Thursday, February 12, 2009
This is important
Go to www.couragecampaign.org/Divorce to learn more and sign the petition for equality.
Well, I was proud of me
I just rode my bike home from the grocery store, laden on all sides with packages. I had two carrier bags hanging from my bike rack, one bag strapped to the top and a heavy canvas tote slung over my shoulder. My balance was precarious and I rode on the sidewalk to avoid careening into traffic.
Directly in my path, and headed in my direction, was a couple walking their puppy. I realized that we were going to pass each other right at the trickiest part of the sidewalk: that place where a small tree would force me to navigate inward. I could only keep my momentum going by pedaling; if I stopped I was likely to tip over.
I narrowed my eyes and approached the couple with keen concentration. "Easy," cautioned the man as we drew abreast of one another. This was the moment: with deft maneuvers I steered around the tree and then veered around the couple. We slid past each other with absolute ease.
"Good girl!" praised the man, and I beamed.
Then I realized he was talking to his dog.
Directly in my path, and headed in my direction, was a couple walking their puppy. I realized that we were going to pass each other right at the trickiest part of the sidewalk: that place where a small tree would force me to navigate inward. I could only keep my momentum going by pedaling; if I stopped I was likely to tip over.
I narrowed my eyes and approached the couple with keen concentration. "Easy," cautioned the man as we drew abreast of one another. This was the moment: with deft maneuvers I steered around the tree and then veered around the couple. We slid past each other with absolute ease.
"Good girl!" praised the man, and I beamed.
Then I realized he was talking to his dog.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Shh!
I'm sitting here in the library, trying to get some work done, and there's a man beside me talking on his cell phone.
In the library.
Now, it's not like he's bothering me. He is talking rather softly. But this flagrant flouting of the rules has me up in arms.
I glance around, looking for a sign that says NO CELL PHONES. Okay, I don't actually see one. But isn't it common sense? This is a library, not a cafe. Even little kids know to be quiet in a library. Oh look, here's a little sign that says READING IN PROGRESS, PLEASE BE QUIET. For heaven's sake, the sign is right in front of him and he continues to talk!
And nobody is asking him to stop! None of us here at this workstation are even affecting annoyance. But inside, we are all desperately annoyed. I can tell. The couple with the stack of magazines, the man with his headphones and I, we are all desperately annoyed.
Again, it's not the talking itself that's bugging me. In fact, if he were to stop talking it might get a little too quiet, and then I would hear the whispered conversation of the couple with the magazines. And everyone knows that whispers are far more carrying than low voices. And far more distracting. That would probably drive me nuts, as a matter of fact, hearing their hushed chatter, the turning of their magazine pages. I'd probably just sit here, chewing my fingernails for another twenty minutes, trying desperately not to listen to them, then give it up as a bad job and go home. But the sheer fact that they're trying to keep quiet, that they're abiding by the rules, makes this young couple okay in my book. They have every right to bother me accidentally while trying not to disturb me.
But this guy on his cell phone, well, he's got some nerve, not actually disturbing me with his bothersome behavior.
Hey, here comes a librarian. Surely she will set this man straight. Will she just tell him to be quiet or will she ask him to leave? Let's find out!
I don't realize that I am holding my breath until the librarian walks past us without a word. Because the man is still, listening intently to the person on the other end of the line.
No! Librarian! This man is talking on the phone! Didn't you read it in his posture? Couldn't you tell what he was doing? He is upsetting us all with his brazen violation of library policy! He is distilling the dreary atmosphere into something pleasant, like that of a buzzing little coffee shop! He is --
Oh wait, he's leaving.
And now the couple with the magazines is leaving too. It's just me and the guy with the headphones.
God, it's quiet in here.
I can't work like this. I think maybe I'll go home.
In the library.
Now, it's not like he's bothering me. He is talking rather softly. But this flagrant flouting of the rules has me up in arms.
I glance around, looking for a sign that says NO CELL PHONES. Okay, I don't actually see one. But isn't it common sense? This is a library, not a cafe. Even little kids know to be quiet in a library. Oh look, here's a little sign that says READING IN PROGRESS, PLEASE BE QUIET. For heaven's sake, the sign is right in front of him and he continues to talk!
And nobody is asking him to stop! None of us here at this workstation are even affecting annoyance. But inside, we are all desperately annoyed. I can tell. The couple with the stack of magazines, the man with his headphones and I, we are all desperately annoyed.
Again, it's not the talking itself that's bugging me. In fact, if he were to stop talking it might get a little too quiet, and then I would hear the whispered conversation of the couple with the magazines. And everyone knows that whispers are far more carrying than low voices. And far more distracting. That would probably drive me nuts, as a matter of fact, hearing their hushed chatter, the turning of their magazine pages. I'd probably just sit here, chewing my fingernails for another twenty minutes, trying desperately not to listen to them, then give it up as a bad job and go home. But the sheer fact that they're trying to keep quiet, that they're abiding by the rules, makes this young couple okay in my book. They have every right to bother me accidentally while trying not to disturb me.
But this guy on his cell phone, well, he's got some nerve, not actually disturbing me with his bothersome behavior.
Hey, here comes a librarian. Surely she will set this man straight. Will she just tell him to be quiet or will she ask him to leave? Let's find out!
I don't realize that I am holding my breath until the librarian walks past us without a word. Because the man is still, listening intently to the person on the other end of the line.
No! Librarian! This man is talking on the phone! Didn't you read it in his posture? Couldn't you tell what he was doing? He is upsetting us all with his brazen violation of library policy! He is distilling the dreary atmosphere into something pleasant, like that of a buzzing little coffee shop! He is --
Oh wait, he's leaving.
And now the couple with the magazines is leaving too. It's just me and the guy with the headphones.
God, it's quiet in here.
I can't work like this. I think maybe I'll go home.
Friday, February 6, 2009
It's not you, it's me
It's over, baby.
I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I've been trying to break up with you for months. Every time I tried, the words would die in my throat. So I had to spit it out. This relationship has run its course, Cheese. I'm going back to being a vegan.
Please don't look at me like that. It's not you, it's me. Really. You're just as delicious as you ever were, but I've changed. My ass has gotten bigger. My skin is not as smooth. Your love is wreaking havoc on me baby, and I've got to put an end to it.
Come on now, you knew this wouldn't last. I was a vegan when you met me earlier this year at that wedding. You flounced by me on your little cheese plate and my resolve broke; I had to have you. What else was I going to do? There was no wedding reception, just a 7-course meal. Was I supposed to sit there for 3 hours and pretend I didn't see you? Jesus, I'm not made of stone! Life is for living, I told myself, and dammit, I was going to live.
And it was a beautiful affair, babe, it really was. I've enjoyed you so much these past several months. We had some good times, didn't we? Like the holidays? Ooh...Your mac n' cheese makes my mouth water just thinking about it. Remember when I mixed you in with some of Cousin Punky's sweet potatoes? Mmm! Sends a shiver through me! Damn, you were tasty. And you always reheated so well.
But baby, you made me weak. I couldn't stop with you; I had to have other dairy. I started eating bagels with cream cheese again. Milk chocolate candy bars. Come on, don't pretend you didn't know about it. Just last week I put sour cream on your nachos! And I hadn't had sour cream in years - you see what you've done to me?
