taken from me; after all I had been training for 365 days. I stood in line at the massage tent and complained to anyone who would listen. I missed it by 25 seconds. What a tragedy! After waiting for what felt like an hour I was pointed to an empty table and my every muscle smiled during the massage.


I started to leave the tent and a wonderful man sitting in a wheelchair raised his prosthetic arm so as to get my attention, and asked me with an infectious smile, “So, how was your race?” I drew in a big breath so I could infect my next victim with my 25 second failure story. I was about to tell my new friend my sad story when he turned his wheelchair towards me and I noticed that both of his legs were gone. With no legs and a prosthetic arm he continued his smile and waited for my reply. I thought for a moment, and then replied with a thankful heart, “My race went well and I ran my fastest marathon yet.” (Which was true) He congratulated me and we parted company. I left the tent and was overcome with emotion. I was changed. My time in the massage tent was not wasted. My muscles received some much wanted attention, but my soul received a much needed lesson. So the next time someone asks, how was your race? Remember how wonderful it is that our legs are not gone and that we can run. Maybe we didn’t run as fast as we wanted to, or as fast as most of the other runners, but we got to run. We can
run. We can run. God Bless us everyone. God Bless our every run!