on the iPod: "imitation of life" -- r.e.m.
It's now been three weeks since I ran the Nashville Marathon but it seems much longer. Please understand that i'll never forget those awful rolling hills, but with each passing day the whole event becomes more of a very awesome weekend memory than what it really was -- my complete and total focus for the greater part of the winter months. I miss that.
That's not to say that life isn't well and good, because it is: My students took their AP exam and survived without too much damage. Next weekend i'll quietly watch as they cross the graduation stage with a mix of elation, nervousness, and a fairly substantial misunderstanding of what awaits them when they finally sprout wings and leave home for the first time. The summer months are practically here, which brings with it the searing hot days, yardwork, beach vacations, chaco tans, and the forever evening skies that I love so much. Life is clearly good. But I already miss being deep in the middle of a marathon training plan. I do.
I miss the anticipation of the event. There's travel that must be planned, hotels to book, restaurants to choose for meals before and celebration after. No detail is left without considerable consideration. I miss the energy of the host city overtaken by runners from all over the nation. I miss talking to other runners about whatever race for which they are currently training. I relish the times that we share the same passion, swapping stories and suggestions about what to expect. I miss looking at the course map over and over again online, paying attention to the mile markers, the neighborhoods, the start corrals, and the finishers party.
But more than anything else I miss the Saturday morning long runs. They've grown to become, hands down, the highlight of my week. The distance and route don't matter, though they're almost always on the trail system, but rather the joy comes from physically pushing the human body to a physical limit, and sometimes just beyond. The rhythm of my breath fits together perfectly with my leg muscles churning forward in unison. It becomes effortless and completely effortful at the same time; and in that moment the distance run becomes the face of God looking down on me. I change from a broken, incomplete guy to a runner.
In the interim, there are myriad and sundry races to be had. Last weekend was the Gold Rush 5K, a benefit race for Bentonville Public Schools. I would have run it regardless, but raising money that directly benefits education made it even more fun. This weekend was Root Rocket Run, a local 5K that also benefits public education. The races couldn't have been more different than each other in terms of vibe, but I loved them both. There's also the Cancer Challenge 10K, the Run For The Grapes, and the Chicago Rock-N-Roll Half Marathon all on the calendar.
Particularly special about the Root Rocket was the fact that my parent's goddaughter, Avery, was going to run her first race. She's a student at Root Elementary and was excited to participate. Anxiously, she had been telling my mother all week that she wanted to run it with me. She even sent a text message a few nights before with a "pretty please" about the two of us doing the race together. My mother, knowing me all too well, knew that Avery and I running the race together would last about 20 yards before I would most likely throw my hands in the air not knowing how to run with a 9-year old. So Cynthia stepped in to run interference and agreed to "run" the race with Avery and we all would "meet at the finish line" and celebrate her victory.
At the last minute, my almost-five-years-old nephew Charles decided that he wanted to run the Root Rocket with Avery and Cynthia. So sweet. The three of them were the most fun group on the course, excited to be racing and in the middle of the action. As the course ran directly through my parent's neighborhood, Don Puckett and Julie were stationed a little bit past the first mile marker in lawn chairs, cheering on the runners and undoubtedly keeping a commentary that bordered on the questionable as the race proceeded. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.
Charles and Avery had the time of their lives, as Cynthia selflessly corralled and herded them both in the right direction. Though I didn't witness any of it personally, Cynthia reported that their race consisted of much more walking than running. And to pretty much the surpise of no participants involved, the three of them took a break with Don and Julie and then decided that it was a good turn-around spot, eschewing the latter portion of the course and becoming official bandits the moment they turned around. Cynthia even dragged Charles in a red wagon. I'm not for sure of any of the three even know what a bandit is, but I'm certain that Avery and Charles were grinning ear to ear when they crossed the finish line of their very first race. I was happy for them both.
So keeping Ecclesiastes is mind, that there is a time and a place for everything under the heavens, I will patiently wait until late July when it will finally be time to train for the New York City Marathon. Until then, distance runs won't be far from my mind, and i'll probably sneak in a few when nobody is looking, but i'll enjoy the summer months and steer clear of the really long mileage. That's the plan, anyway. I'll make no promises as to whether or not it will hold.
I want to end with a shout-out to my mom Cynthia Puckett on this Mother's Day. Just like the term "bandit", I'm not certain that she knows what a shout-out is, but she deserves one because she is the most loving and caring person in my life. Her beautiful spirit is matched by her grace and compassion. And she makes the best mashed potatoes and fried okra on the planet. I love her very much.
Rest.
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