Crossing the Finish Line

Sunday, June 5, 2011 was a beautiful day for a race. Cool temperatures, clear skies, just the slightest breeze. I woke up with a very nervous husband about to run his first ever half marathon. In a previous post, I described my husband Fran’s terrible illness in December last year, which saw him in a coma on life support for 14 days. 

He truly is a testament to the power of mind over matter. When Fran was released from the hospital January 6 this year, one simple, yet tellingly overwhelming obstacle we had to overcome was the accumulation of snow along our street. If a cab dropped us at the corner of our block, I was unsure he would be able to walk the half block to our front door. So we had to find a space as close to our stoop as possible that had a clear enough path for him to get through. It was a huge effort for him to get out of the car, onto the sidewalk, and up the stairs to our door. His doctors and physical therapists had told him that the more physical activity he could do, the quicker his recovery would be. The very next day we went out and walked half a block to the end of the street, and back. He was exhausted. The day after that, he walked three blocks. I have never seen someone so determined to get better, stronger, and keep pushing himself to do more than even he believed he was capable. 

By January 11, he was up to 8 blocks. We started walking further and further together, along with me making him do exercises he hated (but did, somewhat uncomplainingly). By the end of March, we started a run/walk training program for the Covered Bridges Half Marathon we had signed up for in his hometown in Vermont, to set a goal he could work towards as he rehabbed himself back to physical health. By mid-April he was up to 4 miles. By the end of April, 6 miles. Mid May, he ran his longest training run of 10 miles by himself, in the rain, without stopping. Sometimes it seems that nothing can stop him. 

So Fran was nervous on race day, worried he wouldn’t make it, thinking about the 3.1 miles that would still be left after the longest distance he’d ever run. I knew he’d be fine. We lined up together, and I helped pace him. I had to pull back on our pace when he saw his mom cheering, and every time he saw friends along the way, or when a fellow runner would offer words of support as they passed him, thanks to his awesome shirt. 

There were definitely some very tough parts of the race for Fran. The hills hurt. Any time we ran in silence for a while he would focus on the effort and pain. But it’s a beautiful course, and plenty that helped him along the way as well. There were lots of spectators in Woodstock cheering on the runners. The encouragement and kind words from the other racers were incredibly inspiring for him. There were cows, and gorgeous views. He definitely felt better once we were running along the river. And then there was me, nagging at him if I felt we were getting too far off pace, pushing him to start running again once we’d walked through the water stations. Fran had a secret time goal of 2 hours, 30 minutes that he desperately wanted to make. 

We crossed the finish line together in 2:27:09. Yet another goal he had set for himself was one that he didn’t just meet; he exceeded. His mom was there, and friends of ours who had made the trip to Vermont to witness his big day. I have never been prouder of anyone in my life as I was crossing that finish line with my husband at my side.

The human body is an amazingly resilient, adaptable machine. Set yourself a goal you’re not sure you can achieve. It makes it that much sweeter when you succeed.