The Boulder Backroads Marathon

Just...let...go...

Friendship can be an indomitable force, a totally intangible power not to be messed with. I’ve had few really good friends in my lifetime, and the “breakup” I suffered with a close girlfriend in college scared me off of friendships in general and close friendships in particular. Losing a close friend—especially when you don’t understand why—tears into your heart and soul like the end of a relationship with a significant other, except, somehow, worse. As a result, if you’re like me, friendships are taken lightly and often for granted, with little significance, something to be used when necessary and otherwise put quietly away like canned goods or laundry soap: great when you need ‘em but otherwise left undisturbed.

This probably seems like an odd way to begin a blog post about my most recent accomplishment: my finishing the Boulder Backroads Marathon, but this race has been about friendship in so many ways that to do so otherwise would be a discredit to the importance and friends in a human being’s life. Namely, in mine.

I learned a lot about friendship over the course of training for this event, and over the course of completing it, my friends dominated my thinking, for the better. This happened in myriad ways throughout the race, but are best explained through my relationships with each of these people.

My dear friend Scott, a former collegiate cross-country runner and Nordic skier, was on hand for it all: for the long runs, when he played gear sherpa and hauled my stuff along the way to support me when I needed nutrition beyond what I could carry, is necessarily the first example of friendships that carried me through this race. Scott was on hand throughout the race, at the beginning to take my gear from me when I had to wear warm-ups (it was a cold start) up to the very last minutes before the starting shot, throughout the race taking photos of Kristi and I, and at the end snapping pix, giving hugs and high-fives in congratulations, and after the end, putting together a DVD slideshow of the pictures he snapped of Kristi and I along the way and setting it to the lyrics of Fischerspooner’s “Just Let Go”, one of my favorite bands and favorite songs, to the day after the race when he took me to dinner at an amazing white-tablecloth restaurant in Boulder. Scott has played coach, mentor, shoulder to cry on, photographer, gear sherpa, confidante, therapist and orthopedic specialist to me throughout the course of my training and the race itself. A day or two before the race, knowing full well he intended to ride the course and snap pix along the way, I emailed him telling him that I didn’t want to see him on the course, that he’d be too big a distraction, and that I needed to focus on the race and not on his presence. Aside from the fact that this was an incredibly heartless and selfish email, it was rude at the last moment to change the game plan: Scott was going to be there for the sole purpose of getting photos of Kristi and I along the way. Our weird history came into play with this request or, rather, demand: Scott and I went from attempting to date to attempting to be friends to me virtually shutting him out of my life to finally moving into a precarious friendship, and I wasn’t about to let all of this stuff come up midrace. So I did what I usually did: told him to, basically, go to hell.

Scott rode by me about four or so miles in; I was feeling good and unburdened and when I saw him haul past on his bike, trying to get out of my line of sight as quickly as possible, I called out to him. I told him, in halting speech while jogging, that he was fine doing whatever, that having him there was okay, and that the distraction was no loner an element I was worried about. And truly, it wasn’t. I would see him anyway, so long as he was taking shots of us, and I really didn’t want him scooting back and forth between Kristi and I trying to get pix of both of us and somehow avoid me as well. Somewhere in the midst of an incredibly selfish event, I broke out of my self-centeredness enough to realize how lucky I was to have someone in my life who would go to these lengths to try to make this a great day for me, and to give me something to remember it by. What the fuck was the matter with me, and where did I get off being such a bitch? It made no sense to be rude and bitchy and restrictive, and so I tried my best to let him know everything was okay. He nodded, said I looked great, I looked strong, and told me Kristi was about two miles in before riding off to snap more photos. I kept jogging.

