Life is about finishing strong, not winning the race.
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| Greyson and I winning the finish. |
Last weekend, among a 20 year class reunion to pull off, YMCA Basketball and
a weekend of trick-or-treating, my family participated in a charity run in Dalton, the
Rich Dalessandro Memorial 5K/2Mile.
Going in I had no clear picture of what it would be like. I know what the events are normally set up
like, having worked a few for various organizations throughout the years. I figured my wife, who was running the 5K
with a friend, would take off and the boys and I would stroll along at a nice
leisurely pace for the 2 miles, grab a bottle of water and wait to cheer on the
Momma and her friend when they passed us on the way to the finish line.
Yes, that “technically” explains a lot of the morning, but
there was so much more to it for me.
We stretched together before the race (well I at least made
it look like I was stretching) and there was a certain nervous energy in the
air that made the dance music and commotion seem amplified even more. The crowd of participants numbered over 800
and was a mix of true runners in the front quarter and varying levels of couch
potato from there back. I made sure we
were in the back quarter. The plan was
for me to run with Greyson, who is 4 and a half and to walk and/or or carry him
whenever he needed a break. The older
two boys I figured would start out strong and would be whining by the 1 mile
mark. They proved me wrong.
The coordinator of the event got on the bullhorn and gave us
the starting instructions and the race was on.
Music blared and people shuffled, waiting for the space to open up to
get in a full stride. The boys were
unsure what to do at first, it was a race…but nobody seemed to want to
run? I explained that they needed to let
the runners pass and that we would start running when we got into the
open. By the quarter mile mark we were
able to run a bit and the crowd thinned out to other young families with kids
running and some older adults who were walking it. At the half mile mark the older two boys ran
back to G and I and asked if they could run ahead and catch up with Mom. “Of course”, I instructed, “but be careful
and stay out of the other runners’ way.”
That was the last I would see of them until we crossed the finish line.
With them having run ahead I was able to focus solely on
Greyson and the experience we were having.
He was determined. He firmly
gripped my hand and set the pace, which was actually a decent jog for my old
legs. He took at least 4 strides for
every one of mine and his shoes hit the pavement hard. I looked down after a quarter mile and he was
visibly tired. “Ok, break time buddy, want to walk or get on
my shoulders?” He chose to walk, still
firmly gripping my hand. He looked
upset.
“What’s wrong G? Do
you want to sit down?”
“No, I wanted to win.”
He looked up with huge eyes, welling up with tears and true disappointment.
It was hard not to start laughing, but I composed
myself, took a deep breath and a look into those big glassy eyes and told him
that we are not running the race to win it, we just want to finish strong.
“But it is a race Daddy, and we are losing.” He was angrier now than sad.
I walked us over to the curb and picked up the little
man.
“Look at all of the people in front of us, now (we turned
around) look at all of the people behind us.
We are not winning, you’re right, but we sure are not losing
either. We are going to finish the race
and do our best and if we do that we are winners, Ok buddy?” He seemed to calm down a bit and looked up
with a determined smile, “Let’s run now Daddy!”
And we did, for another quarter mile.
A while down the road, after walking quietly for a bit, I
looked around us. There were several
women slowly jogging ahead of us, there more for the camaraderie than the exercise
or competition. There were a few older
couples, holding hands and briskly walking behind us. Probably a hundred or so ahead and the same
number behind were visible along the route.
I started thinking about the race’s namesake and what I had heard about
him and what a good man he was, right up until the end, when cancer had cut his
well-lived life too short. I recalled
the story I had read about his sister, brother-in-law and father who had
organized the race as a way to keep his memory alive in the community he had
loved and to raise money for others who were struggling with the disease. Then I started thinking of those I had lost
to cancer in my life. I thought of my
Aunt Bonnie who had been such a great influence on me as a boy, always with a
laugh and smile, quirky in the best of ways.
I thought about how much she loved life and how much she missed in
seeing her two sons grow into men, and how much fun she would have had as a
grandmother to the two boys she never had the opportunity to meet. Then I thought of her father, my grandfather,
who fought cancer for several years before it took him from a family he
loved. I thought about how much my boys
would have loved going to his workshop.
I thought of the things he would have taught them and the things they
could have made together. I started to
well up a bit and realized I hadn’t checked in mentally with Greyson in a few
minutes. I looked down and asked him how
he was doing and could tell he was getting tired. I stopped for a second, scooped him up and
put him on my shoulders. We started
walking at first, then a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old passed us on the
left. Greyson said “Run Dad, like she is.” And so we did. She was wearing a pink coat and dark sweats
and was running back and forth, filled with the kind of energy that makes
adults jealous and the kind of joy that makes God smile back. I picked up the pace a bit and G started
laughing and going into the “go horsey go” chant.
After a few more minutes the extra weight of G on my
shoulders, and more so the fact that I hadn’t run in a LONG time, became too
much for my knees. I stopped, pulled him
off of my shoulders and started walking, slowly. The little girl we had been running behind
came to what appeared to be a mother or grandmother and grabbed some
water. She spoke with her briefly and
then took off her pink stocking hat.
Under the hat was a pale pink head, as bald as could be. I never had the opportunity to get any closer
than that too her and didn’t get the chance to talk to the woman who was acting
as her support crew as she ran around the course, and that’s Ok. I saw the joy and energy she was full of,
despite the struggles that I am sure she has faced and will face in the future
and I was reminded of how lucky I am in this very moment.
At that very moment I was healthy enough to
run, I was holding the hand of a strong and healthy 4 year old, his two strong
and healthy brothers were sprinting to the finish line and their mother was
striding along at a healthy pace beside a good friend up ahead. I am truly, and fully blessed.
My assumption is that the little girl is battling some form
of childhood cancer, perhaps leukemia, as is the focus of the charity run we
were in the midst of, and I am sure there is pain and bad days and treatments
that are horrendous but for the time I got to be in her presence, she was as nimble
as ballerina and glowing like a princess.
I picked G back up and placed him back on my shoulders and
ran with purpose about another quarter mile until we got to a school where we
had to turn and run around the school drive and campus. G wanted to run and we ran from there to the
water station at the half way point. We
danced a bit to the music the DJ was playing, had our cup of water and then
took off. The rest of the race was spent
alternating slow jogs and walking, talking about the houses we were passing,
whether his brothers had caught up with the Momma yet, and what we would do
later that day. G was tired, my knees
were killing me, and the rain was starting to come, but we were healthy and we
were happy to be a part of the action.
When we came around the final curve there was about a 300
yard straightaway to the finish line.
Greyson lit up, grabbed my hand hard and yelled “Come on Dad, we gotta win this
part!”
I agreed, we picked up speed, and we did exactly that.
Thank you to the Dalessandro and Fratena families and all
who organize the race each year. It was perfect.
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