OCT-B-6
THE RETURN TO
THE LONG RUN:
THE 27TH
RUNNING OF THE MARINE CORPS MARATHON,
WITH A
SERENDIPITOUS COINCIDENCE
LEADING TO THE
JOINING OF NEW FRIENDS FOR THEIR FIRST-TIME
FATHER/DAUGHTER
MARATHON, AND FAMILY EVENT ON THE RUN
Oct. 27, 2002
Wonderful! Once again!
For the eighteenth time I have been
down that road and over those bridges on the 27th running of the
Marine Corps Marathon—which was my first ever race (let alone first marathon)
eighteen years ago today!
And, this marks the 78th
Marathon of my life as a runner between number one and today’s Number 78 in the
eighteen year interval. And, knock upon
my wooden head, I have not yet been injured running—so far, including through
today!
And, the best part----I did it, once
again, as a Guide Runner!
AS I AM
RETURNING FROM MY DIA TO IAD FLIGHT
As I pulled out on the “mobile
lounge”—the shuttle that takes the passenger from the U/A midfield terminal at
Dulles to the main terminal “Aero Saranin’s masterpiece,” a fellow who noted my Marine Corps Marathon
shirt from 2001 asked me if I were going to run the 2002 MCM tomorrow. When I had told him I was returning for it
from Denver, he said that he was going to try to do it also, and had never done
anything like it before, but was planning to join his daughter, who is a junior
medical student at Ohio State University in Columbus who was coming in on a
separate flight into DCA, while his wife would follow later in a flight from
San Francisco where she was at a conference on problem kids. He said that he had been to Russia in a
place in Siberia. When I asked where,
he stumbled over the name Kamchatka; of course, I could hardly be expected to
recognize such a name.
He turns out to be Jim Dreisbach, a
neuroradiologist from Swedish Hospital in Denver, who had been out fishing for
salmon and tamen in Kamchatka, while I had been out hunting with his colleague,
Tommy Thomas in the Rockies. He was
amazed at how many people we knew together, and even more impressed that the
world is so small because he has an uncle whom I know who teaches leprosy in
Kenya. His wife Suzie is getting her
PhD while his daughter Marcie is keen on going to India—never knowing that I
was the royal road to her dreams of a trip there.
I got my bags as he was planning to
get a taxi to the Arlington Hyatt Hotel, which I explained to him was
unnecessary as we passed the dispatcher singing out that the taxi was “only “$47
each. I ran over and bought two round
trip tickets on the Washington Flyer bus to West Falls Church Metro station,
and showed him how we could do the same trip for 20% round trip that would be
charged one way. He was glad to have a
local guide, and I sent him up from the Rosslyn Metro station saying I was going
one stop further to the Foggy Bottom station where I had intended to leave my
bags in my office and look into the email, phone messages and the mail, while
he called his wife and told her how to use the Washington Flyer and Metro we
had just used, and would be rendezvousing with his wife Susan and daughter
Marcie, going to the Expo to pick up their bibs and bags, and then return to
eat pasta. We would all get together if
I held out at my office rather than going home first to get the Bronco after a
long Metro ride to walk two miles to Derwood, and then going out to stock
groceries.
We had a pasta dinner in the Hyatt,
while I told long and detailed stories about the intricacies of the MCM course
and what they could expect from this, their first marathon. They were happy to be guided in this, and
even more so for the suggested trips to India for which had gathered all the
information and brought from my office the schedules of events for next
year. We talked for three hours while I
gave what I knew of the race and the experiences we might offer to her in her
senior year next year. She turns out to
have been interested in and owned a big jumping horse. Jim pointed out the happiest of his days was
when a litigation lawyer hitched up the horse trailer to the pickup truck and
hauled it all away, horse included. These,
I believe are the same devices and livestock that I seem to be necessarily in
the market for now.
I gathered up the list of things
they might need for the next day, like ultra light sunglasses, hat disposable
cameras, and trash bags or something that could be thrown away later in the
race, and then made the Metro trip through Metro Center and transferred to the
Red Line to go all the way out to Shady Grove . On the train there were various hobgoblins and Dracula types, so
I gather that this is the Washington DC’s crowd’s big party night, being the
Saturday night before Halloween.
I made the long ride, and then a
walk in the dark, carrying only my backpack, and walked up the long dark drive
in Derwood as the leaves are just now turning bright colors and a buck snorted
as he bolted away in the dark. It was
too late to go to get groceries, but I had carried the leftover pasta from
Martheen’s to eat for breakfast after micro-waving it I tried to unpack what little I had carried and to see the big
stack of waiting mail. At least it
seems that the potential trip to Kuala Lumpur is postponed to at least
November—after which I am too busy to go.