I've started to feel the effects. I can't sing the way I want to; I'm all phlegmy. I wheeze a little bit when I walk up the stairs. And I must be the only marathon runner who's put on weight during training.
You see why this has got to stop?
You're no good for me, baby. And even though I love you, I can't let you bring me down.
Don't cry, please don't. You'll find somebody else in no time. A tasty little treat like you? Shoot, you've probably got 'em waiting in the wings. I noticed Monte had his eye on you the other night.
But this is where you and I say goodbye.
Give me one last Hershey's kiss for the road.
I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I've been trying to break up with you for months. Every time I tried, the words would die in my throat. So I had to spit it out. This relationship has run its course, Cheese. I'm going back to being a vegan.
Please don't look at me like that. It's not you, it's me. Really. You're just as delicious as you ever were, but I've changed. My ass has gotten bigger. My skin is not as smooth. Your love is wreaking havoc on me baby, and I've got to put an end to it.
Come on now, you knew this wouldn't last. I was a vegan when you met me earlier this year at that wedding. You flounced by me on your little cheese plate and my resolve broke; I had to have you. What else was I going to do? There was no wedding reception, just a 7-course meal. Was I supposed to sit there for 3 hours and pretend I didn't see you? Jesus, I'm not made of stone! Life is for living, I told myself, and dammit, I was going to live.
And it was a beautiful affair, babe, it really was. I've enjoyed you so much these past several months. We had some good times, didn't we? Like the holidays? Ooh...Your mac n' cheese makes my mouth water just thinking about it. Remember when I mixed you in with some of Cousin Punky's sweet potatoes? Mmm! Sends a shiver through me! Damn, you were tasty. And you always reheated so well.
But baby, you made me weak. I couldn't stop with you; I had to have other dairy. I started eating bagels with cream cheese again. Milk chocolate candy bars. Come on, don't pretend you didn't know about it. Just last week I put sour cream on your nachos! And I hadn't had sour cream in years - you see what you've done to me?
I've started to feel the effects. I can't sing the way I want to; I'm all phlegmy. I wheeze a little bit when I walk up the stairs. And I must be the only marathon runner who's put on weight during training.
You see why this has got to stop?
You're no good for me, baby. And even though I love you, I can't let you bring me down.
Don't cry, please don't. You'll find somebody else in no time. A tasty little treat like you? Shoot, you've probably got 'em waiting in the wings. I noticed Monte had his eye on you the other night.
But this is where you and I say goodbye.
Give me one last Hershey's kiss for the road.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Running is hard
So yesterday I ran the half-marathon with SRO. And you know what I discovered? 13.1 miles is FAR.
Due to 2 rounds with my wisdom teeth and a subsequent bout of the flu, I'd been out of training for 3 weeks, while the students kept pushing forward. My longest run before my various ailments had been 8 miles, but the kids had made it to 10.5. When we met last Saturday for our tapering run, the kids ran a gentle 6 and I ran an arduous 3. All the while I was thinking: How the hell am I going to run a half-marathon next weekend?
I ran every day last week, trying to get prepared. And it was difficult; each day felt like my very first run. I ran 3 miles on Monday, 4 on Tuesday. I only managed 2 miles on Wednesday, and 2.5 on Thursday. Things were looking grim. I could feel a cold trying to settle in my chest and I was fighting it. But then on Friday I stuck it out for 8 miles, and that gave me hope that I might be able to complete the race on Sunday.
The volunteers were asked to choose 1 or 2 students to run with, which is not our normal procedure, but there were going to be 10,000 people at this event and we had to make sure that none of our kids got lost. I chose Julie, a quiet 9th-grader who keeps a slow but steady pace and has a congenial attitude. I've run with Julie in the past and I figured I could keep up with her. I thought for a moment about choosing one of the really slow kids, concerned as I was about my own pace, but the slowest students are usually slow because they spend more time complaining than running. And honestly, I needed a good-natured kid to keep me going throughout this race, because it was likely going to kill me.
At 6:00 AM I boarded the bus with about 25 students and a handful of volunteers. Another bus would meet us at the race start with the 2nd half of our crew. It was still dark outside but I felt wide awake. I ate a peanut butter sandwich and an apple, then did some stretches in my seat as we drove across the bridge and toward Golden Gate Park. I figured that things would move fast once we exited the buses, and I wanted to make sure that I had ample time to get prepared.
I'm so glad I did, because sure enough, once we stepped out into the chilly morning it was total chaos. "SRO! SRO, over here!" screeched Alita, trying to herd us into formation. Meanwhile, thousands of people were sweeping past us on their way to the starting line. I was afraid we were going to lose a kid or two in the flow of eager runners.
"Water! Come get water!" boomed Heidi, while Christine wove through the group, hooking up volunteers with students. "Errin, you'll be with Julie," she confirmed, then darted away. I made my way over to Julie.
"Morning Julie!" I said, tapping her on the shoulder. She turned around. "We're going to be running together today."
She regarded me curiously. "We are? How come?"
"Well, there's so many people here that we want to make sure nobody gets lost. So they've paired up volunteers with students."
She didn't look too put out by this statement, so I figured we were off to a good start. Our group began walking towards the starting line.
And almost immediately, chaos reigned. "Sweat drop over here!" called Ralph, and half the group fell out of formation to drop off their extra layers in labeled plastic bags, which would be transported to the finish line for pickup after the race. I shoved my fleece, legwarmers and gloves into a bag, hoping that I'd see them later. Then I looked around. Our group had completely disintegrated; I saw a red SRO shirt here and there, but nobody was together anymore. "Where did we go?" I called to Ralph, and he pointed in the general vicinity of the starting line.
I checked my watch: 20 minutes till race start. I needed to go to the bathroom. Picking my way through the crowd, with an eye out for Julie, I headed towards the Porta-Potties and stopped cold - there were half a dozen of the longest lines I had ever seen. They trailed across an entire field and pushed up against the woods beyond. "Are those the lines for the bathrooms?" I asked a passerby, horrified. She nodded, and then I saw several tiny figures waving at me from the end of one of the lines. There were about a dozen students and volunteers waiting for their turn. Sighing, I got in the nearest line, still scanning the area for Julie. I didn't see her anywhere.
Ten minutes later, no closer to the bathrooms and with still no sign of Julie, I swore under my breath and abandoned the line. I was afraid that the race would start and Julie would take off running by herself. Knowing I'd need to stop at the first set of bathrooms along the route, I joined the crowd near the starting line and began weaving through people toward the cluster of red shirts I'd spotted. Here and there I ran into an SRO volunteer. Everyone seemed to have been separated from their student.
"Have you seen Jasmine?" Charles asked me.
"I think she's in line for the bathrooms," I said.
"John and Henry! Anybody seen John and Henry?" called Steven.
"Over here!" I waved my hand. They were standing beside me. And there, thankfully, was Julie.
I couldn't help marveling at how quickly our group's order had disintegrated. I know the kids were high-schoolers, not babies, but it still seemed like poor planning on our part, just to let everybody loose into the fray with no clear instructions as to how to proceed. I felt responsible for Julie; I didn't think we should be separated. I just hoped that she'd run slow enough for me to keep up with her.
