The Team in Pink

I picked up Eliza after church yesterday to take her to her first 5K, a turkey 5K in Bridgewater, Virginia. She wore pink running shoes, pink socks, fuchsia colored shorts, and a pink-striped shirt and jacket. I, on the other hand, wore a fuchsia long-sleeved technical tee over black nylon shorts stained with a large white paint splotch on the front.

We pulled into town at 1:07 p.m. and drove into the park. I pulled her hair into a pony tail and stuck the pony tail through her pink Nike running hat.

"You're stylin'," a friend told her later.

Excited, Eliza wanted to do a million things at once.

"We have lots of time before the race, sweetie. Let me show you the end of the course."

I walked her to the starting line, down the road through the park, and right onto the street. Shortly we came to a street on the left.

"I am trying to remember the end of the course," I said.

"Haven't you run it before?" Eliza asked.

"Well, yes, but you're talking about your grammie, who's always lost."

A couple blocks further.

"Here we go. See the white [lyme] on the road."

A streak of white marked the beginning of the turn, the turn itself and the end of the turn.

"That's what you'll watch for. Those arrows tell you when to turn. If there's no arrow, you just keep running straight."

We walked back to the park entrance.

"When you get here, Eliza, pour it on. Give it all you've got 'cause you're almost to the finish. Now you'll be wondering where I am and thinking I'm never going to come, but you just run as hard as you can."

A little farther to the chute. "See the orange cones? You'll run right down the middle of them as fast as you can. Someone there will pull the bottom off your bib."

"Why?" she asked.

"That's how they keep track of the race results," I answered. They pull them off as people run in, put them on a hook, and then they have all the numbers in the order in which they placed. I pointed to a 60s-painted blue van off to the right side of the chute.

"Wait for me right here," I said. "You'll think I'm never going to come, but I will. Just wait right here."

We then went to the registration table. "Tell them your name, sweetie."

She just looked at me with her "I'm too shy look." I stubbornly remained quiet and stared back. Finally, just above a whisper, she said, "Eliza Johnson."

Once we had our bib numbers, I showed her how to fold the top over just at the edge of the number, so that the number showed but not the writing above it.

"Why do you do that?"

"So it's more comfortable. Our torsos are small and the bib is too tall otherwise."

She tried to pin her bib number on, but I ended up doing it for her. I put on my racing flats, watch and Road ID bracelet. I looked at my cell phone.

"1:45, Eliza. It's time to warm up."

We walked to the gravel track and ran a couple laps. She ran incredibly slow and I began to worry about her ability to run the whole 5K, although we had run three miles together before. We finished our warm up, took a bathroom break, talked with a couple friends. By then it was 2:05 p.m. We went back to the track and, snuggled together against a breeze that felt chilly in the 58 degree temperature, watched a couple runners finish the one-mile run run. By then it was 2:15 p.m.

"I need to take off my pants and jacket, Eliza. Shall we head back to the car?"

Another bathroom break. I took off my pants while I waited for her. I tossed cell phone, jacket and pants in my car.

"Time for a couple stride-outs to warm up our legs," I said.

She took off for the mark, slapped it, and raced back. Then we went to the finish line.

"Sometimes I beat your grammie," Andi Miner said. "You can run with me if you get ahead of her."

"That's true, Eliza. She and I have taken turns beating each other," I said.

After a few announcements, SVTC club president and race organizer, Rich Ruozzi, hollered, "On your mark, get set, go. We were off -- Eliza way too fast, I thought.

"Eliza," I shouted. "Too fast. Slow down."

That's her coach, someone shouted as a pack made way for Eliza and I to reunite. Eliza slowed down and came alongside me for all of five minutes.

"How are you doing? Too fast? Too slow? About right?"

"Is it okay if I run a little bit ahead of you?"

"Sure, sweetie. Go ahead. Just remember to look for cars when you cross the streets."

Off she went. . .I saw pink run past the person ahead of me, past the person ahead of that one, past another person, past Andi Miner. By the time the basically flat course hit the only hill, at about the one mile mark, the pink disappeared.

"Oh God, please help her remember to be careful. Don't let her get lost," I prayed as I ran as hard as I could. I slogged up that hill and picked it up on a fairly long straight-away. About the two mile mark, as I made a right turn, James Fye, one of the course marshals shouted, "She's up there somewhere."