But, now, I must think of quite
other things—such as rest and nutrition for the run which begins a “Fall Back”
earlier morning rising—only a couple of hours after I went to bed.
THE MCRRC
HOSPITALITY SUITE,
A RENDEZVOUS
WITH NEW FRIENDS,
AND WE ARE
“OFF TO THE RACES!”
I drove the Bronco to GW where I
would later have to carry down the big bags from my office where I had left the
hunting gear from Colorado, and immediately got back on the Metro to
Rosslyn. I went to the Holiday Inn, and
checked in to the Hospitality Suite of the MCRRC. There I met Mike Broderick, to whom I had given my permit along
with the fax of my driver’s license to pick up my running bib and shirt for the
MCM-27. Without the bib and the kit, I
would not be officially in the race, despite my own chip. I immediately pinned it on my Marine Corps
singlet, and put on a Himalayan Spirit Tee Shirt to give later to Marcie as
here inspiration for the future. Running
jackets and shirts with warm up pants would all be unnecessary later, with an
hour more daylight by the 8:30 AM start.
All three Dreisbachs and I were at
the ball room in the Holiday when the call went out to move out, and the place
look like “the rapture” had afflicted it, with bodyless clothes piled up with
everyone sweeping toward the start line.
We posed in the slanting rays of an unusually warm sun at the Iwo Jima
monument, and I could go over again the vagaries of the course, including this
Mount Surabachi on which we stood as an unwelcome surprise at the end of the 25th
mile—but a good place to pull back one’s head and smile, waving to the thick
crowds at this point and cheering them on.
We went down to the area of the
start and there were a lot of signs advertising 5:30 pace groups. I thought it strange that so many out of
shape and unusual first time runners were hoping to do five and a half minute
miles—then realized these were the Jeff Galloway run/walkers who run ten
minutes and walk a minute and hoped to finish in five and a half hours! So, as the howitzer went off, I was stuck in
traffic which is a lot slower than I am, including dead still and walking at
least part of the time. I stood with
the Dreisbachs as the time ticked off after the start without any movement,
telling them it would not make any difference since we would set off the
chirping mat at the start with our chips—which is what did ha[pen when we got
down Mount Surabachi on a walk about fifteen minutes into the race.
I bobbed and weaved for a while,
among some runners who were walking even before we got to the Pentagon. This is
the world’s biggest collection of first-timers, and for many it would no doubt
be the last time. In getting around
them at about the fifth mile, I passed the Dreisbachs, and even when I held
back I could not find them again, so I decided to set out on my won pace, which
carried me around the Pentagon and over the seven mile point of the start line
at about 75 minutes despite the very late start. I opened up through the Georgetown crowds and looked out for
people I might know—seeing no one I recognized.
The apprehension of the sniper has
made a huge difference in the mood of the crowd, and it was a god day for
spectators, starting out rather warm and sunny, as I ran the whole of the race
in shorts and singlet without gloves or other disposable cover which I had brought
along if necessary. The day was nearly
ideal, and fit between days of cold rain on either side of the event, so it
could not have been better designed for a good run.
And, I made it a good one! My slow start made it possible for me to
open up without any cramping or injury and I did so as I rounded the turn up
Rock Creek Park. Before I knew it, I
had crossed the half way point at around 2 hours on my watch, which had the
added twenty minutes on the gun time since the time it took to get to the start
from the position I had lined up with at the outset. I then decided to run a bit faster as I left the Lincoln Monument
and came down Constitution.
A POLITICAL
RUNNING MATE!
I came upon a fellow who was
struggling a bit, doing a run/walk shuffle.
Since my guide runner instincts with others had earlier been focused on
the Dreisbachs and they were now somewhere behind me, I slowed down and tried
to encourage this fellow. When running
along side the fellow runner, one does not turn to face him, and I did not at
first recognize him. He said he would
have to walk and did not want to hold me back.
I said I would walk but only a few steps with him, and then turned to
recognize him. My recollection was
immediate, but reinforced by his tee shirt, which announced “Bill Frist.”