The race began and we spent the first 10 minutes shuffling out of the gate. Jokes were flying back and forth among the jam-packed crowd. "This isn't so bad!" "Hey, Iverson, slow down, you'll burn yourself out!" And when the mass stopped dead for a moment: "Well, that was fun; good race, everybody!" Julie and I giggled.
After awhile the crowd spread out and we had enough room to jog. There were walkers mixed in with the runners and every once in awhile we got stuck behind a pair. I said to Julie, "You set the pace, okay? If you want to pass somebody, just go ahead. I'll keep up with you." Praying, as I said it, that I actually could keep up with her.
But I needn't have worried: Julie set a slow, steady pace, and we trotted along comfortably for the first mile. Knowing that she's not much of a talker, I didn't force conversation. We just ran for awhile in companionable silence.
When the first marker appeared I felt triumphant - 1 mile down! This wasn't so bad! In fact, I quite liked knowing how far I'd come; breaking the race into segments made it feel much more manageable. But Julie pulled a face. "That was only 1 mile?" she said.
"Easy, right?" I replied, keeping my voice light. But I was surprised to hear her complain. She is normally so stoic.
"I'm tired," Julie whined, and it was an actual whine.
"Oh, come on!" I said, upbeat. "That was nothing! I've seen you run 10 miles, easy, so I know this is no big deal for you." Julie shook her head.
At Mile 2 Julie said she had to use the bathroom. I would have protested, being that it was so early in the race, but I really had to go myself, so I agreed. "Okay," I said, "I see some restrooms coming up. Do you want to stop now or would you rather wait until we pass the next batch?"
"Let's stop now," Julie said.
So we veered off course and jogged across the Panhandle toward the bathrooms. These weren't Porta-Potties, they were actual park restrooms, and there were only 2 stalls. A line had formed outside, and though it wasn't long, it wasn't moving very fast either. Julie and I stood in line and watched the runners pass us by. I knew we'd be bringing up the rear when we rejoined the race.
After 6 or 7 minutes we made it to the front of the line. I ushered Julie toward the stall, but she shook her head. "I don't think I have to go anymore," she said.
"What?" I asked.
"I don't think I have to go anymore."
You don't think? I said to myself. "Try anyway," I told her, feeling like I was talking to a small child. I didn't want to talk down to her, but was she serious?
"No, I don't have to go."
The people in line behind us were looking aggravated. "Julie," I said, "You might as well try, since we're here. We're not going to be stopping every mile to use the bathroom, okay?"
"I'm fine," she insisted.
"Fine," I replied, waving away my concerns. She's 14 years old, I thought. She ought to know her own bladder. I went to the bathroom, washed my hands and flapped them through the air, drying them as I gestured to Julie to come on.
"We're last," she complained as we stepped back onto the pavement.
And she was right. There were almost no more runners, but there were still a lot of dedicated walkers, arms pumping furiously as they power-walked the course. "It's not about time," I said to Julie. "We're just in it to finish. We'll get there when we get there." But secretly, I was dismayed too. I didn't like being behind everybody else.
The next 2 miles were fairly easy, the course was beautiful, and I was enjoying myself. We'd caught up with a few SRO members, and it felt good to see some familiar faces in the crowd. And then at Mile 4 Julie said:
"I have to use the bathroom."
I turned to her. "You're kidding, right?" She shook her head, no.
I was frustrated, but determined to keep things light. The course had taken us in a circle and we were just reaching the place where the race had started. By now the bank of Porta-Potties was empty, so I slowed to a stop in front of them and told Julie that I'd wait for her there. She gave me a quizzical look, like: Aren't you coming too? I returned it with a shrug that said: No, I just went to the bathroom 2 miles ago, remember?
She wasn't speedy. As I waited, several SRO folks passed by and they all looked confused to see me standing around without a student. "Bathroom break!" I called, and they nodded and continued on. I took a few minutes to stretch. Finally Julie emerged and I said, "You ready?" She shrugged her reluctance.
But then I heard somebody call out my name. I turned around and there was Sara, an SRO student, who seemed to be running by herself. "I'm so glad to see you!" she said. "I started to think I was lost back there!"
"Are you running alone?" I asked her.
"Well, I was running with Molly and those guys, but I was faster than them, so she told me to just keep going. I think they're behind me." She gestured back up the course. "Besides, I'm not supposed to do the whole half-marathon. I'm supposed to stop before we get to the Great Highway. I guess there's a place where we'll pass the Finish Line, and Heidi told me stop there."
"How come you're not running the whole thing?" asked Julie.
"Cause of my foot," said Sara. "They didn't want me to run at all, but I really wanted to do it, so they said I could run part of it." Sara is super-dedicated. She was seriously disappointed that an injury would prevent her from running the entire race.
"Man, I wish I had an excuse not to run the whole thing," said Julie, and my annoyance level rose another half-notch.
"Why? I wish I could run the whole thing with you," said Sara passionately. Julie shrugged.
"Sara, why don't you run with us?" I said, hoping that some of her attitude might rub off on Julie. "We'll take you to your drop-off point."
"Okay," said Sara. "But I have to use the bathroom first."
"We'll wait for you," I said, somewhat wearily.
While Sara was occupied I said to Julie, "Let's make good use of our time and stretch." I bent double and groaned as the backs of my legs un-kinked; Julie stretched out one leg experimentally and then lost interest. I swear, I do not understand how these kids can run long distances without stretching at all. Their bodies must be like rubber bands. I, on the other hand, feel like I'm made out of splintery toothpicks.
When Sara reappeared I clapped my hands together and said brightly, "Okay! Back to it! Who needs water? Gatorade? Anybody, anybody? No? All right then, let's do it!" And we resumed our race.
It quickly became apparent that Sara was much faster than Julie. The distance between us grew immediately. At first I ran between them, but when I sensed Julie slowing to a walk behind me, I dropped back to keep pace with her. Sara was quickly becoming a speck in the distance.
"Keep running, I'll be right back," I said to Julie, then sped ahead to catch up with Sara.
"Sara!" I called. She turned around. "Listen, keep running, okay? But when you get to the Finish Line, stop and wait for us so that I know you've made it there all right." She nodded and kept on going. I fell back to Julie, who immediately ground to walk.
"I'm tired," she said.
I trotted in place beside her. "Are you hurting?" I asked.
"No," she confessed.
"Then we run," I said. And we ran.
I tried to think of something to talk about that would take our minds off the race, but the girl just wouldn't meet me halfway. "What are your sisters doing this morning?" I asked.
"Sleeping," she said.
Okay. "So, you're halfway through 9th grade, right? How are you liking it so far?"
"Boring."
Mmm hmm. "What do you like to do in your spare time?"
"Sleep. Sit."
Jesus. "How about when you're not sleeping or sitting?" I asked, in what I hoped was a teasing voice. But I was starting to want to throttle her.
"Play video games."
Okay! "What games do you play?"
"Mario."
"Wow, they're still making Mario? I played Mario when I was a kid. I thought he'd have run out of adventures by now." Much the way I was running out of conversation.
I tried again. "Have you played Wii?"
"Yeah."
"What games?" A shrug. "Tennis?" A nod. Silence.
And then: "Guitar Hero."