"Thanks," I shouted. Well, at least she made it this far, I thought.

Another right and on to the park entrance.

"Your granddaughter kicked your ass," Butch Proctor, my running partner, best friend and course marshal shouted. Then she made it all the way, I thought. As I had instructed her to do, I poured as much as I could into the last stretch. As I reached the chute, I saw Eliza, waiting exactly where I had told her to wait. I high-fived her.

"Way to go, Eliza. Did you think I was never going to make it?" I wheezed.

She just smiled. We grabbed bagel quarters and water at the refreshment table.

"Can we go now?" she asked.

"We really need to cool down, sweetie. Two laps around the track--real slow."

"Can we walk?"

"Sure. . " But as I started to jog, she maintained my slow pace.

"Can we go now?"

"Well, don't you want to stay for the awards?"

"Well, I know I didn't win anything, but, yeah, I'll stay."

We went to the "wall" where results were posted. She got there first, took a quick look, turned around and looked at me with a big smile. I went to see what she was pointing at. 28:32. Second place in her age group. Eliza, the only female under 11 years old.

We went back to the pavilion for the awards. When her name was called, shyness gone, she marched up and claimed her prize, a laser cube with the image of an eagle inside.

"They shall mount up with wings as eagles. . .they shall run and not be weary," I quoted from the Bible. Another big smile.

And then, a short while later, she cheered as I claimed third in my age group. After the awards, she watched as race organizers and I pulled tags in place order from the board. I explained that I'd use the tags to type up race results after the race.

As we left the park, "Can we stop for ice cream?"

She chose a caramel sundae from Dairy Queen, and ate the whole thing. As we neared her house, she said, "It was a good day, wasn't it, Grammie?"

Indeed. . .a very good day, I thought, as I signed her running log.

116th Regiment 5K

I lean toward pacifism and, based on my understanding of the issues, don't agree with the present military efforts. Yet for the fourth year in a row, I ran this race for the benefit of the 116th Regiment, for the benefit of soldiers who are preparing for deployment soon. Hypocritical some might say. But pacifism is about more than just avoiding war; it is about peace making. And part of peace making requires accepting those with differing opinions, those who make choices contrary to mine.

I do respect the members of the 116th whom I have met. They manifest attributes which I, too, strive to exhibit. Professionalism. Diligence. Discipline. Focus. Teamwork.

Today I started out a bit too fast and, almost immediately, passed the men in the Color Guard. For the first mile, my lungs burned in the 23 degree temps. All I could think about was the pain. And then I heard the steady cadence of the men trying to run at a set pace while carrying flags. Have you ever tried running without moving your arms?

One's shoe came untied. Another soldier surged alongside as the flag bearers slowed their pace. In a synchronized movement, the flag exchanged hands. The flag never stopped.

I heard the soldiers sing and chant in their strong base voices. I, on the other hand, could barely breathe, let alone sing. I settled into a pace about 200 yards ahead of them and let the beat of their voices push me along. Motivation for the rest of the race.

I finished in 2d place for my age group. The color guard finished soon after -- to the cheers and clapping of finishers, me included, standing near the finish line. As it should be.

Toby

I had just passed the turn around for my regular 5K run when Toby came running. Toby, a golden Labrador retriever-looking dog, lives in his own world most of the time. On occasion, like last Friday, he acknowledges my presence by joining me during the last half of my run.
Toby is not a threat to me, but he is a definite threat to himself. He lopes alongside for a spell, stops to mark his spot or drop a load, and then, without warning, runs across the road to check out the other side -- totally oblivious to any oncoming cars.
I have tried calling to him, but he ignores me. His owners, sometimes, will call as he escapes his property; he doesn't listen to them either.
The regulars who drive by seem familiar with Toby's escapades as they slow down immensely when they see him. Some even drive in the wrong lane to avoid hitting him. They give him a wider berth than they do me, the regular runner. I guess they know that I live by the rules of the road.
Besides the ever-present fear that an unknown would drive by and hit Toby, he irritated me in another way Friday. No matter how many times he stopped or detoured, he still managed to stay ahead of me or easily catch up to me. How can a four-legged dog playing rabbit beat me the turtle? Doing so defies the moral of the fairy tale. That he survives in spite of his avoidance of the rules of the road amazes me.
I guess there are always those who are just lucky -- those who can do their own thing and seemingly get by anyway.