Letting Go – New York City Marathon – November 3, 2019
“Goodbye, old friend.”
I was in the starting corral at Staten Island’s Fort Wadsworth for the New York City Marathon, and the tears welled up as the most recent wave of nostalgia flooded over me with the realization that I was about to let go of the only remaining object that had been with me for the entire 15 years of my 50-State marathon journey.
Over the thousands of miles, there had been countless pairs of running shoes, numerous pairs of socks worn threadbare, and a wide array of running shorts.
Beginning with #1 Chicago in 2004, I had always been accompanied during the marathons by the braided anklets that Andie provided for good luck.
Every time it appeared that the current anklet was about to wear through, she and I would put serious thought into her burning question.
“What colors do you want this next one to be, Pop?”
Among other color schemes, we had chosen Blue-and-Gold for our Swedish heritage (as well as the Boston Marathon), Maroon-and-White for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, and Crimson-and-Blue when she decided to attend KU.
After her Green-and-White (school colors) anklet broke the morning of the Marshall University Marathon (#27 West Virginia), causing a frantic last-minute repair job on my part, we took to having anklets on BOTH ankles, just in case.
During this morning on Staten Island, I was appropriately equipped with the Orange-and-Blue scheme of the New York City Marathon.
It is customary among marathoners, particularly at cold-weather races, to arrive at the Start area wearing throwaway clothing to keep warm, because often there is a substantial wait within the corrals for the race to begin. Quite often, the middle (and back) of the pack runners will not even start running for a full hour (or more) after the “Elites” start running.
It is quite a scene at a major urban marathon to see, just prior to the start, this clothing being thrown above the crowd, relay style, toward the sideline, to be picked up later by volunteers and donated to local charities.
Over the course of the 15 years, I had left a wide variety of hoodies, long-sleeve Community Blood Center donation shirts, cotton gloves, and stocking caps at start lines and on marathon courses throughout the country – always to be replaced for the next cold-weather marathon by a trip to the thrift store.
But one piece of clothing survived the entire 15 years.
A pair of blue Umbro sweatpants that I had found at Goodwill prior to that first marathon in Chicago.
Now, I like to think of myself as a person who does not find pleasure in the accumulation of material possessions, placing more importance on people than “things”.
When it comes to personal relationships, I have always placed great value on loyalty, consistency, and the creation of shared memories.
And I am about as sentimental as they come.
Have you seen the movie “Castaway” starring Tom Hanks?
If so, you no doubt remember the volleyball he named “Wilson” that became his loyal companion and helped him overcome his sense of loneliness and isolation throughout the movie. (And yes, I cried when Wilson floated away!)
Similarly for me, over the course of time, as “Umbro” became my loyal and consistent companion to one marathon start line after another, we seemed to develop a shared set of memories.
It’s hard to explain, but in the moments before a marathon, even though you are surrounded by thousands of fellow runners, a sense of loneliness can set in.
Especially on the trips where I had traveled alone, this feeling would be intensified by the knowledge that I would not be seeing any family and friends along the course, compounded further by the fact that even after the race I would be “alone” until I arrived home.
Waiting for the starting gun to go off, the recognition that the successful completion of the impending physical and mental challenge depended solely on my own legs, heart, and mind would often evoke an intense feeling of isolation.
So aside from keeping my throwaway clothing on as long as possible in order to keep warm, over time Umbro became a source of familiar comfort while standing in those many starting corrals.
Umbro became my connection to home.
Umbro didn’t make it to every trip. For example, it didn’t seem necessary to take them to #31 Hawaii, given the warm weather of Kona in June, and the fact that suitcase space was at a premium.
Most marathons have a bag-check system, whereby the runners can leave a bag of items at the start area to be stored (on a loop course) or transported to the finish (on a point-to-point course) and picked up after the race, using your BIB (race) number as a cross-reference.
But I never used this system at any of the 50 marathons because you have to “check your bag” before entering the race corral, and then potentially wait for up to half an hour before your own race starts.
So my “system” was to toss my throwaway clothing somewhere on the course, and, depending on my desire to keep the items and the proximity to my car and/or hotel, go back after the race to retrieve the items (right now, race directors throughout the country would be cringing!)
My aversion to using the bag-check system led to many close calls when it came to retrieving Umbro.
I clearly recall dropping Umbro next to a street light pole about 100 yards into #8 Kansas City, and the sense of relief when they were still there after the race. Similar things happened at #20 Indianapolis and #47 Hartford.
At #49 Rhode Island, I left Umbro with Jenny and Andie (whose half marathon start was half an hour later) with the instructions to “hide them somewhere”. Sure enough, the girls found Umbro after their half marathon finish, and had them ready for me when I crossed the finish line!
Which brings us back to that starting corral for #NYC50 on Staten Island.
My starting wave was scheduled to be sent off in less than 10 minutes, and it was time to begin the pre-race ritual of shedding the layers of clothing that had kept me warm throughout the 2-hour wait in the Charity Village with my fellow members of #TeamStJude.
In preparation for the mountains of clothing that would be left by the over 50,000 runners, the organizers of the race had placed numerous charity clothing bins within the corrals.
First, I took off the Osawatomie Middle School track team hoodie I had found the week prior at Goodwill.
Next came another layer, a 2013 Chiefs Blood Drive shirt.
And finally, the time came.
It just felt right.
For the final time, I removed Umbro and gently placed them on the pile of clothing.
“Goodbye, old friend.”
My heart was filled with a sense of peace knowing that Umbro would be warming the legs and heart of someone else.
And that a piece of me would live on in the streets of New York.
