on the iPod: "times like these" -- foo fighters
My marathon history, six so far, is firmly grounded in big city mega-races. Save for lacing up in the local Hogeye Marathon, my other finishes: Dallas, Nashville, Little Rock, and Chicago twice, have all been huge weekends with thousands of runners from all over the nation. And my seventh race, the New York City Marathon, is going to eclipse them all, when approximately 48,000 runners descend on the streets of all five burroughs, heading toward a classic blue-and-orange finish line in Central Park. Thinking about it makes me excited and nervous all at the same time.
I'm drawn to these sorts of events and want to experience marathons that include convetion-style expos, host hotels, meals at the local restaurants, wave corral starts, spectators along the course, bands on the corners, and a big party at the finish. And the more runners, the better. My bucket list of races to run is like looking at a map of major destinations: The New Orleans Rock-N-Roll Marathon, The Marine Corp Marathon in Washington D.C., The Twin Cities Marathon, and The San Francisco Marathon top the list. I'll slowly check each off, likely adding another on the plane ride home.
But for every mega marathon, with their pricey entrance fees, overbooked hotels, cramped starting lines, and hundreds of porta-potties, there are just as many small, mom-and-pop races that can be equally as fun, challenging, and every bit as fulfilling. Yesterday I found one that changed the way that I think about races, and, in a very internal and innate way, made me fall in love with running all over again.
Nestled high atop the Boston Mountains and populated by some of the nicest people to ever smile and wave while driving down a dirt road, Winslow is a quiet community that has held on to the rugged beauty of Ozark life. Located about 25 miles south of Fayetteville, i've always admired it's lack of structure and sprawl, coupled with clean air, stands of mature trees along Highway 74, farms with homesteads made from native stone, and a general sense of mountain life. It's a throwback to a day when everything was simple, except sometimes for making a living and providing for a family, but somehow the food always seemed to make it to the table. The people of Winslow know what it means to work hard, but they also know how to play a banjo, weave a basket, and carve a bed frame from a downed tree. And some of them might know a thing or two about pipes and white lightning moonshine, which seems to be just fine with the rest of the town. Live and let live in Winslow.
In it's third year, the Winslow Half Marathon is the antithesis of the NYC Marathon, with the entire check-in and starting line fitting inside the library parking lot. I didn't know exactly where the course went, but I was hopeful that it would provide for some really great expanses. I couldn't know at the time, while drinking local coffee from Arsaga's and watching the sun slowly rise over the eastern hills, that the course would far exceed any view that I could ever experience in the most beautiful of dreams, but that is exactly what was about to happen.
Some of my favorite people in the whole wide world rolled out to run. Jamie Huneycutt and Fred Spies, two partners in crime, were there when I pulled in. A couple of colleagues in education, David Smith and Melanie Hill, both looked as worn out as myself from the first month of school but happy to be at a race. My old college roommate, Chip Bemis, was toward the front of the pack. Allison Jumper was on her bike to ride sweeper along the course. And Katie Helms, always with a smile and the best spirit, was ready to go. There couldn't have been more than 150 runners, but it seemed like I knew everybody there. It made me feel like I belonged.
As previously stated, I had no preconceived feel for the course and was just ready to go out and run. I had heard some talk about hills from different running friends over the summer, but didn't think much of it. One man's hill is another man's bump in the road. But as I talked to lots of people at the starting line, I began to get a clearer picture of what was ahead of me. Multiple descriptors were being bandied about, but they all had a common denominator: the word "hills". I heard "rolling hills", "constant hills", "two really big hills", "kinda small hills", and one particularly non loquacious friend said "just get ready for all the damn hills." Turns out, they were all correct in their assessment of the course. Quite frankly, i've never run so many hills in my life, nor have I experienced such a variety of hills. Nothing since the Nashville Marathon has even come close to the hills we ran in Winslow. And the best part of the whole thing is that I loved every single one of them.
The course left "Winslow proper" within the first mile and made a direct beeline for the country. As the pack thinned, I soon realized that I'd be running this race solo and was happy to be doing so, as there was no traffic to navigate or stuff to distract -- only a curving, winding, hilly highway through some of the most beautifully quiet countryside I've ever seen. The further we went, the more rural it got. Pastures of horses grazing and cows staring (what do cows do with their day??) welcomed me on both sides of the road, with the occasional abandoned homestead eerily covered in kudzu. I would look in their windows and instantly a story of the family that lived there years ago would come to life in my cognition. Often it would be a story of struggle and hardship, but it always ended with love and triumph. Soon enough, the next farm would be on the horizon, surrounded again by crops and livestock. In the far distance were valleys of trees that seemed to drop to the very bottom of the forrest floor. Paired with the stillness of the morning, it was the perfect place to run.
And just when it seemed as though nothing could make the run more amazing and inspiring, I noticed a group of doe in a pasture ahead. Standing motionless but wildly alert, they seemed to be interested in what was going on around them, but I know that it was only my humanness making me think of them in that way. I slowed my pace slightly and watched, wondering what it would be like to touch them and simultaneously knowing that wasn't a possibility. When I got about 40 yards away, they made their move, and it was the most exciting thing i've seen while running. Within an instant they were off and moving, with massive strides that propelled them forward at speeds i'll never comprehend. Approaching a barbed wire fence that separated the pasture from the road, they stretched their bodies in the most graceful way and cleared the hurdle with ease, crossing some 20 yards ahead of me and disappearing up an embankment on the other side. I stopped dead in my tracks, surprised and in shock, quickly turning to see if any other runners were nearby. Nothing. I was alone. In that moment, standing in the middle of that country road, I felt emotion build inside, reminding me that i'm a humble, thankful child of God, and that every once in a while I get to be a part of unmistakeable beauty.
The rest of the race was simply wonderful. In fact, everything about the morning was perfect. And to make it even better, my best good running friend Mrs. Murie surprised me at the finish line. I'm so very used to running with her in races that it was a real treat to have her cheering me on as I crossed the finish line under a glorious morning sky.
As we watched more runners come in, a friend asked me how far along I am in training for the New York City Marathon, and I had to stop and think about it. Realizing that it's seven weeks away, I felt a flood of emotions again. Mostly they were good, but there's always that sense of nervousness in the background. It's healthy, I suppose, to do some running in the country, away from all the distractions of life, and calm those nerves. The Winslow Half Marathon was the exact race I needed, and I can't wait to run it again next year.
Lastly, I want to say how excited and thankful I am to be writing for Celebrate Arkansas magazine this fall and thank all of my friends and family for the kind words about the first installment. Look for it near the checkouts in Walmart and Barnes & Noble. I feel like the luckiest guy in the world when people read my writing, so please know that it means a lot to me. I've grown to love writing almost as much as I have running, and hope to be able to do both for many years to come.
Run.
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