Palpable relief from me. "I love Guitar Hero! No, you know what I love? Rock Band! I played Rock Band once and I was so good on the drums; everybody was like, 'Are you a drummer in real life?' And I said, 'No, but I'm gonna be!' And I was really convinced I was so good; I asked for drumsticks for Christmas and everything, but I didn't get them. And then the next time I played Rock Band I played the drums and I was awful! No good at all. And that was such a bummer; here I thought I had a natural talent and it turned out it was just a fluke." I gabbled on, desperate for some conversation, even if it was all one-sided. Julie ran beside me, resigned.
At Mile 6 she said to me, "I'm hungry."
"Did you eat breakfast this morning?" I asked.
"Piece of toast."
I breathed rather heavily through my nose. "Do you think maybe a piece of toast is not enough to get you through 13 miles?" She shrugged. "Next time we run, you should make a peanut butter sandwich and eat it on the bus. Do you eat peanut butter?" She nodded. "Okay, that will get you through a run. That's what I had for breakfast this morning." I regarded her for a moment, then remembered: "Don't you have a Clif bar in your pocket?"
"Yeah," she said.
"Okay, eat that."
She made no move to pull it out. "I can't run and eat at the same time!" she protested.
I was getting weary. Weary of the complaints, weary of running. It dawned on me that I might have felt more energy had I been running with one of the faster kids. All of the stopping and starting and the slow pace we'd been keeping had combined to make me feel rusty and tired. I was losing energy and we weren't even halfway through.
We passed a water stop and I grabbed a cup, a handy excuse. "We'll walk for 2 minutes," I said, slowing down. "So if you're hungry, start eating."
"One hour, fifty-six minutes!" called one of the race time-keepers, and I wilted. We'd been running for nearly two hours and we'd only traveled 6 miles! My God, no wonder I was weary. It was harder to plod through the race than it would have been to simply run it. I had a brief moment of panic: How the hell was I going to make it through the full marathon?
Julie wasn't eating. "How come you're not eating?" I asked. Again, she shrugged. "Not hungry after all? Okay, then we run." I tossed my cup and we set off again.
Just before Mile 7 we passed the Finish Line, where Sara was supposed to be waiting for us. At this point, the course doubled over and now we were running alongside those who were finishing the race - just going in the opposite direction. The course was split down the middle with traffic cones and tape, and spectators were pressing in from either side, calling out to those runners who were nearly done. The crowd had grown dense, and I was worried about Sara wandering around on her own. But then I spotted her, swimming upstream, looking for us in the fray. "Sara!" I called, waving my hand. She ran up to us.
"This is where I'm supposed to stop," she said to me. "But where do I go?" I craned my neck, looking around for somewhere to deposit her. Julie, surprisingly, had kept running.
"Hang on," I said. "Julie!" I hollered. "Wait just a second, okay?" She paused, uncertain. "Stop," I clarified, "I'll be right there." Sara and I kept peering into the crowd.
I heard somebody shout, "Go SRO!" and turned my head toward the sound.
"Who said that?" I asked Sara, but she didn't know. Then I heard it again: "Yay, SRO!" I caught sight of Betty on the other end of the Finish Line. "There's Betty," I said to Sara. "Go with her, okay? Nice job today!" I shunted her across the Finish, called out to Betty, "Sara's coming with you!" and turned around to find Julie. A man was trying to shoo her off the path.
"You need to get moving," he told her, "You can't stand here," and confused, Julie was starting to run.
"No," I said firmly, "She needs to wait for me." The guy looked a little taken aback. "Thank you; we're leaving now," I said, and we set off for the Great Highway.
The Great Highway was not so great. I mean, it's probably great if you're in a car, but when you're running a 6-mile loop on concrete and the sun's come out in full force, it frankly sucks. Julie and I trudged past Mile 7. We were still running alongside those who were finishing the race, and after several minutes I thought I would quit if I had to hear one more person shout, "You're almost there! Just 1 mile to go!" Because there was nobody shouting, "Keep up the good work! Only 6 miles left!" And it felt awful to be so close to the Finish Line but so far from finishing.
We ran in silence for awhile, and Julie seemed downhearted. Or maybe I just guessed that she felt downhearted, because that was how I felt. I asked her, "How are you doing?"
She shrugged.
"It's kind of hard, huh, hearing people shout 'You're almost done!' when we're not almost done, isn't it? Kind of makes you feel frustrated?"
She nodded.
"Yeah, me too," I sighed. "But..." I cast around helplessly for a 'but'. "But...this is our run," I finally said. "It's our run, yours and mine; it's not about anybody else. We're doing this for ourselves, and we're going to finish." It was a tired little speech, but it was all I could muster. Julie didn't even bother to shrug.
I spied Mile 8 coming up. I desperately needed a break, needed to stretch. And I thought it might be good for our moral if we took a quick breather.
"Okay, here's what we'll do," I said. "See the Mile 8 marker up there? I'm going to stop for a second and stretch my knees. Do you want to stop and stretch too, or would you like to walk for a minute?"
She considered. "I'll walk," she said.
"Okay," I told her as we approached the mile marker. "You walk and I'll catch up with you in just a minute." I stopped and pulled one of my legs up behind me. Julie kept going.
Actually, Julie kept running. I waited for her to slow to a walk, assuming she'd be happy for the opportunity, but the girl didn't slow. She kept running, and you know, I think she actually sped up.
I lost my balance, standing there like a crane, and quickly pulled on my other leg, trying to work the kinks out. But Julie was getting farther away and I was worried that I was going to lose her. Sure enough, a few seconds later she was out of sight.
"Shit," I muttered, and ran after her. I was creaky and achey and could not muster a faster pace; it was simply too late for me to limber up in this race. I really needed a proper stretch break but it looked like I wasn't going to get one. Everything hurt from the waist down and I blanched as I tried to speed up. It came to me, suddenly, that I was going to faint if I pushed too hard, so I slowed down and resumed my usual trot.
Julie reappeared in the distance, seemingly trapped behind a pair of walkers. "Julie!" I called out, but she didn't hear me.
I sped up just a bit. "Julie! Hey Julie!" I shouted, my hands cupped around my mouth. The effort of shouting cost me, and I had to slow down again to compensate for my loss of breath.
But she heard me and she turned around. I waved my hand at her. "Wait up!" I shouted. I hated to make her slow down. It's got to be frustrating to get in a zone and then have somebody grab your tail. But if she didn't let me catch up I was seriously going to lose her, and the crowd was so dense that I might not find her again. I was not going to lose this kid on the Great Highway, no way.
Julie saw me waving, but turned around and continued to run. And I swear, the kid put on a burst of speed. What the hell? "Julie!" I screamed, and people between us turned around to stare at me. I didn't care. "Julie! Stop! Wait for me!"
And you know, that little shit kept running. I know she heard me. Everybody else heard me. But she just kept on running like running was her new favorite thing, like she hadn't been bitching about it for 8 miles.
"JULIE!" I bellowed. "STOP!"
She didn't stop. But she did slow down, and after another few laborious minutes, I managed to overtake her. I was pissed.
But I swallowed my anger. "Thank you," I said breathlessly. "Sorry to make you wait, but I was going to lose you there." She made as though to speed up again. "Hey!" I said sharply, and she braked. "You need to slow down for a minute and let me catch up, okay?"
So she jogged for a moment while I speed-walked, trying to catch my breath. When I finally got my wind, I resumed jogging beside her. "Okay," I said. "That's better. Thank you for waiting."