Kristi and I met because I moved over to a cubicle about twenty feet from hers when I assumed my new position at Wild Oats. She was a great, positive, sociable person and we got to chatting about running a few times, culminating in her joining me along a stretch of one of my longer runs. We became fast friends to the point of getting matching tattoos the day before the race after picking up our packets at the race expo. We had a lot in common and we got along well, and she was a boon to my training. Her reports about her runs and asking for my advice was both influential to my motivation and awesome for my ego, which isn’t really fair, but it is true, so I’ll leave it at that. She’s a great person with a huge heart and a tireless spirit, and I love her energy and her attitude. Knowing she was doing the half—fighting her own battles, conquering her own demons, and crossing the finish line triumphantly—was a great motivator for me along my race, and her huge smile and crushing hug at the finish line totally made my day. I’ll never forget seeing her at the finish: my mom and sister were there hugging and kissing me, a bunch of my friends were there, and then she came up to me and said, “Hey, congratulations!” and for a second, I didn’t recognize her. I was truly that out of it. When I came to a moment later I grinned at her and hugged her and she hugged me and it was awesome. It was like having the older sister I never had, the force greater than myself looking at me and smiling and saying, hey, you did it, way to go, this is yours, own it, love it and wear it with pride. It may have been the delirium, but I saw all of that in Krist’s face and felt it in her hug, and it felt so good to have someone there who knew what I had just been through.

My best friend Katie and her fiancé Patrick were there too. Katie (KT) and I became friends because I was her tutor and we spent as much, if not more, time chatting and hanging out as we did doing schoolwork. Now I don’t tutor her as much but we’ve both, in the midst of our mutually-busy lives, made time for each other and have recognized the importance of our friendship. KT is, in many ways, the woman I want to be: she is much better at standing up for herself than I ever have been and she absolutely never backs down from a challenge. Hard-working, driven, motivated and relentlessly loving, she plays as hard as she works when she can and brings to her friendships a ferocity of loyalty that most people never know in their relationships with other people within the span of their lifetimes, much less within three years or so, as long as I’ve known KT. After a two-month long fight threatened to drive us apart permanently, we forged a peace that was sealed, for me, when she came to my birthday party. She and her fiancé were at the finish line, and while I was delirious and adrenaline-rushed and completely exhausted, the magnitude of that moment hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew consciously that she would be there, she’d TOLD me she would be there, but seeing her there, smiling and clapping and hugging me and cheering me on through the chute to the finish line, was indescribably amazing. I haven’t had a girlfriend whose devotion to me has been so strong in the entirety of my life, and I can’t begin to describe how profoundly blessed I felt at that moment.

My friend Mike was there too, an odd friendship also based in potentially dating as well, we’ve become friends through a mutual love and respect for Boulder’s top two sports: cycling and running. He’s the cyclist, I’m the runner. Having Mike there was great, another person cheering and clapping who knew my name and shouted it loud and strong as I crossed the finish line, another person who cared for me enough to take time out of his Sunday afternoon to come see me finish at Backroads.

My mom and sister were, of course, obligatory attendants, living fifty miles away or a decent hour’s drive north of Boulder. Still, seeing them smiling and clapping for me at the finish line gave me the best feeling. I was, again, delirious, exhilarated, exhausted and dehydrated but seeing the two of them there made it a prouder finish. My mother always envisioned me as the runner of the family, so it was awesome to see her so proud of me and so happy for me at the end of this race. Emily is my closest friend and knows me better than almost anyone else in my life, and having her there made me feel so proud and so loved. I am insanely lucky to have such a great family.

I did miss Jack. He’d come to the race but thought he missed me and left about ten minutes before I finished. I was upset and angered but at the same time, rationalized what had happened even while, infuriated, calling him and talking to him about why he wasn’t there. I truly did miss him, though; this is the thing about friendship: nothing can replace it and I think that choosing friends is a thousand times more important as choosing lovers …but while we’re becoming better and better friends, the lovers part is already in place. The truth of it is, nobody’s hug feels like your boyfriend’s or significant other’s or that neighbor’s who you happen to be dating; however you want to put it, nobody’s arms could have felt the same as his at that finish line. For that matter, when I turned up at his door half an hour later, the hug I got did feel pretty great. Having him there would have made the triumph that much sweeter. I did miss him, but my finish wasn’t lacking because of him.

The truest fact of a marathon or anything one has to rely one one’s own self to accomplish is that nothing can detract from its conclusion. You were there. You did the task. You took on the challenge and you completed it, on your own, whether you had nobody to greet you and slap high fives and hug you or whether the whole world showed up to laud your achievement at the end. At the end, you did it. You made it. You have to own it: every step, every aid station, every mile, every ache, every pain, every joint creaking, every hurt. Nothing can detract from that feeling of accomplishment.

A couple of incredible things:

*The volunteers and spectators absolutely made my day along the course. All along the way, every few miles, there was a crowd of people who donated their time and energy to cheering, handing out water and Gatorade, creating general merriment and encouraging runners along the way. I took every opportunity I could to thank them. They absolutely deserve a place in heaven for what they did for me at the marathon.

