Once a runner, always a runner

After a hiatus for a few years, I signed up in July 2011 for the 2012 Houston Marathon after returning home permanently from my assignment in Angola. The motivation was a self imposed challenge – Could I do it at my age? What little running I had done in the past few years was only to stay somewhat healthy. HASH run in Angola every other Saturday could not be called true running. It was more of a fun walk/jog/run with motivation for most expatriates was to drink beer at the end of the run and socialize. It was also a break from the work-eat-sleep routine in an alien land as we did not have much of a life. So, here upon my return I was making perhaps a “stupid” decision to run the marathon on January 15, 2012. It was going to be my 8th. As with my Kilimanjaro trip in 2008, I also decided to raise some fund for a charity. I had a flash back of a little girl with cancer that I had worked with many years ago through Sunshine Kids Foundation. I remembered how happy she was to be able to take all the rides at the Astroworld including rock climbing. I was tired and dizzy trying to keep up with her taking those rides. But she was the happiest little girl that day and for me my aches and pains were worth it. So, I decided to raise funds for Sunshine Kids Foundation through my marathon run. Money started coming in. Now I felt like I could not back out. I could not let my sponsors down.

I started running in the neighborhood on weekends. Sometimes I would even go for a short run through the darkness in the morning before going to work. As a prelude to the marathon I decided to run the Houston Striders’ half marathon in October 2011 (which I had done many times in the past with a decent finish time). This half marathon turned out to be my worst ever. I struggled. I was almost starving towards the end; my legs did not want to move. I finished, but my time was terrible. Now I had 2nd thought about my marathon prospect – could I even complete the run, let alone worry about my time. I was more determined than ever. I started jogging more regularly. However, priorities change. I was about to be a grandfather. My wife and I traveled just about every weekend to SFO. During those breaks, I tried to jog in the nearby park. In between I got a severe cold and cough. The baby arrived; it was a joyous occasion. However, I stayed away from the baby or approached wearing a surgical mask. My running almost took a back seat. The marathon was approaching fast. Finally only in the last four weekends prior to the marathon I ran for a decent amount of time, but not enough to be ready for a marathon. The week before the marathon was a rest week and I literally survived on spaghetti that week to do carbo-loading.

The day arrived. For the first time I was truly worried. My family advised me time and again not to be stupid and walk away if necessary. I do not like walking away once I set a goal. I prayed in my own mind to give me that extra ounce of strength to be able to finish. In the wee hours of Sunday morning, my wife dropped me off at the starting point. There was a sea of humanity – for marathon, half-marathon, 5K. Soon the gun went off. We started moving. I was proudly wearing my Sunshine Kids baseball cap and the running shirt. My nick name Red River was written on my bib. My strategy was to go slow and goal was to finish the run. I did not care about my time. My competition was me. My friends (and adversary at the same time) were my old legs that I had depended on for over 60 years. We took off. We went through various neighborhoods. There were people standing by the roadside – cheering for us. They were beating drums, cymbals, or anything they could make any noise with. “Looking great, you can do it, got to get back before 12 for the game (Texans playoff game that is)” - they yelled. There were Elvis impersonators, belly dancers, and bagpipe players along the way. Volunteers offered water or Gatorade at every water stations. Unlike thousands cheering for their sons or daughters or parents or spouses, I had no relatives alongside the road. Yet I would hear “go Red, go” from the bystanders. Children would extend their hands for High Five and I would oblige as I pass them by. Slowly, but surely my legs were getting tired. We passed the half way point. They would say – “It is downhill from here on”. For me that was another half-marathon to go. Soon they would try to encourage by saying to join the party at the “Wall” (around 20-mile point). We stop and gulp down a little banana or a slice of orange. I would also pull out my little liquid energy pack from my pouch attached to my waist, tear out a corner with my teeth, and squeeze it in my mouth. Only 2-3 miles to go, yet it seemed like a million miles. My legs were telling me how I was torturing them. One was about to cramp up. I take a little Sports Cream out of my pouch and rub it in. Another runner stops by me. “Can I get a dab of that?” – He says. “Sure” – I say. There were people now barely walking or hobbling hoping to get to the finish line. There was couple of blind runners that people cheered on. There was a runner on a prosthetic leg. They were the inspiration. I continued on. My pace was getting slower and slower. I could now smell the finish line as I pass the downtown buildings block by block. I took a deep breath and increased my pace with whatever mental energy I had. People cheered on. I ran to the finish line. As I stepped on that finish line, the Finishing Clock was staring at me telling me how poorly I did. I did not care. On the other side, someone congratulated, someone hung the Finisher medal on my neck. I made it. My old legs, my heart did not fail me. I am grateful. Someone asked me to get on a weighing scale just to see if I had lost more than usual amount of weight (apparently a normal practice these days at the marathon). I was fine. I picked up my finisher shirt and a mug. I called my wife to give the news. As I waited for her, I had a hot meal served by the marathon organizers. My hats off to the thousands of volunteers and organizers! Ethiopian elite runners grabbed all the top positions. I was happy with mine. I was glad that I did not let down my sponsors and was able to raise funds close to $3,000.00 for the Sunshine Kids. My stomping on the pavement for five hours was worthwhile for me personally and I would also like to think that my effort would help a few unfortunate children with cancer whose suffering I could hardly imagine.

Yes, I did not have to walk away in defeat. I promised my family that it would be my last marathon. But, once a runner, always a runner! I will continue to run to stay fit as long as my old reliable legs would allow me to do that.