My dad used to have a saying that drove me crazy. Whenever something went wrong, or physical pain or discomfort was present, he would say the words, "Offer it up for the suffering souls in Purgatory." As a kid, teen and young adult, hearing those words annoyed me tremendously. I used to think, "Sure, dad, I'll happily accept the pain of this nail I just stepped on so that someone I don't even know and never will can get to Heaven. Whatever."
My, my, how things have changed. When it comes to running, there are more times than I can count that I have been struggling, when my dad's voice pops into my head... "Offer it up, Katie", (the name only the two most special men in my life call me). What strength and power those words now have! How much easier it has become to get through some difficult and trying runs when I can turn my own discomfort into something good for someone else. It's nothing I can see or touch, yet I know what power it yields and that brings great strength and happiness in the midst of pain.
On Sunday I went to Columbus because a few people I knew were running the marathon. This is the first time in five years that I have not participated in either the half or full marathon as a registered participant. I love the atmosphere and hype of a marathon and I really love watching the runners. I love to watch their faces and try to guess what is going on physically. I can see strength in the ones that are smiling and I can see many things in the ones that are not. Suttan and I went to run in 3 of our friends that were doing the full. The goal time was 3:45 or under, a time that would land each of them a spot in Boston in 2014. No three runners could be more different in their running histories, yet here they were, towing the line, racing for a common goal together.
After some confusion as to which direction we were actually heading (surprise, surprise... we got a bit mixed up...), we began making our way backwards from mile 26. Our plan was to meet them at mile 20 and hopefully keep them on pace to the finish. We agreed that had any of the 3 fallen behind, one of us would wait for that person and run her in. Because we were late to begin our backward search, we had to run most of it and figured if lucky, we'd meet them at about mile 22.
Along the way, I made a point of looking at the runners. I mean REALLY looking at them and studying what was going on. The end miles are so difficult physically and mentally. If I could have jumped in and hugged each sweaty, salt-crusted, gritty one, I am pretty sure I would have. I have so much admiration for the determined, gutsy runners out there grinding out the last few miles with sheer will power. I have so much sympathy for the ones suffering tremendously. I wanted to call out "Hey I know what you feel like... keep going, you are almost there...", but telling someone at mile 24 that they are almost finished with "2 more miles" is not a always great thing. You might as well tell them they have 30. Two miles is an absolute eternity when you hurt so badly. I hoped that maybe I could just connect with someone's eyes and they would know that I was rooting for them. Sometimes words are not necessary. I wondered who was on pace to finish in their goal time and who was crushed under the weight of missing the mark and feeling physically horrible. In my mind, I called out a thousand times "Offer it up, dude. It'll be so much sweeter that way."
Before long we spotted three matching shirts running towards us. The girls were together... FANTASTIC!!! There wasn't much smiling, but I could recognize relief in their faces upon seeing us. They were well on their way to a strong finish in under their goal time.
After filling their water bottles (I remember aid station workers running toward me at JFK, taking my bottles and having them ready when I ran by. That was a small, but very appreciated gesture), I told them I would run an 8:35 and they just needed to stay close. Well quite frankly, I couldn't tell how I was doing. I couldn't tell if they were fading or I was just running too fast since my Garmin was all over the place. So realizing the girls had time to spare, I just decided to run with them. They couldn't really pick up the pace, but they weren't falling behind either. They each had a different look about them, but all commonly fatigued as only one can be after running that far at that pace.
Within seconds of one another, they each finished in under 3:44. That was a very sweet moment as their faces all turned so quickly from pain and fatigue to joy. I was so grateful to have been part of that.
I am sure people wonder how I feel knowing the number of times I've tried to nail this time and seeing all three of these girls do it so flawlessly. It was even Erin's first marathon. And here is the honest answer...
There was a time when it would have, and did, sting a bit. I am human and it was hard to see what seemed like everyone, get what I wanted so badly. Why was everyone else having these incredible races and why were things falling into place when I was just as capable, yet unable, of getting it? Isn't this how we view so many things in life? With the "It's not fair!" mentality?
I believe the echo of my dad's words over and over have brought on a different, more evolved and more powerful purpose to my running. But it isn't just the echo of those words, but the implementation of them that has transformed me. It is indescribable what happens when you step outside of yourself and just do for others like we are supposed to do. I am thrilled for Jen, Cheryl and Erin. I look forward to the day I can nail that time and join them in Boston (wait... did I just type that? I sure have a lot on my plate next year :)
Thank you dad.
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