Because I live in rural NC, nowhere near any organized running groups, I've gotten involved with several online "virtual training groups." One of those is the Penguins. One of the members of a Penguin sub-group and a long-time virtual acquaintance, Liz, is being treated for cancer. At the suggestion of some members of the group, many of us have been doing races in her honor. My RnR Half was in honor of her, and this is my report.
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Liz, I took you with me to Virginia Beach for the 6th Rock n Roll Half this weekend. I wanted so much for it to be funthe way I remembered our visit there for the race as funbut all days arent fun, I suppose. In fact, perhaps that made this race even more poignant for me. At my low points, I thought of the un-fun days you must have faced recently, and how you have to keep going anyway and squeeze every drop of goodness out of each day.
But Im getting ahead of myself, because there was a good deal of goodness in this day. In fact, it was a glorious day. We skirted a hurricane to make this race, you and I. Right up until the day before I left home, there were questions about whether the path of Ernesto would prevent the race, and whether it would prevent my drive to Va Beach. But the storm passed, the trip was made, and on your Day of Hope
I toed the line in Corral 20far behind where you would have started, but I kept you there with me anyway.
And the first six miles WERE fun. The wave start sent us under the balloon arch 29 minutes behind the elites. I laughed, thinking theyd be finished before we got to mile 4, but I had my camera and my goal was not a stellar time, but a
palpable memory. I love the water stops and neighborhoods and cheerleaders at this race. They didnt disappoint us this year. They were just as marvelous as usual. And not far into the race, there was the huge panel from rbkrunning.com: When exhaustion gets tired, when agony doubles over in pain, when defeat waves a little white flag, I will still be out here. Running. I am what I am. Thats you, Liz, still running.
Remember the short little bridge?
Its the only hill on the course. Well, the theme for this year was pirate-y, with all the neighborhood there dressed in pirate garb, and
a huge pirate ship complete with skull and crossbones, and a series of signs demanding we walk the plank (the bridge). Their lighthearted encouragement made the bridge seem insignificant, even to this flatlander. And Camp Pendleton had its jeep-borne drill sergeant shouting encouragement to us through her megaphone. A 9-or-10-yr-old kid played acoustic guitar from the back of a pickup. He was as much fun for me as any of the bands, and he was adorable.
But when I left the shade of Camp Pendleton, turned back on the city streets, and began the long trek past the finish line out to 37th street, the day changed for me. It was late, the heat and humidity were rising, and the concrete resorts and asphalt offer little in the way of shade. I drank cups of warm water at the water stops, and couldnt seem to get enough. Then came that wonderful turn toward the ocean on 37th street, and the surf was gorgeous.
The boardwalk was crowded, and it was hot, but we faced the finish line in the distance. And we crossed it, you and I. No iced towels for you at the finish line, because when you travel with me, the good stuff is often gone before you finish. And no water, unless you wanted to stand in the two-block line in the sun for runner refreshments. So I bought a
finishers shirt and a diet Pepsi, and I walked six blocks to wait in the long line in the hot sun for the shuttle back to the amphitheater where Id parked. And I was so nauseated and miserable, and I wanted to cry because Id wanted this to be a tremendous celebration of you. And I dreaded writing the race report.
But its morning now, and Im back home with my
medal and my finishers shirt and my photos of the happy moments during the race, and it occurs to me that maybe this is a very appropriate celebration of you. Because this morning, Im completely "healed". The ugliness of yesterdays nausea has passed. I am deliciously cool in front of my computer screen and I have a tall, unsweetened iced tea in hand and another pitcher waiting. And its a good day. A marvelous day! I wish you a lifetime of complete healing followed by many marvelous days.
Love you, Liz.
Wendy in NC