Even slow ones can complete their race

April 23, 2009

Dear Julie,

Among boys in grade school, the ability to run fast creates a kind of pecking order. Fast runners are looked up to in a way that amounts to a tribal hierarchy. When the boys run around on the playground, the fast ones naturally lead and the slow ones follow.

I was not one of the fast ones and knew it.

Playday at Jefferson Elementary School in 1962 was the last time I had run in a race. My partner's name and the outcome of the three-legged race were withdrawn from my memory bank long ago. The excitement of Playday for me was eating hot dogs and getting to wear shorts to class and spend a whole school day not learning anything.

Two legs, both of them mine, were all I had last weekend at the St. Louis Marathon, and instead of a playground 10,000 competitors ran through rainy streets lined at many places with spectators. No hot dogs awaited at the finish line.

I ran only the half marathon, not the full marathon. Dave Hardesty, a marathoner I have known for a number of years, volunteered to stay with me until he peeled off to complete the full marathon. Following Dave's lead helped a lot. Encouragement the spectators did, too. "You have Kenyan legs today," yelled one.

A few people began walking only a mile or so into the race. Negotiating the traffic jams at the aid stations offering water and Gatorade was tricky. I lost Dave in the masses during one but soon saw another familiar face. Laura Morningstar, a personal trainer at my gym, and I ran together until Dave's relentless stride up reappeared up ahead.

At eight miles I required a bathroom break. The young woman who forgot to lock her Porta-Potty door and I will remember it well.

At 10 miles the marathoners continued running straight and we half marathoners veered to the right and back downtown toward the Arch. Those last three miles were the hardest for me, in part because most of it was a gradual climb and because my longest training run had been 10 miles. This was a new frontier. I sensed others were struggling too, but then the finish line loomed.

"When you get 50 yards from the finish line you have to give it everything you've got," Dave had told me. "Even if you've got to crawl."

I didn't have to crawl. In fact, seeing the finish and the big cheering crowd put hidden spring into my legs. I felt like a base runner tearing for home or a tailback homing in on the goal line.

Then it was over. I'd finished in 2 hours, 14 minutes and 50 seconds. Suddenly the race announcer began sounding excited. Zach Freudenburg, the 30-year-old man who won the marathon, was sprinting across the finish line. He'd run twice as far as me in the same amount of time.

The exultation of running 13 miles was accompanied by the acknowledgment that Zach and I had run two very different races. But that didn't seem to matter.

There were people in St. Louis last weekend for whom walking the course was a major challenge. There were athletes in wheelchairs. Many people were running for a cause. Being out there with them felt like an honor.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is a former reporter for the Southeast Missourian.</i