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!

Goin' South - St George Marathon

So the Old Man and I are commandeering the troops down to St George. Actually Alice took over the wheel so I can blog. She’s doing her best to keep up with the Old Man (he doesn’t drive like he’s old). He drives like he runs - faster than most. We’re rolling past Nephi and He Who Shall Not be Named just drove up behind us. Oh, they’re stopping. Potty break.

It’s been a strange couple of weeks. Tapering down from your training program is always interesting. It’s like my body starts going through withdrawals. My muscles twitch and I get all these phantom pains. I feel something weird in my muscles and I start thinking, “Uh oh, what’s that. I must have pulled something. I better ice.” So this time I didn’t taper quite as much. Actually, my plan was to run more than I did but life got in the way. That’s probably a good thing ‘cuz you gotta be rested and ready for a marathon.

The strange part had nothing to do with the taper. See, the Twins are not going south with us to run the marathon. Crazy, huh. I mean these knuckleheads are so tough they’d finish a marathon on bloody stumps if they had to. In May at the Ogden marathon the Twin was having trouble with his calf during training. He rested extra before the race and ran anyway. By the end of the race he had torn his calf muscle and limped over the finish line - but he wasn’t about to stop. He went to the doctor a couple weeks later and he couldn’t believe he just ran a marathon. 

So Fatso did something to his hip. We went on our last 10 mile run about 13 days ago and he woke up the next morning in so much pain he could hardly walk. He’s been to the chiropractor several times to get straightened out and it just keeps popping out of place. It’s a fluke I tell ya. I’m convinced the man upstairs is involved. It just can’t be explained any other way. Fatso called me Wednesday ballin’ about how he can’t run and I told him, “. . . ya gotta quit worrying about it. Maybe Someone is trying to protect you or your family from something bad.” 

Have you been talkin’ to my wife? I know you talked to her.

No, I swear. I thought that two or three times. I think there’s a reason you can’t run. 

Shut up. I know you talked to her. She said the same thing last night.

I didn’t. Just take it for what it’s worth Fatso.

Then on Thursday Fatso’s wife called. She had the same impression and told Fatso about it the night before. She prayed that Fatso would find know there was a reason he couldn’t run the marathon. So when I said the same thing she was sure that was her answer. Crazy, huh. 

So we’re all bummed out that Fatso can’t run with us but we’re movin forward and makin plans for the race. Callin each other to make sure we got this or that; and making arrangements for dinner and stuff. Then we all get this text from the Twin - saying he can’t go.

This caught us all totally off guard cuz we were makin plans just a couple hours before. I couldn’t believe it. I was worried about what went so wrong so quickly. So I called up the Twin to see what was up and what I could do to help. 

Nothing. I couldn’t get anything out of him. Only that it was important enough that he couldn’t leave. I asked what I could do to help but that didn’t go anywhere either. I respect him enough to not pry and left it at that.

It’s going to be different running without the Twins. But you know - the marathon is just the measuring stick to see how productive your training was. The race is grueling and painful; anticlimactic at best. The training is the fun part. We laugh, make fun of each other (and practically everyone we see), push each other, tick each other off, and argue over the best program to improve our time. The marathon is just one day out of many. 

There is still a good sized Fatso crew and we’re gonna have a lot of fun. Tami’s running - cancer or no cancer. She has inspired us all and our Fatso Running Shirts are a tribute to her. We’ll wee how it goes.