Not 3 minutes later, the kid stopped in her tracks. "I'm tired," she said.
And then I reconsidered leaving her on the Great Highway.
Miles 9 through 13 were hard. Julie was complaining of a stomachache. "Is it a hunger kind of stomachache?" I asked. She shrugged. "Do you want to eat your Clif bar?" She shook her head. So I assumed it wasn't a hunger thing. We ran for a few minutes, but then she slowed to walk. "Can you make it to those traffic lights?" I cajoled her, and she nodded.
Okay, I told myself. So it's going to be this kind of race from here on out. Whenever Julie would stop and walk I would set a marker. "We're going to walk until that lamp post, and then we're going to run until the stop sign, okay?" I relaxed a bit, because I knew I could get her across the finish line this way, even if it took us awhile. And frankly, I was ready to walk. I was exhausted.
We began to collect other SRO folks, those who were on the slower end of the race. First we found Reecy, who was walk-running with Walter, and then we spotted Daisy on her own. "Where's your partner?" I asked her, and she pointed behind us towards a small cluster from whom she'd broken free. Daisy ran with us for a minute or two but then passed us; it seemed clear she was ready for her race to be over.
Julie stopped again. "My stomach hurts," she repeated, and this time she confided that it was a feminine complaint. Aha, I thought, thinking back on our pit stops at Miles 2 and 4. But truly, there was nothing I could do for her at this point. We were 2.5 miles from the Finish Line. Even if we quit the race at that moment we'd still have to walk to the end. So I tried another pep talk.
"You should be proud of yourself for running anyway," I said. "Lots of girls use that as an excuse not to run, so you should feel extra good about yourself." Although it's not an excuse that I have any patience for, it's true that some of the girls did use it as a reason not to run. And it worked like a charm because all the males turned pink at the first mention of cramps.
"I'm not going to let you quit, Julie," I said suddenly, meaning it. "I've seen you run 10 miles and we both know you can run 13. I'm not going to let you quit because you'd be selling yourself short. And I know you don't want to do that. Am I right?" A pause. And then she nodded.
So we soldiered on. Run, walk. Run, walk. I felt like I'd been doing this for days. I checked my watch. It was 11:00 AM.
Spencer rode up to us on his bike. Spencer is the Executive Director of SRO. He never runs with us, but he'll sometimes ride alongside on his bicycle and intimidate the kids into picking up their pace. He always seems to catch us walking, and it drives me nuts because he's never around when my kids are running like champs.
He descended on Julie. "What the matter?" he said. "Why are we walking?"
"Stomachache," replied Julie.
"We're working through it," I told him with a smile. It was a bright smile with a dark undertone. It said: Don't come riding into our race at the 12-mile mark and try to motivate us now. Where the hell were you at Mile 7 when I needed you?
Spencer tried to coax Julie into a run by giving her the Pick-Yourself-Up-By-Your-Bootstraps speech. "How are you going finish the marathon if you're walking the half-marathon? Huh? You've got 1 mile to go. Now let's finish strong. Come on!"
I was annoyed. I was annoyed for myself and I was annoyed for Julie. This, for the moment, even overshadowed my annoyance at Julie. Because it was 11:00 AM and I was drenched in sweat, running in circles on the highway. Everything hurt. I was exhausted. I was crabby. I was desperate for the Finish Line. But I had learned that you can take a journey in 3 hours. In 3 short hours, while the rest of the world is asleep, or lounging over their breakfast, you can take a journey on a concrete road with your partner beside you, fighting to put one foot in front of the other. Under the relentless sun, sweat crystalizing in the corners of our eyes, bleary from 12 miles of pounding the pavement, we were making a journey through the realms of self-discovery. We were proving the dictum of mind over matter. Heartily, it sucked. But it was our journey. Mine and Julie's.
And now Spencer was trying to swoop in at the Last Mile and call the shots. I wasn't having it.
"We're walking until we get to that traffic light," I said firmly, pointing up ahead of us. "And then we're going to run it in to the Finish. Right, Julie?"
She blinked at me.
"Right, Julie?" I said again. This time she nodded.
Well, we wound up walking 3 more times during the course of that last mile. But we didn't give up. We could hear them announcing people's names as they finished the race just beyond the crest of that final hill. And with the Finish Line in sight, Julie put on another burst of speed and left me in the dust. I didn't even try to catch up with her. I just let my creaky body lumber its own way across the Finish. At 3 hours, 20 minutes and 26 seconds.
Julie was waiting for me on other side. "They pronounced my last name wrong," she complained. We were limping along toward the T-shirt tents.
"Oh yeah?" I said, past caring. "How do you pronounce it?"
"The 'g' is silent," she told me.
"Hey," I said. "Hey, Julie." She stopped and turned around.
"Great job today. I'm proud of you." She blinked at me. And almost - but not quite - smiled.
"High five," I said, and she held up her hand. I smacked it with my own, hard.
"You almost knocked me over!" she exclaimed.
Yup.
Due to 2 rounds with my wisdom teeth and a subsequent bout of the flu, I'd been out of training for 3 weeks, while the students kept pushing forward. My longest run before my various ailments had been 8 miles, but the kids had made it to 10.5. When we met last Saturday for our tapering run, the kids ran a gentle 6 and I ran an arduous 3. All the while I was thinking: How the hell am I going to run a half-marathon next weekend?
I ran every day last week, trying to get prepared. And it was difficult; each day felt like my very first run. I ran 3 miles on Monday, 4 on Tuesday. I only managed 2 miles on Wednesday, and 2.5 on Thursday. Things were looking grim. I could feel a cold trying to settle in my chest and I was fighting it. But then on Friday I stuck it out for 8 miles, and that gave me hope that I might be able to complete the race on Sunday.
The volunteers were asked to choose 1 or 2 students to run with, which is not our normal procedure, but there were going to be 10,000 people at this event and we had to make sure that none of our kids got lost. I chose Julie, a quiet 9th-grader who keeps a slow but steady pace and has a congenial attitude. I've run with Julie in the past and I figured I could keep up with her. I thought for a moment about choosing one of the really slow kids, concerned as I was about my own pace, but the slowest students are usually slow because they spend more time complaining than running. And honestly, I needed a good-natured kid to keep me going throughout this race, because it was likely going to kill me.
At 6:00 AM I boarded the bus with about 25 students and a handful of volunteers. Another bus would meet us at the race start with the 2nd half of our crew. It was still dark outside but I felt wide awake. I ate a peanut butter sandwich and an apple, then did some stretches in my seat as we drove across the bridge and toward Golden Gate Park. I figured that things would move fast once we exited the buses, and I wanted to make sure that I had ample time to get prepared.
I'm so glad I did, because sure enough, once we stepped out into the chilly morning it was total chaos. "SRO! SRO, over here!" screeched Alita, trying to herd us into formation. Meanwhile, thousands of people were sweeping past us on their way to the starting line. I was afraid we were going to lose a kid or two in the flow of eager runners.
"Water! Come get water!" boomed Heidi, while Christine wove through the group, hooking up volunteers with students. "Errin, you'll be with Julie," she confirmed, then darted away. I made my way over to Julie.
"Morning Julie!" I said, tapping her on the shoulder. She turned around. "We're going to be running together today."
She regarded me curiously. "We are? How come?"
