Between The Miles - A Daughter's Perspective

Advil, Screaming Girls, and a Finisher Jacket

     I'm often asked to tell my favorite stories having to do with my dad's running, and after thinking about it, I guess I have three stories that usually come to mind. I've combined my memory of the stories with conversations I recently had with my dad, my mom, and a running friend. Hopefully, between all of us, we've remembered the best parts!

Story #1: When the Advil Flies

     I was about eight or nine years old when my father entered the "Slice 100K"; a two-day road running race spanning 50 kilometers each day. This particular race had my dad feeling extremely competitive. He had studied the map of the course so intently because in an off-road, remote course like this would be, he didn't want to take a wrong turn and get lost. Especially when there was a chance he could win the race, it was incumbent on him to know the course. I can visualize Pop and Dad leaning over the table, both looking at the map and talking about routes that Pop would need to drive to make sure we could make it from point to point to aid him. While I can't remember how many runners started the race, I remember that on that first day, there were six or seven competitors all running together at the front. 

     My father told me, "At the second to the last water stop, I took more than I had at any other stop that day to be sure I had everything I needed. So when I finally got out of there, I had to make up a little time to catch the group. I intended to skip the last aid station because I watched the other runners skimp at the second to last station and I knew that they would have to make a longer stop at the last one and that I could blow through it! I planned to get out of that last aid station like lightning and get out of sight. If I could break visual contact, to keep them from chasing me, keep them wondering. 'Is he behind us going to the bathroom?' 'Where is he?' Then I could get in their heads a bit and I could push myself to gain as much time on them as possible." I told you he was a planner!

     By the end of the first day, he had almost 10 minutes on everyone that he had gained in about the last 5 miles. Then he became a target! Everyone was determined to break him the second day, and the other runners' crews were looking at us a bit sideways as well. What did we do?!?!?! Whatever happened on that first day, EVERYONE was aggressively driving and running on day two. The first day had been pretty difficult and there were far fewer competitors who started on the second day, but more importantly, there were only three runners left at the front; my father and two younger runners.

     My mother remembered, "He told me the night before the second day that he was feeling the pressure, like a monkey on his back, and that he had the motivation that he wanted to beat those guys." 

     My dad knew that the other two runners were determined to beat him, it didn't matter which one, if one of them beat him, they would both be happy. Remember that there was a bigger plan in the works for my dad. On day two, all he had to do was stay with the group because anyone would have had to beat him by that 10-minute gain he had from the day before. After all, the race was a two-day cumulative time. The crew was going to play a bigger role in aiding him on day two because there were two places where we would be allowed to aid our runner across creeks by letting them sit on the tailgate of the truck for a few hundred feet over the water. And if that wasn't enough pressure, the drive time between crew-stations was going to be tight. While the runners had fairly straight shots from station to station, we would have to drive out and around and in to get to him and fend off the two other crews. It was "game on" all over the place!

     My Dad said, "We were all talking smack! I told Roland, 'You might just win this thing, all you have to do is beat me.' That was the fun of it.... mano y mano. There was no world record, it was just person-to-person, fortitude."