*Bella was right: “Stay though, and keep smiling”. My favorite Irongirl triathlete and I exchanged a couple of emails a few weeks ago when I was doing the last of my really long runs and she was training in Switzerland (God, the Internet is an amazing thing!). I slapped a smile on my face around mile 2 and the entirety of the race was easier. Thanks, Bella. I hope I get to see you race someday.

*I can’t begin to write down all the stuff that went through my head over the course; it was everything from Bella’s advice to wondering how sunburnt I was getting to what the next aid station would have for snacks (at a marathon the first few aid stations have just water and Gatorade, but they start proliferating their snack offerings after the halfway point and by the end it’s everything from bagel bites and pretzels to Snickers marathon bars and cut-up bananas and apples, as well as the requisite hydration) to how freaking lucky I was to be running this year on this absolutely perfect day (last year it was raining for this event) to cheering on other runners to strange food ideas (Gregory’s 2005 Wildflower run was spent dwelling on dreams of jambalaya; I don’t even remember what I dwelt upon but I know that at a few moments during the race I craved some pretty weird foods suddenly and instantaneously, like a full Thanksgiving dinner and peanut-butter-chocolate-chip cookies) to the usual checklist: how are the legs, how’s the back, how’s my form, how are my footstrikes, what can I do to alleviate this pain in this part of my knee, what do I need to relax more, can I finish can I finish can I finish?, to wondering what my cat was up to to…you name it, it went through my head at one point or another during the marathon. I can honestly say I did not think of the “war on terror” or any other absurd psychotic right-wing ultrapatriotic idiotic notion, although I did think of my friend Matt in Afghanistan and how much I miss him.

*I met a girl named Colleen during the marathon and we ran together for about eight or so miles. She kept me going, really, our pacing was well-matched and I dropped my 12 minutes of running then 2 minutes of walking routine to run with her instead and walk only aid stations. I lost her at a Port-a-potty when she went to the bathroom but passed her just before she reached the turnaround and we slapped five. I posted a quick little post on craigslist’s “missed connections” page, though I doubt she’ll see it, since I missed her after the marathon & we’d become decent buddies & had talked about exchanging email addresses. If I never see her again I still owe her thanks for pushing me out of my little 12:2 running comfort zone because I ran the rest of the race and walked only aid stations and I wouldn’t have done that if it weren’t for her. Thanks Colleen!

*I can’t begin to describe the perfection of the day for this race. It started out co-o-o-l-l-ld but beautiful, the reservoir shrouded in a light layer of mist. As I crossed the starting line in a sea of runners (most much faster than I!) I was hyper-aware of what I was doing and the enormity of the undertaking, so I started out the way I began most of my long runs: by walking. After less than a quarter mile I began to jog and soon fell into a comfortable pace. The serenity of the scene around me got to me a little and I choked up a bit watching the amazing trail of runners stretched out along the roadway in front of me and the crowd of runners behind me…and then I decided to get agitated by the fact that my MP3 player had run out of juice right before the start and I didn’t have batteries, and sulked along the first two miles, getting pissy about people having conversations around me a I tried to wrap my head around one of the songs I had on my MP3 player only to have it fade as another group passed me deep in conversation. I don’t know what the heck it was that pulled me out of my funk, but I finally looked up and around me shortly after the top of the first hill and mentally slapped myself a bit. Dondi, you’re being stupid. Look at this day. Look at what you’re doing. Snap the f*** out of it. And, fortunately, I did. That’s about the time I slapped a smile on my face and kept it there.

*Photographers are a lot more interested in you if you’re a goofball, and too many runners take themselves way too seriously. I called out encouragement to a few hundred runners who passed me and about fifty that I passed on the part of the course that involves a turnaround and kept doing so throughout the end. Some smiled and waved and shouted back, but most kept their grim, determined face set grimly determined and just kept on chugging. Man, what’s the fun in that? Anyway, the photographers loved me; I was grinning and making faces and pumping my arms in the air and flashing peace signs and thumbs-up and hamming it up for all of them and they loved it, I mean really, were cracking up and snapping photos like crazy. I haven’t seen any of the pix from brightroom (the event’s photography sponsor) but I hope they took as many as I think they did, and I hope I get to see them soon. They will be hilarious.