He is the only physician and only
surgeon in the Senate, scion of a very wealthy Tennessee family that owns HCA,
and a cardiac transplanter. I had tried
to get him the Siu Award and Lectureship last year, but I could not get through
his staff. Now, I may be able to! I told him I had operated in a few of the
same hospitals that he had abroad in
Africa. He said he was going to try to
go again in January, and I told him I would be in both Malawi and in early
January in Mindanao, in which he was interested. Hew has gone with the Fuhrmans from the World Medical Missions
and I thanked him for his support and example there. He insisted he was going to have to walk and insisted even more
strongly that I not be held back, sop I took a picture of him with the
disposable Kodak Maxim I had carried and took off on a sprint. I will try to see him again with his picture
being my calling card.
HEADING BACK
TO THE IWO JIMA MONUMENT
TO FINISH THE
RACE
By now I was climbing the Capital
Hill myself. Now if anyone should
recognize this terrain, this is my home town running turf, since this is a
regular run for me from the Wellness Center at GW where I have a club
membership. I used the Capital Hill
backdrop for a few photos of flag carriers and waved at the official Marathon
Photo picture takers on the course. I
took off down the hill toward the stretch around the other side of the Lincoln
Monument and out the smaller bit of Ohio Drive that is cut shorter since they eliminated
the dreaded Haines Point with the cold river winds whipping up the
Potomac. By this time I was motoring
along well, when I recognized my first cheering spectator—there was Susan
Dreisbach at one of about four places I had said she could shuttle around in
watching the race. She shot me with the
disposable camera I had given her and I did the same with mine of her. I said I thought I was now well ahead of her
husband Jim and daughter Marcie, and she later said that it was about twenty
five minutes later that they came by
The one spot in the race I do not
like at all is the Fourteenth Street Bridge, which has a hill in the middle of
it. I passed a trio of black oversize
runners whose tee shirts said, left to right, “Jesus is Lord,” and
congratulated them---after all, overweight, and puffing hard on their first
marathon, they were still ahead of me!
We exchanged praises, and I did what I did not want to do—no, I never
walked. But I pulled my head down and
staring at my feet, I plugged along until I crossed the bridge, by which time I
would have a crick in my neck.
When I
looked up on the far side of the Potomac at the 24 mile mark, I ran into a
fellow whose tee-shirt said “Go Ron”.
He identified himself as a fellow member of the MCRRC, but someone who
had just moved back to the area and had not attended any of the runs or
functions. He was surprised that I knew
his name, and I told him it was not necessarily Divine clairvoyance. Only then did he notice my name was
stenciled on each arm in indelible pen, and then he saw my MCM Running Club
Fifteen Marathons badge (they only give them out at the five year
intervals—this being my eighteenth.)
This seemed to wake him up and keep him from walking. So, I encouraged him not to give up and to
make it with me to the 25 mile point, and then get down to stretch the quads in
a 15 second stretch. He went along with
it. Then, feeling much better, I told
him to pull his head back as we came through the dense crowds and give back
high fives and thumbs up as we pounded up Mount Surabachi. So, instead of limping in dejectedly in
about fifteen minutes longer than either of us should have, we sprinted up the
hill around 4:15 and as I passed the 26 mile post on the far side, I swept out
and around the spectator snow fences and kicked in the final 385 yards in a
blaze of five minute mile speed that passed most of the runners already on the
grass under the balloon arches of the finish line where the marathon photo
people were snapping away
PICKING UP THE MEDAL
AND HEADING FOR THE BARN==
AND CLIFF’S SPORTS MASSAGE
I picked up my medal and a lot of salutes from the
Marines who recognized the Marine Corps singlet (”Ah Hoorah!” was the most
frequent exchange of comments with me along the entire course) and looked
around only briefly, before tucking in the MCM Mylar blanket worn as a cape
against the Potomac breeze, and with my left pyriformis now in spasm, limped
toward the MCRRC Hospitality Suite. A
club member named Karen was complaining bitterly about a pain in her butt that
no one could figure out. I described it
with such exquisite precision that she came back to thank me many times over,
telling her friend Donna that after three years of reporting to anyone who
would listen, that only one person seemed to know exactly what she has---another
pyriformis spasm sufferer.
I went straight to the Sports massage where Cliff
awaited complaining that he had done my post-marathon Sports Massages every
year except last year when a pretty young woman had pulled me out of his
queue---“And you were expecting me to apologize for that?” I asked.
A half hour later all three Dreisbachs came in
elated—and hungry. We chowed down on
beef stew and chili, passed on the beer in favor of more salted drinks, and
began the post-run diuresis. They had
invited me to visit them in Denver on my next stops out there, and I would be
delighted to get together with them and talk about many things, not least of
which is the plan for guiding Marcie through Ladakh/Lingshed next summer in
here OSU senior year.
So, score another one for the Marines----as good as
it gets