Keeping with tradition (Episcopalians say something becomes tradition when done two years in a row), I didn’t register for the Hogeye until the expo rolled around the day before. I had been in Park City for some spring skiing and didn’t know how my legs would hold out, so I deliberately waited to decide on what I would do in terms of distance. We had a beautiful four days of skiing in Park City, and while riding a solo lift for one final afternoon ride down the front side of the mountain I decided that the prudent thing would be to run the half at Hogeye. It made sense: two halfs in back-to-back weekends. Done. Decision made. Carry on with skiing.
Fast forward to being back in Fayetteville, legs feeling strong, and The Weather Channel reporting what can only be described as perfect weather for running, and I was reconsidering my decision just a little bit. Enter a witty text exchange from my great running friend Sarah Hood regarding the debate, where she quipped “we both know how this is going to end...”, an immediate thumbs up from Mrs. Pugh when queried if she thought it was a good idea, and being verbally shamed by Katie Helms at the expo to “stop whining and just register for the full, i’ve heard enough!”, and the next thing I know i’m registered to make the Hogeye Marathon my 8th overall. It was one of the best decisions i’ve made in a long time.
Local races lend themselves to knowing tons of friends in the corrals. I must have talked to at least 20 people running the half or full that morning, stopping to laugh and talk and share our excitement while waiting on the gun. It’s a really happy time, but I never remember much about it after the fact, probably because nerves are running full throttle. The group below are all awesome people and runners. Amanda and Sara on the left, David in the middle, Kyle on the right.
The hills were legendary, only to be bested by the local flavor along the course, and my time was respectable for having not really prepared in advance, what with dinner being at U.S. Pizza the night before, home of the absolute coldest beer mugs in all of Fayetteville. Of course I had one. Okay, I had two. Nonetheless, the Hogeye lived up to it’s tradition of being a great race and I loved every mile. Pauline Allen, Katie Helms, Cynthia, Susan, and Charles were at mile 20, right when I was starting to slow down considerably, and seeing them was super sweet and the boost that I needed. Charles ran a bit with me, then told his mother, “Uncle Greg is going to win. Unless he quits.” I didn’t win, not by a longshot, but I didn’t quit, either. The innocence of children is so endearing, and I hope I remember these times forever. But even more, I hope he does, too.
Working on the third floor of a high school that houses approximately 4,000 students has it’s advantages, but not the day after a marathon. In fact, just a few days ago I was talking to colleagues about the fact that part of our love of teaching stems from the interactions that we have with each other, and my colleagues are right. We’re a great group of dedicated, intelligent, educators that really do enjoy being in the classroom. Nevertheless, Monday and Tuesday of last week found my quads aching for rest as each period passed, each quiz was graded, each trip to teacher’s lounge on the first floor for iced tea and a cafeteria sandwich for lunch. By Wednesday my legs began to feel like legs again, and by Thursday I was starting to feel that palpable excitement, knowing that another run was right around the corner.
The Bentonville Running Festival has, in what feels like a fortnight, become a premiere running event in Northwest Arkansas. It’s huge. Runners in the thousands converge on the downtown square to traverse the streets of what used to be a town that shuts down at 5:00 on Friday, but is now a vibrant, energetic place to live. Like so many places all across the nation, running has exploded in Bentonville in the last 10 years, thanks in part to the expansive trail system that dissects neighborhoods and business districts, fusing a greenspace that’s accessible to anyone who wants to lace up and log some miles.
The morning was chilly, but that didn’t deter pretty much the entire world from showing up, as the corral was a who’s who of local runners and friends. Heather and I ran the half marathon, Todd and Mrs. Pugh ran the 5K. I also saw Casey Tauber, who was running her first half marathon, and was gracious to say that she enjoys these musings that I offer each week. I thanked her for the kind words and wished her the best of luck right before it was time to go.
Unlike Fayetteville to the south, my beloved hometown that seems to never flatten out with it’s rolling hills and long inclines, Bentonville is fairly flat. But anyone who thinks that the half marathon doesn’t pack a punch is in for a rude awakening in mile 13, when the course takes a sharp left turn after crossing the crystal clear waters of a creek, emerging on the other side at the bottom of a monster hill that turns along the gorgeous campus of Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. And as many times as i’ve run that incline, on an afternoon seven miler or a morning long run, i’m never prepared for it. Never. Being stubborn and obstinate, I refuse to walk it, but am always decimated to nothing more than a pathetic shuffle in the final yards. My glutes beg for mercy. My calves cry and plead for relief. I question my hobby. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, the trail once again levels off and the finish line is about a half mile away.
Finish lines are great places to be. Of course there’s cheering, pictures, medals, all the accoutrements that go along with distance racing, but none of it compares to the feeling that is born inside of the runner. It’s not easily explained, but somehow finishing a race reaffirms that kid inside me that was never supposed to be a runner, that somehow he became one.
This is my great friend Patty Pain at the finish line of the Hogeye Marathon. She told me she’d be waiting with my medal, and even though it took me over five hours to run it, she didn’t go back on her word. Another great friend, Deanna Duplanti, took the picture. They’re both runners, and I am, too. I wasn’t supposed to be, but somehow it just happened.
Run.
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