Running Toward Love

I have been to St. Louis twice in the past few weeks... and both visits were filled with a celebration of new life.  The first visit, I watched a woman's eyes dance and saw her nerves rattle in anticipation as she opened gifts and wondered at the looming and exciting reality of being a mom.  I saw her love her baby... even though she hasn't held the child in her arms yet.   The second visit this past weekend, my own eyes danced as I watched my husband... my amazing husband... run 26.2 miles for his child... a child who now lives across the world.  And though we haven't met her yet, she is very much a part of us and we love her even now, so long before we can hold her hand.

Watching Jim push so hard to accomplish a goal only achieved by a tiny percentage of the world's population (1%) has stung my eyes with proud tears every single time he has done it.  It will never get old for me.  One of my favorite memories in my years being with him is running alongside him on the last .2 mile stretch to the finish line in Green Bay, holding up the sign our kids and I crafted for him and screaming all sorts of cheers and wild exclamations right on up through his crossing beneath the race clock.  He is a hero to me.  And this time more than any other.

This time, it was just Jacob and me on the sidelines cheering him to the finish line (and all the other runners that dared to take on that long stretch of pavement - I LOVE cheering runners on. I told Jim yesterday that if I were an older lady all by myself with my kids all gone, I might just travel around the world to various marathons and make it my lot in life to give wings to runners with my words.)  

We got to the race at around 6:50 in the morning on Sunday and looked out over the ocean of runners waiting at the start to cross to the finish.

I couldn't find Jim or the friends he was running with (can't figure out why... there were only 17,000 runners there) but took some shots of the crowd in hopes that the camera lens might find the man in the red shirt my eyes were failing to see.  The Canon failed, too... but it was fascinating none-the-less to watch all those people begin to move in unison in response to the horn blast sending them off.  Jacob and I cheered wildly as the runners shuffled forward, all hoping their feet would be at a decent pace by the time the chip in their shoes registered with the computer at the starting line.  Once we waited through, oh, say, 13,000 runners-by... we booked it back to the car to head to the 7-mile marker in hopes that we could this time cheer Daddy on face to face.

We got there around 10 minutes before the first runner crested the 7th-mile hill...

 It is amazing to see someone in the lead of 17,000 people.  A few more came behind him.... trickling in one, two, a few at a time.  And then the waves began to hit the pavement shore as the other 16,950 runners rounded over the hill and began to rush by us like a human tsunami... most of them still with a great deal of energy with only 7 short miles behind them (bwahahahahaaa!  Did I just say 7 SHORT miles?).  About a half hour into the rush, my eyes darting over polyester wick-wear and bib numbers to find my partner in life, I hear a booming thunderous shout.

"GAIL!!!  GAIL!!!"

And there he was, running alongside his friend, calling out to me to be sure I didn't miss him.  And I am glad he did, otherwise I certainly would have.  He looked fresh and strong at this point in the race and  Jacob and I screamed loudly "Goooooo DADDY!" We held up our sign that was shimmering in the sunlight with glitter-glue letters - "RUN TOWARD LOVE...  GO DADDY GO!"  As fast as I heard him yell, he was down that hill and out of sight again... and we carefully weaved in and out of runners to get back to our car so we could attempt to catch him at the next point... right around the 17 mile marker.

If you are a long-distance runner, you will know what I mean when I say "the wall."  It comes at a different point in the race for different runners, but it seems to hit for most somewhere between mile 17 and mile 21.  Because of this, marathoners need someone to believe in them and the strength they have within them at this point more than any other part of the race.  So we chose a spot between mile marker 17 and 18 as our next point of hooray-hurling.  We got there in plenty of time, so I stopped at a coffee shop across the street and bought myself an egg sandwich, as my tummy was miffed for having missed breakfast.  As I waited for my sandwich and sipped my coffee, I felt a little weird about kicking back beneath the sunshine while my husband's quads and buttocks were set ablaze with pain... so I only ate half of my egg sandwich and then Jacob and I crossed the street to wait for the rush again only to find, as I should have remembered from past races, that the runners thin out at this point.  The half-marathoners are done miles before here and everyone else is spread out due to running at different paces.  So they run by in smaller clusters... anywhere between 2 and 10 at a time.

We waited for a bit and then Jimmy, one of our friends, blew by on a mission to qualify for Boston.  We cheered mightily for him, waited about a half hour and then saw Jon, the friend Jim had previously been running next to at mile 7, come over the hill (there were a LOT of hills on the course).  But I wasn't concerned... I knew Jim wouldn't be far behind him.  And so Jacob and I screamed our heads off for Jon as he passed and then returned our attention to looking for Jim.

About 5 minutes went by, and just as I began to worry, there he was.  A bold red shirt with the symbol on the Ethiopian flag and bright yellow letters reading "Running Toward Love" moved toward us; and I could tell he needed some wind under his wings.   He slowed down and stopped to greet us... soaking with sweat and breathing hard and deep.

"How are you doing, baby?"  I asked.

"I'm dying," he replied.

But I knew he wasn't.  See, I handed him Gatorade and Goo (a high-octane energy, well, goo... for long distance runners) during a 20 mile training run in the southern tip of Florida in the middle of May one year... 85 degrees and 90% humidity. What he looked like then?  THAT was "dying."  This time, I knew he still had some juice left in him even though I knew he didn't feel like he did.  I kissed him and hugged him and he trotted off.


Trying to choke back tears in the midst of my immense pride, I screamed until he was almost out of hearing range, "Go Baby!  You can do it!  RUN TOWARD LOVE!,"over and over again while Jacob cheered "Go Daddy!  You can do it!" and proudly rang his cowbell.  Hoping that he was okay, I whispered a prayer for him and Jacob and I headed over to the car to drive to the finish line.

And then I got lost.

Having about 50 minutes to spare, I wasn't too worried when I found myself wandering and wondering where the heck I was.  But when I found myself on the highway with no visual of the infamous St. Louis Arch... I began to panic.  I looked at the clock and noticed I had wasted about a half hour trying to get to the finish line... and I still had no clue how to get there or how I got so turned around.  I finally stopped to ask a woman in a pretty hat for directions and she got me on the right path (after chiding me with a friendly, "you didn't see the Arch?").  I looked at the clock once again and welled up with tears and fear that I would miss Jim finish this race.  I moved as fast as I could without being in danger of impoundment, and finally found a parking space a couple of blocks from the finish line... with about 5 minutes to spare.

"Hurry up and get in the stroller Jacob!"

I ran so fast.  Zig-zagging through hundreds of spectators with my Graco as my weapon... I rushed to get to the fence that separated the 99% from the 1%.

And about 30 seconds after we barreled to the side of that fence, he ran by.  "Praise His Name, I MADE IT!," I thought.  And my husband!  He looked so strong and beautiful crossing that finish line.  And I choked on the tears again.  How could I be so blessed?

We met him a couple of minutes later and talked through his experience, enjoyed some laughter and chatter with the 3 friends who also ran that day... and then I headed back home with my little boy.

All in all, Jim is happy with how he ran on Sunday finishing at 4:09.  And the reason he ran... well, it's a beautiful one, to be sure.  I doubt he will ever run for a more beautiful and deeply personal reason.


Our gratitude to everyone who prayed for Jim and gave toward this effort in fundraising knows no bounds.  Because of generous hearts, God has provided over $3000 to help us bring our daughter home.

Thank you.  Thank you so much.

I will close with my sons words as we walked back to the car after the race:  "Daddy's the best, isn't he mom?"  Indeed he is.  This little girl has the best daddy in the world and I can't wait for her to meet him.  This is what we were meant to live for.

The race is not over...

---Gail