"Well, there's so many people here that we want to make sure nobody gets lost. So they've paired up volunteers with students."
She didn't look too put out by this statement, so I figured we were off to a good start. Our group began walking towards the starting line.
And almost immediately, chaos reigned. "Sweat drop over here!" called Ralph, and half the group fell out of formation to drop off their extra layers in labeled plastic bags, which would be transported to the finish line for pickup after the race. I shoved my fleece, legwarmers and gloves into a bag, hoping that I'd see them later. Then I looked around. Our group had completely disintegrated; I saw a red SRO shirt here and there, but nobody was together anymore. "Where did we go?" I called to Ralph, and he pointed in the general vicinity of the starting line.
I checked my watch: 20 minutes till race start. I needed to go to the bathroom. Picking my way through the crowd, with an eye out for Julie, I headed towards the Porta-Potties and stopped cold - there were half a dozen of the longest lines I had ever seen. They trailed across an entire field and pushed up against the woods beyond. "Are those the lines for the bathrooms?" I asked a passerby, horrified. She nodded, and then I saw several tiny figures waving at me from the end of one of the lines. There were about a dozen students and volunteers waiting for their turn. Sighing, I got in the nearest line, still scanning the area for Julie. I didn't see her anywhere.
Ten minutes later, no closer to the bathrooms and with still no sign of Julie, I swore under my breath and abandoned the line. I was afraid that the race would start and Julie would take off running by herself. Knowing I'd need to stop at the first set of bathrooms along the route, I joined the crowd near the starting line and began weaving through people toward the cluster of red shirts I'd spotted. Here and there I ran into an SRO volunteer. Everyone seemed to have been separated from their student.
"Have you seen Jasmine?" Charles asked me.
"I think she's in line for the bathrooms," I said.
"John and Henry! Anybody seen John and Henry?" called Steven.
"Over here!" I waved my hand. They were standing beside me. And there, thankfully, was Julie.
I couldn't help marveling at how quickly our group's order had disintegrated. I know the kids were high-schoolers, not babies, but it still seemed like poor planning on our part, just to let everybody loose into the fray with no clear instructions as to how to proceed. I felt responsible for Julie; I didn't think we should be separated. I just hoped that she'd run slow enough for me to keep up with her.
The race began and we spent the first 10 minutes shuffling out of the gate. Jokes were flying back and forth among the jam-packed crowd. "This isn't so bad!" "Hey, Iverson, slow down, you'll burn yourself out!" And when the mass stopped dead for a moment: "Well, that was fun; good race, everybody!" Julie and I giggled.
After awhile the crowd spread out and we had enough room to jog. There were walkers mixed in with the runners and every once in awhile we got stuck behind a pair. I said to Julie, "You set the pace, okay? If you want to pass somebody, just go ahead. I'll keep up with you." Praying, as I said it, that I actually could keep up with her.
But I needn't have worried: Julie set a slow, steady pace, and we trotted along comfortably for the first mile. Knowing that she's not much of a talker, I didn't force conversation. We just ran for awhile in companionable silence.
When the first marker appeared I felt triumphant - 1 mile down! This wasn't so bad! In fact, I quite liked knowing how far I'd come; breaking the race into segments made it feel much more manageable. But Julie pulled a face. "That was only 1 mile?" she said.
"Easy, right?" I replied, keeping my voice light. But I was surprised to hear her complain. She is normally so stoic.
"I'm tired," Julie whined, and it was an actual whine.
"Oh, come on!" I said, upbeat. "That was nothing! I've seen you run 10 miles, easy, so I know this is no big deal for you." Julie shook her head.
At Mile 2 Julie said she had to use the bathroom. I would have protested, being that it was so early in the race, but I really had to go myself, so I agreed. "Okay," I said, "I see some restrooms coming up. Do you want to stop now or would you rather wait until we pass the next batch?"
"Let's stop now," Julie said.
So we veered off course and jogged across the Panhandle toward the bathrooms. These weren't Porta-Potties, they were actual park restrooms, and there were only 2 stalls. A line had formed outside, and though it wasn't long, it wasn't moving very fast either. Julie and I stood in line and watched the runners pass us by. I knew we'd be bringing up the rear when we rejoined the race.
After 6 or 7 minutes we made it to the front of the line. I ushered Julie toward the stall, but she shook her head. "I don't think I have to go anymore," she said.
"What?" I asked.
"I don't think I have to go anymore."
You don't think? I said to myself. "Try anyway," I told her, feeling like I was talking to a small child. I didn't want to talk down to her, but was she serious?
"No, I don't have to go."
The people in line behind us were looking aggravated. "Julie," I said, "You might as well try, since we're here. We're not going to be stopping every mile to use the bathroom, okay?"
"I'm fine," she insisted.
"Fine," I replied, waving away my concerns. She's 14 years old, I thought. She ought to know her own bladder. I went to the bathroom, washed my hands and flapped them through the air, drying them as I gestured to Julie to come on.
"We're last," she complained as we stepped back onto the pavement.
And she was right. There were almost no more runners, but there were still a lot of dedicated walkers, arms pumping furiously as they power-walked the course. "It's not about time," I said to Julie. "We're just in it to finish. We'll get there when we get there." But secretly, I was dismayed too. I didn't like being behind everybody else.
The next 2 miles were fairly easy, the course was beautiful, and I was enjoying myself. We'd caught up with a few SRO members, and it felt good to see some familiar faces in the crowd. And then at Mile 4 Julie said:
"I have to use the bathroom."
I turned to her. "You're kidding, right?" She shook her head, no.
I was frustrated, but determined to keep things light. The course had taken us in a circle and we were just reaching the place where the race had started. By now the bank of Porta-Potties was empty, so I slowed to a stop in front of them and told Julie that I'd wait for her there. She gave me a quizzical look, like: Aren't you coming too? I returned it with a shrug that said: No, I just went to the bathroom 2 miles ago, remember?
She wasn't speedy. As I waited, several SRO folks passed by and they all looked confused to see me standing around without a student. "Bathroom break!" I called, and they nodded and continued on. I took a few minutes to stretch. Finally Julie emerged and I said, "You ready?" She shrugged her reluctance.
But then I heard somebody call out my name. I turned around and there was Sara, an SRO student, who seemed to be running by herself. "I'm so glad to see you!" she said. "I started to think I was lost back there!"
"Are you running alone?" I asked her.
"Well, I was running with Molly and those guys, but I was faster than them, so she told me to just keep going. I think they're behind me." She gestured back up the course. "Besides, I'm not supposed to do the whole half-marathon. I'm supposed to stop before we get to the Great Highway. I guess there's a place where we'll pass the Finish Line, and Heidi told me stop there."
"How come you're not running the whole thing?" asked Julie.
"Cause of my foot," said Sara. "They didn't want me to run at all, but I really wanted to do it, so they said I could run part of it." Sara is super-dedicated. She was seriously disappointed that an injury would prevent her from running the entire race.
"Man, I wish I had an excuse not to run the whole thing," said Julie, and my annoyance level rose another half-notch.
"Why? I wish I could run the whole thing with you," said Sara passionately. Julie shrugged.
"Sara, why don't you run with us?" I said, hoping that some of her attitude might rub off on Julie. "We'll take you to your drop-off point."