*Inspiration occurs in the oddest places. I passed a group around mile 21 walking and told them they looked great & strong and they yelled back that I was an inspiration to them. That about knocked me over, I felt so good. Then I caught up with a woman who was walking fast but walking, and it was clear that she wanted to be jogging. I started chatting with her, she was in pain and having trouble dealing, and in her forties or so, so really, it amazed the hell out of me that she was there. I mean, if I’m doing a marathon at forty-five, hell, my life is complete, I’ve been doing something right. She was upset, though, that she wouldn’t come in under four hours (I was pacing for 5:30 myself, and came in at 5:42:21, and happily), and after listening to her lament for a minute or two I stopped her, telling her how incredible it was that she was doing this atall and that she needed to stop and consider just how hard she was being on herself and how few people in the world actually do these events and complete them. She was crying a little but pulled it together and thanked me profusely. I left her a few minutes later but told her she needed to find me after the race & I’d give her a big hug. I was on the phone with Jack when she walked up & stupidly I didn’t hug her a bit wrapped up in my own friends and family, but she thanked me again and I congratulated her and told her she’d done an amazing thing & should be proud of herself, and nothing made me happier for that moment than seeing her, with her family around her, at the finish of the Boulder Backroads Marathon. Iw as so happy for her and so inspired by what she’d just accomplished…what we’d just accomplished…all of us.

A marathon is a solidly individual event: whether or not you join a training group, get a coach, join a club, train on your own like me, or whatever, you have to do the time. You have to put in the work and you have to make it happen. You cross the finish line on your own. When my brother and sister-in-law did the Charlotte Marathon they crossed the finish line together, holding hands, as they’d planned. Still, while they were together, BJ had to do his own run, and Kristen had to do hers. As steadfast as they were in their connection, their bond, and their togetherness, they each had to battle their own challenges and take on their own fears and concerns over the course of the race. BJ couldn’t do Kristen’s work, and Kris couldn’t do B’s. You cross the finish line on your own two feet, and after a certain point (for me it was mile 23), you get yourself there through willpower alone.

Adding to that, however, is an element of community that’s intangible, a network of bonds and relationships with people that get you through it all in the long run anyway. I ran the Boulder Backroads Marathon for myself, first and foremost, but it was the intrinsic and complex network of family, friends and acquaintances who got me through the race. I was talking with Scott about this because he has been the most physically influential person to my training, what with being coach/mentor/friend/therapist/sherpa/photographer and all, and I found that I couldn’t tell him that I wouldn’t have been able to do it without him, because I could have. Or could I?

