15.4::26.2/The Little Rock Marathon

One of the toughest lessons to learn is to how to let go and relinquish control.  That concept doesn’t often compute in the world of instant media, work week grind, and consumable happiness.  Instead, the tendency is to immediately react to breaking news, tip the balanced scale toward increasingly more productivity, and grab the newest product before the older begins to collect dust, doing it all with a commanding refusal to yield anything.  Hold on, don’t relent.  That is our nature.  What was supposed to be my eighth marathon ended short, but only in distance.  In everything else, everything that really matters, it was another beautiful reminder of who I am and where i’m supposed to be.  Running.

After arriving late Friday night, we went to the expo in our host hotel early Saturday morning.  Kim and I volunteered at the Hogeye Marathon booth with Tabby Holmes and Katie Helms, encouraging runners from all over the nation to come lace up in the Ozark Mountains.  Traffic was heavy all day and talking to complete strangers helped to keep my mind off the miserable weather that had been forecasted since earlier in the week.  It was the only time the entire weekend that I wasn’t checking my phone incessantly for the latest update from my trusty weather channel app.

An early dinner at Bosco’s in the River Market soon followed and our party of 11 included four fulls, three halfs, one 10K, and three ready to cheer.  Toward the end of a great meal, I inadvertently realized that the common denominator amongst the whole group was me, and it felt nice to watch the lives of different people collide, if only for a few hours over pasta and wine.  We mostly talked about plans for the following day, but there was a healthy dose of discussion about training, favorite races, antics from our respective college days, and anything else that helped not think about the rain.  We knew it was coming.

Jumping in the corrals literally minutes before the gun was to sound, an otherwise dry sky changed ever so slightly to a easy rain.  If it ever let up the rest of the day, it was only intermittently, as if to tease the some 8,000 runners with what could be, but what wasn’t going to happen.  I was completely comfortable with the decision to not make any decisions until the eleven mile mark, where the half marathon course deviates from the full.  That was the plan, so I settled for what would be a cold, wet run no matter what.  Toward the mile three marker I was already contemplating the decision that I knew I was going to have to make and was leaning toward going all in, when I came up on Todd, who was running his first 10K, on Main Street in North Little Rock.  He was doing great and feeling awesome, and he very quickly told me that I needed to go ahead and do the full.  I didn’t commit one way or the other, but rather told him to have fun and finish strong, before picking up and running my own race.  As long as everything continued to go well, I was almost certain that I was on my way to an eighth finish.

As the rain continued and the temperature dropped, the familiar landmarks continued to pass:  Christ Episcopal Church, McArthur Park, the Governor’s Mansion, Central Park, the State Capital.  During the steep inclines of Hillcrest, my IT bands started to tighten up and my feet were beginning to feel wet, but I began to feel an inner focus that seemed to push me forward without recognition for the miserable conditions.  It wasn’t pretty, but I was loving this marathon.  

It never dawned on me that the race could be called mid-morning.  That thought literally had never crossed my mind.  Not once.  I had obsessed about the rain and whether or not I would hold up at mile 11 and run the half marathon course instead, but the idea of getting pulled off the course had never been a consideration.  Rounding a corner on Kavanaugh I stopped at an aid station that caught my eye because they had snacks (suprise, anybody?), and just as soon as I had grabbed a donut hole (yes, judge me), an official with a radio said the race had been cancelled and that I needed to get off the course.  

In the span of about three minute, the following happened:  at first I thought I misunderstood him, then I thought he made a joke, then I didn’t believe him.  So I just stood there.  Other runners began to cluster around, not knowing what to do.  I watched in confusion as the volunteers began dumping their gatorade on the curb and folded up tables and chairs.  It slowly sank in that the race had indeed been cancelled and that I wouldn’t be finishing.  Not today.  A good friend, John Gheen, showed up, so he and I continued running because we weren’t really sure what else to do.  I was in sort of a haze, but I remember looking down to see if he was wearing shoes, because he often runs barefoot.  He had on a pair of Vibram minimalists, even though the conditions were obviously bad.  We made our way to U.S. Pizza at the 15.4 mile mark and decided that, without aid stations along the rest of the course, finishing could equal dehydration and a trip to the E.R., so instead we made the prudent decision and went in for a few cold beers while we waited for his wife Sarah to come pick us up.

My 2014 Little Rock Marathon would end there.  And despite all the worrying, all the anxiety, all the gnashing of teeth and heartburn and poor sleep and bad attitude that i’d had because of the weather, I was okay with it.  I really was.  I was okay with it because marathons aren’t about distances.  They aren’t about finishing strong, or keeping a pace, or hitting a goal.  And they certainly aren’t about winning.  Marathons are about living life with passion, loving what you do, and making the most of every single moment, every mile, every experience.  They’re about smiling and laughing, creating moments of joy in a world that desperately needs them, and never forgetting to say thanks.  That’s the spirit of a marathon.

Run.