Marathon #3 – Lincoln, Nebraska – May 7, 2006
“C’mon, Joe. Live a little.”
It was the day before the 2006 Lincoln Marathon, and 8-year old Andie was trying to coax her older brother into joining her and me onto the elevator in the darkened concourse of the Bob Devaney Center on the campus of the University of Nebraska.
After picking up my race packet earlier on that warm spring day, we had roamed the campus, visited the Nebraska state capitol building, and, as per our custom, explored (borderline sneaked into) whatever sports venues we could enter – often after tugging on numerous doors until finding one that was unlocked.
We had earlier found an open gate at Memorial Stadium, the home of the Cornhusker football team, and after meandering through the catacombs of the stadium, had actually worked our way onto the field and stood on the big “N” at midfield.
Now we had found our way into the school’s basketball arena, and Joey was beginning to feel that we had pressed our luck too far, concerned that we were going to get caught and, presumably, jailed for trespassing. As the elevator doors began to close, and facing the prospect of being left by himself in the darkened arena (I was bluffing … we wouldn’t have left him alone), he gave in and joined us.
Not really knowing where the elevator would take us, and realizing that the arena was obviously closed, I did share a bit of Joe’s concern. But Andie’s enthusiasm for the adventure was infectious, and I had learned from Charles Sodergren the joy of exploring sports venues by simply tugging on doors and pushing elevator buttons. Dad and I had gone “behind the scenes” of many major league ballparks, basketball arenas, and football stadiums using this strategy over the years, and I was relishing the idea of passing this tradition on to my own kids.
When the elevator door opened, we walked straight into a security guard.
As we shared startled looks, I tried to think of something to say in order to reassure him that we meant no harm.
“Hi … we’re here for the marathon tomorrow and just wanted to look around the arena. It sure is impressive.”
My use of a sincere compliment, and the fact that I had two little kids with me, seemed to put his mind to rest.
“Well, have you seen the basketball floor?” he asked.
“No, we’ve just been out in the concourse,” I answered.
“Let me take you down to the floor. Just follow me this way,” he beamed, proud to show us around.
“Thanks. We really appreciate your hospitality,” I said, while giving the kids a sidelong look. Andie was grinning from ear to ear, while Joe, probably worried that the security guard was tricking us into entering a holding cell, still had a look of concern.
After leading us through a couple of short hallways, and unlocking a couple of doors for us, we were out on the arena floor.
“Wow, this is really nice! Isn’t this cool, kids?” My words echoed in the empty arena.
Our security guard friend was obviously enjoying himself, telling us about the arena and offering to show us the locker room. He had probably been bored and lonely from hanging out in the arena all day by himself, and we obviously posed no threat.
After showing us around, he escorted us to an exit. I thanked him profusely, and he wished me luck in the race the next day.
“That was fun, Dad,” said Andie, as we headed to the car to go back to the hotel.
“Yeah, Grandpa and I used to go into stadiums all the time. Some time I’ll tell you about Wrigley Field.”
After eating at a local diner, we went back to the hotel so that I could get off my feet and head to bed early for the big day ahead. Jenny had stayed behind in Topeka to help Sydney get ready for prom that evening, and was going to be riding up to Lincoln with some friends who would be running the half marathon in the morning.
Based on the distance from Topeka, I figured that she wouldn’t arrive until about 1:00 am, so as the kids slept I laid in the dark and thought about how grateful I was to have such a loving and supportive family to share this adventure with.
I also thought about the inspirational address delivered at the packet pick-up by Dick Beardsley, who in the most entertaining fashion recounted his “Duel in the Sun” with Alberto Salazar at the 1982 Boston Marathon.
As he masterfully built the tension, the story gradually became an intense contest between Beardsley and Salazar as they left the rest of the runners behind during the latter part of the marathon. The race became known as the “Duel in the Sun” from the two men’s shadows cast by the hot sun onto the pavement as they ran “in each other’s pockets” during the final miles of the race, and as he told the story the anticipation built as to who would win the “duel.” (Salazar prevailed by 2 seconds)
(Later in 2006, I read a newly-released book called “Duel in the Sun” that chronicles that epic day in Boston. After the race, the lives of both runners spiraled downhill. The book describes in detail Salazar’s depression and compromised immune system, and Beardsley’s farming accident and subsequent addiction to painkillers.)
One quote from Dick Beardsley’s talk that day has always resonated with me:
“When you cross that Finish line … no matter how slow, no matter how fast … it will change your life forever.”
To this day, Dick Beardsley is one of my running heroes.
After a relatively sleepless night, which was in keeping with my previous two marathons, it was finally race time. Jenny had arrived during the night, and it was great to have her AND the kids to chase me around and cheer me on to the finish line!
During the early stages of the race, I remember seeing a woman wearing a t-shirt that said “50 States Marathon Club” across the back. The shirt also had the postal abbreviations for all 50 states on the back, with the majority of them crossed off in magic marker. From what I could tell as I passed her, the woman only had a handful of states left to accomplish the feat.
I had never heard of this “50 States Marathon Club”, and remember thinking:
“How crazy would somebody have to be to do such a thing?”
(Yeah, I know what you’re thinking)
After seeing Jenny and the kids a couple of times during the run, around Mile 18 I noticed a fellow runner in the pack who seemed to be especially short … and young. He was creating quite a sensation among the spectators along the course, and since we were running at about the same pace, I decided to stay behind him for a while in order to ascertain his story.
Based on the comments from the spectators, it became obvious after a while that he was a local kid named Austin.
But just how young was he?
Finally, a woman on the sideline yelled out to him, “How old are you?”
At this point, Austin held up an index finger on each hand.
“Eleven?”
Austin nodded in agreement.
“That’s amazing!”
After getting over my initial shock, I decided to have some fun.
While passing the same woman, I said, “In case you wondered, this is how old I am,” while holding up four and three fingers.
“Well, you’re amazing, too” … she yelled, playing along.
So now, despite the fact that I had not come into Lincoln with any particular time goals in mind, I now had a goal. There was no way that I was going to let an 11 year old beat me!
Though the miles were taking their toll on my legs, I could tell that Austin was also starting to lag as well. So as I accelerated slightly to pass him, I wished him a good finish while secretly knowing that he would be “pushing me” from behind to the finish as well.
Over the next several miles I would periodically look back to see where Austin was (it was easy to do, as the crowds were roaring whenever he approached), and after a while it became apparent that he had fallen back a bit. While I certainly did not wish him any ill will, it felt good to know that he was in my rear view mirror.
After passing Mile 25, with about a mile to go, I started to hear a crowd roar behind me … it was Austin! You have got to be kidding me. Though I had slowed down a bit, the kid had obviously rallied and was making a push to the finish line.
Sure enough, after about another quarter mile I could hear the pitter-patter of his young feet, and before I knew it he was cruising past me. He looked fresh, and I knew that I was toast.
After about a millisecond of disappointment, my anger quickly turned to admiration. Yes, I was going to be beaten by an 11-year old, but at least I was out there doing my best.
I was grateful to be capable.
When I saw Jenny and the kids along the finishing chute, my feelings transformed to complete joy and love as they cheered me loudly to the finish, something they had been unable to do in Chicago because of the large crowds.
I crossed the Finish line in front of Memorial Stadium, and Marathon #3 was complete.
And to this day, I often think about Andie’s admonition from that weekend.
“C’mon. Live a little.”