"Okay," said Sara. "But I have to use the bathroom first."
"We'll wait for you," I said, somewhat wearily.
While Sara was occupied I said to Julie, "Let's make good use of our time and stretch." I bent double and groaned as the backs of my legs un-kinked; Julie stretched out one leg experimentally and then lost interest. I swear, I do not understand how these kids can run long distances without stretching at all. Their bodies must be like rubber bands. I, on the other hand, feel like I'm made out of splintery toothpicks.
When Sara reappeared I clapped my hands together and said brightly, "Okay! Back to it! Who needs water? Gatorade? Anybody, anybody? No? All right then, let's do it!" And we resumed our race.
It quickly became apparent that Sara was much faster than Julie. The distance between us grew immediately. At first I ran between them, but when I sensed Julie slowing to a walk behind me, I dropped back to keep pace with her. Sara was quickly becoming a speck in the distance.
"Keep running, I'll be right back," I said to Julie, then sped ahead to catch up with Sara.
"Sara!" I called. She turned around. "Listen, keep running, okay? But when you get to the Finish Line, stop and wait for us so that I know you've made it there all right." She nodded and kept on going. I fell back to Julie, who immediately ground to walk.
"I'm tired," she said.
I trotted in place beside her. "Are you hurting?" I asked.
"No," she confessed.
"Then we run," I said. And we ran.
I tried to think of something to talk about that would take our minds off the race, but the girl just wouldn't meet me halfway. "What are your sisters doing this morning?" I asked.
"Sleeping," she said.
Okay. "So, you're halfway through 9th grade, right? How are you liking it so far?"
"Boring."
Mmm hmm. "What do you like to do in your spare time?"
"Sleep. Sit."
Jesus. "How about when you're not sleeping or sitting?" I asked, in what I hoped was a teasing voice. But I was starting to want to throttle her.
"Play video games."
Okay! "What games do you play?"
"Mario."
"Wow, they're still making Mario? I played Mario when I was a kid. I thought he'd have run out of adventures by now." Much the way I was running out of conversation.
I tried again. "Have you played Wii?"
"Yeah."
"What games?" A shrug. "Tennis?" A nod. Silence.
And then: "Guitar Hero."
Palpable relief from me. "I love Guitar Hero! No, you know what I love? Rock Band! I played Rock Band once and I was so good on the drums; everybody was like, 'Are you a drummer in real life?' And I said, 'No, but I'm gonna be!' And I was really convinced I was so good; I asked for drumsticks for Christmas and everything, but I didn't get them. And then the next time I played Rock Band I played the drums and I was awful! No good at all. And that was such a bummer; here I thought I had a natural talent and it turned out it was just a fluke." I gabbled on, desperate for some conversation, even if it was all one-sided. Julie ran beside me, resigned.
At Mile 6 she said to me, "I'm hungry."
"Did you eat breakfast this morning?" I asked.
"Piece of toast."
I breathed rather heavily through my nose. "Do you think maybe a piece of toast is not enough to get you through 13 miles?" She shrugged. "Next time we run, you should make a peanut butter sandwich and eat it on the bus. Do you eat peanut butter?" She nodded. "Okay, that will get you through a run. That's what I had for breakfast this morning." I regarded her for a moment, then remembered: "Don't you have a Clif bar in your pocket?"
"Yeah," she said.
"Okay, eat that."
She made no move to pull it out. "I can't run and eat at the same time!" she protested.
I was getting weary. Weary of the complaints, weary of running. It dawned on me that I might have felt more energy had I been running with one of the faster kids. All of the stopping and starting and the slow pace we'd been keeping had combined to make me feel rusty and tired. I was losing energy and we weren't even halfway through.
We passed a water stop and I grabbed a cup, a handy excuse. "We'll walk for 2 minutes," I said, slowing down. "So if you're hungry, start eating."
"One hour, fifty-six minutes!" called one of the race time-keepers, and I wilted. We'd been running for nearly two hours and we'd only traveled 6 miles! My God, no wonder I was weary. It was harder to plod through the race than it would have been to simply run it. I had a brief moment of panic: How the hell was I going to make it through the full marathon?
Julie wasn't eating. "How come you're not eating?" I asked. Again, she shrugged. "Not hungry after all? Okay, then we run." I tossed my cup and we set off again.
Just before Mile 7 we passed the Finish Line, where Sara was supposed to be waiting for us. At this point, the course doubled over and now we were running alongside those who were finishing the race - just going in the opposite direction. The course was split down the middle with traffic cones and tape, and spectators were pressing in from either side, calling out to those runners who were nearly done. The crowd had grown dense, and I was worried about Sara wandering around on her own. But then I spotted her, swimming upstream, looking for us in the fray. "Sara!" I called, waving my hand. She ran up to us.
"This is where I'm supposed to stop," she said to me. "But where do I go?" I craned my neck, looking around for somewhere to deposit her. Julie, surprisingly, had kept running.
"Hang on," I said. "Julie!" I hollered. "Wait just a second, okay?" She paused, uncertain. "Stop," I clarified, "I'll be right there." Sara and I kept peering into the crowd.
I heard somebody shout, "Go SRO!" and turned my head toward the sound.
"Who said that?" I asked Sara, but she didn't know. Then I heard it again: "Yay, SRO!" I caught sight of Betty on the other end of the Finish Line. "There's Betty," I said to Sara. "Go with her, okay? Nice job today!" I shunted her across the Finish, called out to Betty, "Sara's coming with you!" and turned around to find Julie. A man was trying to shoo her off the path.
"You need to get moving," he told her, "You can't stand here," and confused, Julie was starting to run.
"No," I said firmly, "She needs to wait for me." The guy looked a little taken aback. "Thank you; we're leaving now," I said, and we set off for the Great Highway.
The Great Highway was not so great. I mean, it's probably great if you're in a car, but when you're running a 6-mile loop on concrete and the sun's come out in full force, it frankly sucks. Julie and I trudged past Mile 7. We were still running alongside those who were finishing the race, and after several minutes I thought I would quit if I had to hear one more person shout, "You're almost there! Just 1 mile to go!" Because there was nobody shouting, "Keep up the good work! Only 6 miles left!" And it felt awful to be so close to the Finish Line but so far from finishing.
We ran in silence for awhile, and Julie seemed downhearted. Or maybe I just guessed that she felt downhearted, because that was how I felt. I asked her, "How are you doing?"
She shrugged.
"It's kind of hard, huh, hearing people shout 'You're almost done!' when we're not almost done, isn't it? Kind of makes you feel frustrated?"
She nodded.
"Yeah, me too," I sighed. "But..." I cast around helplessly for a 'but'. "But...this is our run," I finally said. "It's our run, yours and mine; it's not about anybody else. We're doing this for ourselves, and we're going to finish." It was a tired little speech, but it was all I could muster. Julie didn't even bother to shrug.
I spied Mile 8 coming up. I desperately needed a break, needed to stretch. And I thought it might be good for our moral if we took a quick breather.
"Okay, here's what we'll do," I said. "See the Mile 8 marker up there? I'm going to stop for a second and stretch my knees. Do you want to stop and stretch too, or would you like to walk for a minute?"
She considered. "I'll walk," she said.
"Okay," I told her as we approached the mile marker. "You walk and I'll catch up with you in just a minute." I stopped and pulled one of my legs up behind me. Julie kept going.
