This past Saturday we ran Towhee, a south Boulder trail I’ve never been on before. Karley told us what the route would be; Mesa Trail to Towhee to Mesa to Big Bluestem, turn left, right, left, take the left fork… I stopped listening because I couldn’t picture it in my head and knew I would be stopping at every fork to ask directions. Karley is cruise director for a reason; she knows these trails backwards and forwards and provides excellent navigation for those of us who are spatially-challenged. Thank God for Karley! I wouldn’t see half the trails I’ve seen if it weren’t for her excellent navigation.
It was a cool morning and I didn’t want to give up my jacket. Again, Karley saved the day. She set me straight by reminding me how hot I was going to be in about ten minutes. I ditched the jacket in the car and shivered under the overcast sky.
We have a new member of our group, a woman by the unique name of Siga. I ran with her a few weeks back. She looked so familiar but I couldn’t place her until hours after the run; our daughters (both named Sophie) had a music class together four years ago.
Siga and I have a similar running mantra: Keep your head down, breathe, and get up the hill. She’s a fascinating person with an incredible up-beat attitude. Her body is toned within an inch of its life and it’s obvious she’s not one to sit around on her fanny. We somehow ended up in the lead. I was grateful for her company because 1) I didn’t know squat about the trail we were running and 2) it’s more fun to run with a friend.
Our talking was interspersed with steady breathing as we heaved ourselves up the incessant climbs. At some point I became aware of the tightness in my right calf muscle, testament to the fact that we were gaining a lot of altitude. The clouds were still low and the air was cool, though dry. We went through pockets that felt at times cool and clammy or warm and dry. All the time I kept following Siga’s toned legs. They guided me up the trail, kept me from getting lost, and provided that much-needed motivation to keep going.
At the top of Towhee Karley called out “Hey, stop and look around while you’re up here, we made it to the top!”
We stopped and were soon joined by the rest of the group. Again, I was disoriented. Everything looked turned around. I couldn’t figure out what we were looking at; Karley pointed out the landmarks and helped us all get our bearings. That girl has so much packed into her head I’m shocked that things don’t randomly leak out when she opens her mouth to laugh.
After a few minutes’ rest we continued down the Mesa Trail and started the return trip to the cars. Siga knew where we were and I went along for the ride, having a blast jumping over rocks and doing a passable imitation of a mountain goat with two feet instead of four.
Me: I love trail running. I love the technicality of running through all the rocks!
Siga: You are WEIRD, this is hard!
Me: Yeah, I know. Maybe that’s why I like it. You have to stay focused and present. (Pause) I just did a half-marathon and that was great, I’d like to do another, but I’d love to find a good trail race to do this summer too.
Siga: I like trail races too. I need to pick a race and train for it, to keep me motivated. Otherwise I’ll end up sitting on my butt.
Me: Are you kidding? You’re not the type to sit on your butt. Look at you, look where you are! You’re motivated and running on a Saturday morning at 7 AM!
Siga: I know I look really toned but that’s just body type. I could sit on my butt with the best of them. That’s why I like coming out here with you all; it makes me move. Plus I can keep up with you.
We decided that we would look for a trail race do to together. We would provide the motivation and companionship to get the training done. Plus, it’s just plain fun when you’re with a friend. We would cheer each other on and finish the race together.
As we started the last decent down Big Bluestem to the parking lot she mentioned a story that I’m familiar with. It goes like this:
Rick Hoyt was born with cerebral palsy. When he was 15 he really wanted to compete in a race, but couldn’t. So his dad, Dick, pushed his wheelchair the entire way. Dick is now 65 and races Ironmans and marathons with his son. He pulls Rick in the water in a lifeboat as he swims, then carries him from the water to a custom-built bike cart, where the father pedals and the son rides. Then, Dick carries his son to another cart where he pushes Rick while he runs the last portion of the race. They take a long time and often race into the night. When they get to the finish line there are so many people cheering for them. Because of Dick’s love for his son, Rick has had a life of inclusion. (check out the video)
I got goose bumps and teary-eyed as we talked about it. The enormity of that father’s love for his son is profound. How many people give someone that kind of love in their lifetime? And on the flip side, how many people experience that kind of unconditional love?
As we ran down the meadow and I almost took a wrong turn (again) I was struck by the metaphor of “running a race”. We all have our own race to run, but we can’t do it alone. I’m a living example; I would have run at least an extra six miles on this trail if left to my own devices, since apparently my internal navigation shut down the moment I stepped out of my car. I haven’t ever been incapacitated to the point that my life has drastically changed enough for someone to have to care for me on an on-going basis, which is vastly different than the life that Rick Hoyt leads..
I know we’ve all been helped emotionally by people throughout our lifetimes (parents, teachers, friends). Somehow though, the physical act of carrying someone has a different connotation. What are your thoughts on carrying your child if they couldn’t EVER participate in a race, but really wanted to? Would you change your life to give them that experience?
As a parent, I am required to carry my children through life; not physically, like the Hoyt’s, but emotionally, spiritually, financially. I must be present, either in body or in spirit, every singly time my kids approach a fork in the road–present to guide them on what I feel the best path should be.
I like the idea of thinking of parenting as working with my training partners – the children do, indeed, teach me (sometimes more that I am willing to learn at the time!). Thanks for the new perspective. We’re training together, in it for the long haul.
You’re right, on so many levels. Our children are indeed our training partners, whether they know it or not (or even if the adult recognizes it or not)! It’s the symbiotic relationships in our lives that teach us the most over the long haul; children, friends, spouses, parents, etc. They won’t always be equal, nor should they be. And yet, the lessons are there to experience.
I cry each and every time I see the video of Dick carrying his son Rick out of the water. He’s 65 and yet he doesn’t let his age slow him down. It’s his responsibility to carry his son and he’s not going to let anything stop him. That dedication, that absolute love… He’s willing to be the vehicle for his son, the physical body that his son doesn’t have. How willing are we in our lives to give of ourselves that completely? I know, this is a rhetorical question, obviously I’m still struggling with the scope of this.
thanks Becky!
That’s impressive.
I think many parents change their life drastically in order to provide desirable experiences for their children. that’s waht parenting is all about.
I saw Dick and his son during the Boston Marthon. He was dragging his son’s wheelchair. This suprised me, as all of the pictures I have seen of them he is pushing. I too think he is a good metaphor for ‘the helping hand’. My first marathon a pacer came back to me after I had hit the wall and talked me through finishing strong. There is also another message in this: helping others feels good.