Truth be told, I couldn’t have done it without Scott. I couldn’t have done it without the new shoes he loaned me the money for (no, really, I couldn’t have, my old shoes were the reason I sustained a nasty knee injury three weeks before the race), the indefatigable encouragement, enlightenment, advice from his training days, unyielding enthusiasm, tireless sherpa-ing during my long runs, putting up with my hissy fits and bratting out, and just generally giving me whatever I needed at the time: a hug, a shoulder to cry on, a bottle of sport drink, a packet of Shot Blox, a new pair of socks, a hand up from the side of the road when I over-ate and threw up massive quantities of energy bars, Cytomax and Shot Blox, a ride to and from the course, a steady hand, a smile, a few words of encouragement and a big hug at the start, gloves to keep my hands warm until I moved into starting position, and hands to take my gear bag, warm-ups and jacket so I didn’t have to ditch them along the way like so many other runners did. I also couldn’t have done it without KT and Patrick and their love and support and constant encouragement. I couldn’t have done it without my dad helping me out last season by being my sherpa in his car, hauling gear for me and waiting at every mile to give me whatever I needed: food, water, Gatorade, a hug. I couldn’t have done it without BJ and Kristen and their stories about their marathon, their support and encouragement, their love and their loyalty. I couldn’t have done it without my mom and Emily, without running that 5K with Emily a few weeks ago right after I hurt my knee and when I was really scared of running, doing that 5K with her & her being so strong and so supportive. I couldn’t have done it without my mother, letting me know that it was okay to drop out last year, whose gentle advice and tender support gave me the strength to call Lesley, the race director, from a San Francisco hotel room with tears dripping down my face after I’d injured myself badly just before the race, to let her know that I had to drop out. I probably couldn’t do it without Lesley understanding and appreciating my suffering and letting me carry over my registration to this year. I couldn’t have done it without Mike, who took me out for dinner the night before the race, whose energy and passion for sport both calmed my fears and neuroses and raised my excitement level. I couldn’t have done it without Jack, who gave me plenty of trouble during my training (“Claw, why do you DO this to yourself?” paired with a generous grin and, often, a quick rub for my shoulders, freshly sore from a recent training run) and kept me lighthearted when I was taking myself too seriously, put up with me for the majority of the scary part of training, during the long runs and the short runs and the three-weeks-before-the-race terrifying knee injury, during my freaking-out neuroses about the race, reminded me of the importance I used to place—and began to again—on meditation and writing in my journal, and who stayed with me the night before the race, virtually guaranteeing that between my tossing and turning while I did sleep and waking periods between those fitful bits of rest that he would get an even worse night’s sleep than I did. Not without the myriad spectators and volunteers along the course who admittedly were not there for me, or not just for me, anyway, but who made my race possible by giving me constant boosts with shouts of praise, excitement, encouragement and support. Not without Colleen, whose camaraderie made the miles between about 8 and 16 fly by without even thinking about them, or Marty, the woman I talked to near the end who was so upset with her race, who in letting me lift her spirits, in turn lifted mine. Finally, not without the people who weren’t there at the race but whose support along the way meant the world to me: Tom Grant, our Deli Category Manager at Oats and veteran marathoner, who gave me tons of advice and whose calm voice and steadfast spirit looked me in the eye on the Friday before and told me I could do it, and that he was proud of me; my department’s buyer and my close colleague Robin Hoffman, who not only is responsible for the fact that my bike still runs but whose general trouble-giving about my training, especially in the last few weeks after screwing up my knee fired up the “oh yeah, well screw you, I’m GONNA run that marathon!” spirit in me and who was the second person in my office, after Tom, who I came to show my finisher’s medallion to, my boss Bobby and my director Betsy, who both praised me so effusively I blushed at both occasions, when I saw Bobby early in the day and when Betsy came by my cube later; my cubemate Toni, a constant source of enthusiasm, excitement and praise before and after the race, my friend Gary, an incredible athlete in his own right who will probably never do a marathon due to injuries sustained over his life but who would love to do one and who left me a voicemail that brought tears to my eyes three days before the race and reminded me that I also needed to consider all of the people whose dream it was to run this race but who would never accomplish that dream; as well as all of the rest of my friends at work: my fellow Goats Peter, Betsy, Laurie, Jim, Kelly (ok no longer at Oats but still a Goat and a dear friend!), Jackie Healy, who’s done Backroads and had great advice for me & Kristi a few days before the race, my “never give up” Bolder Boulder buddy Zoya, Todd, Chris D and Chris C in Holistic Health, Ana and Troy, whose little girl I baby-sit, who have become like a second family to me and who have been nothing but wholeheartedly supportive and loving during my training, my cruiser guys Del and Bobalicious, who have lovingly though wholly dubbed me insane but have stood by me, though at a safe distance, I’m sure, Richard, Pat, Denine, Marsha, Erin, Mitchell…this list could go on forever or until e-blogger cuts me off for taking up too much space on the Internet. My most heartfelt and loving thanks go to you all. I truly could not have done it without you.

Last but not least: Gregory Menvielle, whose athleticism and pursuit of triathlon (despite the fact that, if you believe him, has a running form akin to a beached whale being chased by Japanese fishermen) has been an unfailing inspiration to me and whose advice, assistance, encouragement and support have been elementally instrumental in my achievement of this goal over the past year and a half. I cherish and value my friendship with Gregory, and not just because if I ask nicely he brings me wine and soap from France when he goes home. Genuinely, he got me started running again (you can’t date an Ironman triathlete if you have any background in endurance sports and NOT get back into them, as I found) when we started dating and now that we are friends I am incredibly grateful for that. Watch for him to crush the competition, at the very least in the swim, at Ironman Roth in 2007.

“First”…because there’s many more to come. I didn’t mention that at various points along the race up to and including at about mile 25.5 al I could think was, “I can’t wait to recover so I can do this again!”? Well, that’s another blog post altogether.

Happy training…