Actually, Julie kept running. I waited for her to slow to a walk, assuming she'd be happy for the opportunity, but the girl didn't slow. She kept running, and you know, I think she actually sped up.
I lost my balance, standing there like a crane, and quickly pulled on my other leg, trying to work the kinks out. But Julie was getting farther away and I was worried that I was going to lose her. Sure enough, a few seconds later she was out of sight.
"Shit," I muttered, and ran after her. I was creaky and achey and could not muster a faster pace; it was simply too late for me to limber up in this race. I really needed a proper stretch break but it looked like I wasn't going to get one. Everything hurt from the waist down and I blanched as I tried to speed up. It came to me, suddenly, that I was going to faint if I pushed too hard, so I slowed down and resumed my usual trot.
Julie reappeared in the distance, seemingly trapped behind a pair of walkers. "Julie!" I called out, but she didn't hear me.
I sped up just a bit. "Julie! Hey Julie!" I shouted, my hands cupped around my mouth. The effort of shouting cost me, and I had to slow down again to compensate for my loss of breath.
But she heard me and she turned around. I waved my hand at her. "Wait up!" I shouted. I hated to make her slow down. It's got to be frustrating to get in a zone and then have somebody grab your tail. But if she didn't let me catch up I was seriously going to lose her, and the crowd was so dense that I might not find her again. I was not going to lose this kid on the Great Highway, no way.
Julie saw me waving, but turned around and continued to run. And I swear, the kid put on a burst of speed. What the hell? "Julie!" I screamed, and people between us turned around to stare at me. I didn't care. "Julie! Stop! Wait for me!"
And you know, that little shit kept running. I know she heard me. Everybody else heard me. But she just kept on running like running was her new favorite thing, like she hadn't been bitching about it for 8 miles.
"JULIE!" I bellowed. "STOP!"
She didn't stop. But she did slow down, and after another few laborious minutes, I managed to overtake her. I was pissed.
But I swallowed my anger. "Thank you," I said breathlessly. "Sorry to make you wait, but I was going to lose you there." She made as though to speed up again. "Hey!" I said sharply, and she braked. "You need to slow down for a minute and let me catch up, okay?"
So she jogged for a moment while I speed-walked, trying to catch my breath. When I finally got my wind, I resumed jogging beside her. "Okay," I said. "That's better. Thank you for waiting."
Not 3 minutes later, the kid stopped in her tracks. "I'm tired," she said.
And then I reconsidered leaving her on the Great Highway.
Miles 9 through 13 were hard. Julie was complaining of a stomachache. "Is it a hunger kind of stomachache?" I asked. She shrugged. "Do you want to eat your Clif bar?" She shook her head. So I assumed it wasn't a hunger thing. We ran for a few minutes, but then she slowed to walk. "Can you make it to those traffic lights?" I cajoled her, and she nodded.
Okay, I told myself. So it's going to be this kind of race from here on out. Whenever Julie would stop and walk I would set a marker. "We're going to walk until that lamp post, and then we're going to run until the stop sign, okay?" I relaxed a bit, because I knew I could get her across the finish line this way, even if it took us awhile. And frankly, I was ready to walk. I was exhausted.
We began to collect other SRO folks, those who were on the slower end of the race. First we found Reecy, who was walk-running with Walter, and then we spotted Daisy on her own. "Where's your partner?" I asked her, and she pointed behind us towards a small cluster from whom she'd broken free. Daisy ran with us for a minute or two but then passed us; it seemed clear she was ready for her race to be over.
Julie stopped again. "My stomach hurts," she repeated, and this time she confided that it was a feminine complaint. Aha, I thought, thinking back on our pit stops at Miles 2 and 4. But truly, there was nothing I could do for her at this point. We were 2.5 miles from the Finish Line. Even if we quit the race at that moment we'd still have to walk to the end. So I tried another pep talk.
"You should be proud of yourself for running anyway," I said. "Lots of girls use that as an excuse not to run, so you should feel extra good about yourself." Although it's not an excuse that I have any patience for, it's true that some of the girls did use it as a reason not to run. And it worked like a charm because all the males turned pink at the first mention of cramps.
"I'm not going to let you quit, Julie," I said suddenly, meaning it. "I've seen you run 10 miles and we both know you can run 13. I'm not going to let you quit because you'd be selling yourself short. And I know you don't want to do that. Am I right?" A pause. And then she nodded.
So we soldiered on. Run, walk. Run, walk. I felt like I'd been doing this for days. I checked my watch. It was 11:00 AM.
Spencer rode up to us on his bike. Spencer is the Executive Director of SRO. He never runs with us, but he'll sometimes ride alongside on his bicycle and intimidate the kids into picking up their pace. He always seems to catch us walking, and it drives me nuts because he's never around when my kids are running like champs.
He descended on Julie. "What the matter?" he said. "Why are we walking?"
"Stomachache," replied Julie.
"We're working through it," I told him with a smile. It was a bright smile with a dark undertone. It said: Don't come riding into our race at the 12-mile mark and try to motivate us now. Where the hell were you at Mile 7 when I needed you?
Spencer tried to coax Julie into a run by giving her the Pick-Yourself-Up-By-Your-Bootstraps speech. "How are you going finish the marathon if you're walking the half-marathon? Huh? You've got 1 mile to go. Now let's finish strong. Come on!"
I was annoyed. I was annoyed for myself and I was annoyed for Julie. This, for the moment, even overshadowed my annoyance at Julie. Because it was 11:00 AM and I was drenched in sweat, running in circles on the highway. Everything hurt. I was exhausted. I was crabby. I was desperate for the Finish Line. But I had learned that you can take a journey in 3 hours. In 3 short hours, while the rest of the world is asleep, or lounging over their breakfast, you can take a journey on a concrete road with your partner beside you, fighting to put one foot in front of the other. Under the relentless sun, sweat crystalizing in the corners of our eyes, bleary from 12 miles of pounding the pavement, we were making a journey through the realms of self-discovery. We were proving the dictum of mind over matter. Heartily, it sucked. But it was our journey. Mine and Julie's.
And now Spencer was trying to swoop in at the Last Mile and call the shots. I wasn't having it.
"We're walking until we get to that traffic light," I said firmly, pointing up ahead of us. "And then we're going to run it in to the Finish. Right, Julie?"
She blinked at me.
"Right, Julie?" I said again. This time she nodded.
Well, we wound up walking 3 more times during the course of that last mile. But we didn't give up. We could hear them announcing people's names as they finished the race just beyond the crest of that final hill. And with the Finish Line in sight, Julie put on another burst of speed and left me in the dust. I didn't even try to catch up with her. I just let my creaky body lumber its own way across the Finish. At 3 hours, 20 minutes and 26 seconds.
Julie was waiting for me on other side. "They pronounced my last name wrong," she complained. We were limping along toward the T-shirt tents.
"Oh yeah?" I said, past caring. "How do you pronounce it?"
"The 'g' is silent," she told me.
"Hey," I said. "Hey, Julie." She stopped and turned around.
"Great job today. I'm proud of you." She blinked at me. And almost - but not quite - smiled.
"High five," I said, and she held up her hand. I smacked it with my own, hard.
"You almost knocked me over!" she exclaimed.
Yup.
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