When I was a kid, my dad ran marathons. Six, to be exact. I’d watch him run and run and run and run. I wanted to do that. I never did. Until last Sunday.
Finally, after years of saying, “I want to run a marathon,” I can now say, “I ran a marathon.” It was brutal. San Antonio was unseasonably warm with 94 percent humidity. Training in Marin doesn’t really prepare you for 94 percent humidity. It sucked. A lot.
I trained for this race for the better part of the year and ran three 1/2 marathons as warm-ups during my training. I also hurt myself. A lot. So, toward the end my training was a bit inconsistent. I was ready for 16 miles, but 26.2? I wasn’t so sure. True to what I expected, I killed 16 miles and got killed for 10.2. I finished and that’s all I care about!
Right around the 25-mile mark, when I thought all was lost – I looked up and saw K-Man and G. They walked out on the course to walk a bit with me. Well, G did. K-Man took off – sprinting 30 yards ahead or so. I immediately thought of a 10-K my dad and I did when I was 10 years old or so. I ran past him. Up a hill. Backwards. I remind him of that from time to time. Now, at four years old, K-Man is sprinting by me. (Granted, I did have a 25-mile head start!)
When he came back to me, K-Man told me, “Daddy, I’m thirsty.” Me too, kid. Me too. I left G and K-Man revived and ran my fastest split in the last mile. I just wanted it over. And, I wanted to see K-Man with my medal around his neck. He likes that. I like that.
The marathon experience is pretty amazing. It’s special. I look forward to doing another one next year. And, perhaps a few after that. Who knows? Maybe someday, I’ll have run as many as six or 10. Maybe someday…it’ll be K-Man’s turn to run his.