Marvelous Marathoners

As this marathon of a weekend comes to an end, I couldn't be happier for my dad or my training partner Dani. Pops ran 4:24 at the Indianapolis Marathon on Saturday, averaging just over 10 minutes per mile. Not bad for a guy who a few years ago ran the IU Open 5k where the following Monday the IDS reporter covering the meet remarked that there was a Santa-like man bringing up the rear as though he were "looking for some milk and cookies."

On Sunday Dani conquered Columbus and beat out all the other women to take first in 2:48. Also not bad for someone who only a little over a year ago would be hurting during our 12-mile long runs after a 60-mile training week. I squealed like a pig when I got her voicemail after our T.I.E. long run at Morgan-Monroe revealing the good news. The whole run I kept thinking, "Gee, Dani is probably at mile 10 by now. Gee, I wonder what Dani went through halfway in. Gee, I hope Dani is doing well!" And boy was she ever doing well! Next year we will run Chicago together and people will be making a documentary about that - bring it on "Spirit of the Marathon!"

Back at the Indy Marathon on Saturday, I also had the pleasure of running with Brenda, one of my (many) physical therapist friends, who was hoping to qualify for Boston after narrowly missing the mark earlier this year at the Rock 'n Roll Marathon in San Diego. It was nice to catch up with her and hopefully have helped her a teeny weeny bit with her goal. She finished in 3:39 and is now Boston-bound.

After I ran with Brenda I turned around and jogged against the crowd to find my dad again. When I first saw him that day, just after the 7-mile-mark, he was yelling random stuff at people (i.e. he saw someone with a Drumstick Dash shirt on and yelled, "Go Dashers!" as if anyone had any clue what that meant), and even jumping up and down for a few pictures (I carried my camera with me the whole way). The second time I saw him was at mile 15, and his stride was much shorter, so I hopped in and tried to make small talk. He said he felt okay physically but mentally was hurting. I made it through 18 with him then had to stop because running 10-minute/mile pace makes my knees ache something fierce. When I saw him again a little after mile 20 his head was so far down I could see the very top of his black Brooks Pre-Nat's hat I had given him from when I placed in the top 25 at that meet 3 years ago. I made him lift his head up and we progressed through the next six miles.

Out of all the miles I have run in my life, I will never forget running miles 25-26 with my dad yesterday. The whole last six miles I was debating in my head if I should say something "daddish," such as "Just go faster!" or "get your butt up that hill now, Gall!" all typical sayings that have fallen out of his mouth during my races. With immense effort I managed to bite my tongue and make only postive or contructive utterances.

All of a sudden Dad said to me, "I have been waiting this whole run for you to say 'why can't you just run faster?' to me like I used to say to you. Well, every muscle and bone in my body is sorry, they all say sorry!"

This run, for him, gave new meaning to the old saying "walk a mile in another (wo)man's shoes." My dad ran 26.2 of them, and I couldn't be prouder. A sure sign that he is his daughter's father is that he has called me multiple times since the marathon yesterday to tell me he is mad at himself for not running the last two miles faster and finishing under 4:22, and wants to pick another one to do so he can run faster. There is now officially no hope at recovery. Another running-addict is out there on the streets. Lock up your stores of Gu and Gatorade, folks.