Last Place Runner

Several years ago, I read a book I really enjoyed — except for one scene. A character finds out the central character has died, and the character throws up.

In a book that was so well written otherwise, I thought the author was at that point incapable of showing us any other emotion. And to have a character react to an unexpected death that way seemed shallow and false. I wanted to feel it and I just thought throwing up was cheating.

But one day last week, while I was in my office at work, I got the news that a woman in my training group had been hit by a car and killed the night before on her training run.

I heard a loud rushing sound, like I was holding a seashell to each ear. And I felt sick. I felt exactly like I was going to vomit. I felt like I wanted to die. And I felt so angry.

Jennifer wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was wearing a light, she was wearing light and reflective clothing. Jennifer was even running on the sidewalk. And still she was hit by a car. I don’t know how many times I cried, “How does that even happen?”

The running community here is the genus, but the training group is the species. We’ve spent the past two months together and this half marathon is our half marathon. The race is still about two months away, and now, with one of our own family members killed doing what we all do every day, I feel like this race is less my own now and more something I need to finish for Jennifer. With 300 trainees and 50 volunteers, coaches and medical staff in the group, we’ve all shifted our goals for this race.

I was worried that our group run this past Saturday would feel like we were running with a limp. And I won’t lie, it was a difficult day. But it was also a great day to honor our friend. The whole town was invited to come out and run with us. We filled the gym of a local mega-church. Jennifer’s parents came from New Jersey to see why she loved this group so much. We cried, oh we cried. And then we ran 8 miles.

Jennifer’s twin sister ran. Her parents were at the aid station at the 3.5-mile mark to give us water and gels. I’d never run 8 miles before, but giving up wasn’t an option.

That’s how training is going. Each Saturday I run farther than I ever have. It’s a great experience. Our two-mile run, way back on the second week of training, was almost enough to break me. It was all in my head — I’ve been capable of running two miles for almost two years now. I woke up that morning convinced that I was in over my head and that I would never be able to finish 13.1. And then the miles started adding up. A volunteer on Saturday asked, “Did you ever believe 8 miles would feel good?” I actually thought it would be hopeless and miserable. I’d given myself permission to quit if it ever seemed more than I could handle. But I’m more than halfway there now. What’s 13.1 miles after you’ve run 8?

What’s 13.1 when you’re running for Jennifer? I wouldn’t give up now for a million bucks.