Day in the Sun

"He who you cannot teach to fly, teach to fall faster." -- Nietzsche

Last week I received an e-flyer from a local running store about an evening with Dick Beardsley: “Join us for a motivational talk by Dick Beardsley, one of America's most celebrated distance runners. His amazing story of triumph and tragedy captivates every audience who has the opportunity to hear his story.” The price was right (free), so my husband and I figured ‘what the hell?’

He looked good -- Dick did: like a runner still. Having been not quite 8 years ago when he and Alberto Salazar had their "day in the sun" at the 1982 Boston Marathon, I knew very little about his running exploits let alone the rest of his life story. An ‘aw shucks’ farm boy from Minnesota, he quickly charmed even the back-of-the-packers in the audience as he talked about how he didn’t even start running until his junior year in high school and was horrible at it until after he graduated and decided that rather than start a life of milking cows right away, he wanted to do nothing else but train for the Olympic trials marathon. With nothing but a $400 / month apartment and a love of the sport, he just ran, and ran and ran. His running shoes were held together by duct tape, though, so he soon figured that he needed to get a shoe contract. Dick's story about how he got a deal with New Balance is somewhat silly and obviously metaphoric. I would ruin it if I tried to recount it here, so I won't, but suffice it to say that ultimately New Balance sponsored him, he got a coach and he ran the race of his life at the ’82 Boston.

Hearing him tell the story of his Boston, naturally made me think of mine. When he woke up that morning he was hoping for an overcast day with about 45F temperature. Nope, it was sunny and perfectly clear. That year and mine as well (in ‘93 & ‘96), the race started at high noon with similar weather. When he discoursed about how each mile he wasn’t sure he could go another one, I thought of my second Boston, when I wasn’t in the best shape, when I too just took it mile by mile, soaked in the day, the moment, the people and the magnitude of what was going on.

During my second Boston, unlike my first, I was overweight, slightly injured and trying to prove to myself that I could run again, run far, run hard, and regain my former glory – or something like that. That was my senior year in college and while I had succeeded socially and academically, I had put on about 35 lbs over the summer and consequently had my worst cross-country season ever. Well, I ran my slowest times since I had begun running competitively. That season, though, I felt like I was running harder and with more heart than ever; but man, did I suck.

Ever since I high school, running had been my “thing.” I made it my thing because it was the first thing that I had found that I could succeed at, do better than most people at, by simply doing more of it. More mileage? Running farther? Pushing harder? All it took was time and I could better myself everyday. I liked that.

I liked it so much that I can still honestly say that running my first Boston Marathon (in 3:23:14) was one of the happiest days of my life. A gloriously sunny day, the first signs of spring and happiness and summer everywhere… crowds of people lining the course, cheering, celebrating, making every single runner feel like Joan Benoit must have felt in 1984 when she won the first women’s Olympic Marathon in Los Angeles... I felt like Joanie and I was running on air, 15 minutes faster than my qualifying time, averaging 7:45 seconds per mile for 26.2 miles, by the end not being able to even feel the lower half of my body, reaching for energy I had already expended miles ago, running on pure guts and sheer will. Thinking about it still makes me smile. I strove to regain that "thing" during the 100th Boston because that one was supposed to be so publicly momentous I felt I must make it so privately for me too.

But when I finished each of them and had my good cry with my fellow participants, I found my dad and he drove me back to campus. That night I slept well and the next day and from then on, I carried on with life as a student. What did I have to show? Sunburnt calves, sore legs, and a smug sense of accomplishment apparently invisible to all.

I remember when I had been in high school and disappointed by my finish at a race or failure to qualify for the next event my father tried to console me by telling me that such things were ephemeral:
“Do you know what Chris Everett Lloyd (or some other tennis player) did after she won the U.S. Open?”
“Had a cake… I don’t know, Dad.”
“She sat in the recovery room and cried.”
“Why?”
“Because she realized that it was all over. And it didn’t really matter.”
Oh, I remember thinking. Not me, I’d be celebrating. No way, damnit.

And after Boston – both of them – I did celebrate, sort of, in the only way I knew how. I think I may have had a milkshake and a good night’s sleep. Anyway, it wasn’t important. Running Boston was an accomplishment, but it was just something all mine, to file away, something that would bring me inner encouragement and confidence when my life felt less free and conquerable. That was all. In anticipation and in retrospect, it was a big thing -- but the experiences scarcely seem to live up to the gratutous hype that one imagines it should. Over the years my marathons have just become something more personal. And that is okay. I think that is where they belong.

For Dick Beardsley, that 80F day when he and Alberto Salazar ran sub 2:09 marathons, Dick finishing 0.6 sec out of first place, he was just happy to be there, just like me. Later in his life he underwent many injuries, most of them traumatic – like getting pulled into farm equipment, being hit by a truck, falling off of a cliff. Through the course of all of that he became addicted to prescription pain medicine, sadly addicted. So what his talk was all about was how we need to help people with similar conditions, not shy away from the stigma of drug addictions, see such cases as diseases too.

His was -- is -- such a sad but inspiring, heartfelt story: how he was a broken man so many times in his life and certain people took pity in him, believed in him and helped him to run the marathon that his life is. So many times he found himself in situations that he had no business living through. And he has. Wow.

Now he lives in Austin, TX. Someone from the audience asked him if he would be interested in running the Austin Marathon. He acknowledged that sure it’s in the back of his mind (it would certainly be a Hollywood sort of story, eh?), but with all that he has put his body through – most recently a knee replacement – he is just pleased to be able to run just over 3 miles in 30 min.

To hear him say so made me smile. I too have thought about running another marathon. Having had my foot reconstructed about 5 ½ years ago and being able to pick up running again 3 years ago, I smile to think about it. Now I can run 3-4 days per week, and just this past Sunday surrounded by singing birds, a sunny day & the first signs of spring, I clipped off a 10 mile training run at about an 8 minute pace. In the last mile or so, I was beginning to think that maybe a marathon was again soon possible… maybe. Then my left foot & leg hurt a little more than usual for the next couple of days ... So maybe not yet; maybe not yet. I am really just focusing on enjoying the magic of the road, the trail & the treadmill, happy to be in control of my addiction, happy to share it with friends who want to talk about it, happy to have had my day in the sun. That's what running is about.