We Crossed The Line!

Much Thanks

In an emotional whirlwind, we crossed the finish line of the 2006 Vancouver marathon. I say "we" because I did not achieve this goal on my own. By my side for the past six months of training and throughout the 4 hours, 26 minutes and 2 seconds of race time was my partner, girlfriend, unconditional supporter and one of the toughest and most determined person I've ever known. I'm proud to say that I finished a marathon, but I'm more proud to know that I did so with her by my side.

Also with me were the brave individuals I've met and shared stories with who have been personally affected by the blood cancers the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society seeks to cure. Many of my closest friends and family members contacted me throughout this program to share their experiences. For some it was a parent, sibling or close family member. For some it was the experiences of personally battling cancer. Many of these stories came from people I've known most my life, but had never known of their struggles, their pain and their resolve. Some stories came from people whom I've never met. I carried with me these stories, these experiences for 26.2 miles in hopes that this effort could honor their fight.

Finally, with me were the countless people in my life who offered their support, love and encouragement. My family has always given me nothing but overwhelming support when it comes to athletic competitions. This race was no different. From my parents in Detroit, grandparents in Florida and Michigan, family throughout Michigan, Mississippi, North Carolina and Ontario; to my friends throughout Metro-Detroit, Kalamazoo, Ohio, Chicago, San Francisco and Atlanta. All offered much-appreciated encouragement that aided tremendously. I wanted to specifically thank our coach and mentor throughout this program. Ken's enthusiasm and love for this sport was infectious. His advice and guidance was a priceless benefit. Thank you Ken for all your efforts. You helped turn a linebacker into a marathon runner.

With a tissue dab of the eye, I'll move on to the highlights of one of the greatest experiences of my life:

Pre-Game

I awoke at 5 am, nearly two and a half hours before the start of the race with a feeling in my gut that was not entirely unfamiliar. This was the feeling of game day. I grew up knowing this feeling all-to-well on Saturday mornings in the Fall. The early morning of the marathon was oddly similar. It took me over an hour just to get dressed. We're talking vaseline, BodyGlide, a pair of socks, singlet, hat, wrist band, shoes and some strategically placed bandages. How I managed to take an hour putting this gear on is baffling. While pre-race nerves are still clouding my memory, presumably I obsessed over each article of clothing like each was going to make or break the race. Looking back, It had been over six years since I last prepared myself for "game-time." While I left the helmet, pads, tape, cleats and #36 jersey in the archives, I couldn't help but enjoy the revisited anxiousness of game day.

Starting Line

The anxiousness felt in our hotel room, soon turned to concern when I glanced out the window. Rain greeted us like naive tourists. In speaking with natives of the Pacific Northwest, such rain is a normal way of life. Our normal way of life involved bone-chilling winds, snow, ice and sleet. Never did I train in the rain. Was I dressed properly? Will I be able to make it in water-logged shoes? What will four hours of running in soaked clothes do to my body? I didn't get much of a chance to ponder these initial thoughts. Before I knew it, "Oh Canada," was concluding and the starting gun sounded. As I shuffled across the starting line among the sea of garbage bag clad runners, the adrenaline and excitement rushing through my veins overwhelmed my rain-soaked shirt, shoes and socks. By mile two, I had stepped directly in a series of ankle high puddles. I simply kept sloshing along.

After what seemed to be a few minutes, the race leaders came flying by in the opposite direction of the down-and-out first section of the coarse. The effortless strides of the Ethiopean leader was amazing. I later read that after building a large lead, he was able to hold off the second place runner by only 4 seconds. I also learned that this same runner approached the starting line for the first time only 20 seconds before the gun sounded, in an effort to stay dry as long as possible. At the speed I saw him running, I doubt even the rain drops could catch up to him.

Entertainment

A few miles into the race we approached the first band providing us with a water-logged cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival.

"I see the bad moon rising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightning.
I see bad times today."

A catchy tune with a good running beat, but not exactly the words of encouragement I was looking for. These shouts of support soon came from the brave spectators that lined the side lines. My purple Team In Training singlet proudly displayed "Michigan" on the front, prompting numerous people to encourage this well-traveled foreigner to knock off another mile. To add a little more local representation I often pointed to the old-English "D" on my wrist band to announce that Detroit was here to play. I got nothing but love from the city of Vancouver, and all of it was tremendously helpful, especially during the rough stretches.

By mile 6, a local indie rock band belted out a distinctively Canandian tune. Despite the rain and chilly temps that surely made their guitar strings feel like pins and needles, they jammed with flannel shirts and hiking boots for a greatly appreciative runner.

I remember the music that was played throughout the race so vividly, because it was an unbelievably effective means of appeasing the mental strain that this race soon delivered. There was a D.J. in Stanley Park at mile 13 playing what appeared to be a mix of Weird Al Yankovic with a crazy Indian beat. He was having such a good time behind his turntable, that I couldn't help but gain a little energy despite the quality of the music. There were a group of pre-teens strumming the only three cords they knew to in a cover of Detroit's own White Stripes. I again pointed to the "D" on my wrist. At mile 18 and again at around 22 there were a group of college kids turning the day into a party and even pumped Aretha Franklin's "R.E.S.P.E.C.T" from their balcony for another eerie shot-out to Motown. All this music, combined with the dozens of crazy marathon fans along the coarse allowed us to break up the monotony and proved to be a great benefit.

The Coarse

Even in the rain and fog, Vancouver is an absolutely gorgeous city. The coarse took us through a combination of neighborhoods and downtown districts before entering a huge urban park named after Lord Stanley, the same 19th century Canadian Governor responsible for professional hockey's greatest prize: The Stanley Cup. The park is full of amazing redwoods and lush vegetation. At times I couldn't help but raise my head above my shoulders to take a glance at the top of the trees. For nearly four miles, we trotted through this park that would be an ideal paradise for a marathon training Vancouverite.

Just after existing the park I knew that the first significant climb of the day was near. I studied the coarse map and elevation grid to the extent that the Burrard Bridge was not going to be a surprise. At the foot of the bridge, just as the incline started, our good friend, Elenore met us with a shout of encouragement. She even jogged up the 100 ft ascent with us injecting some much needed energy into our bodies. All it took was a familiar face some some well-wishes, and we had scaled the bridge for the first time.

Over the bridge was a series of neighborhoods with many more spectators. Some with signs. My favorite was a group of girls holding a sign that read, "Your ass looks great in short shorts!" By mile 22, it was highly unlikely that I looked or smelled anything close to attractive. Regardless, we both felt strong and kept plugging along until we revisited the Burrard Bridge at mile 25. Here, I knew it was the 4th quarter. Gut check time.

At the foot of the bridge on our return, my partner decided kick it into a different gear. With a burst of energy, we were off at a pace that seemed like a couple minutes faster than what we ran the previous 25 miles. I remember grunting a few times and blurting out a few "come on's!" to verbally acknowledge that we were almost there. I'd like to be able to better describe the last mile and a half, but most was an absolute blur. I remember the crowds of people thickening as we passed mile 26. They became even more vocal. Cow bells, air horns and whistles joined the noises. I kept staring ahead at the large domed stadium that marked the finish line. As we got closer I could start to hear the race moderator announcing the names of the finishers. My legs were almost completely numb. Running side-by-side, Erin didn't say a word. Nor did she let up. She simply put her head down and grinded out the last half mile.

The Finish

I do remember seeing the large blue banner with "FINISH" crossing the road ahead. The crowd was now hanging over the metal barricades that guided the runners to the end. According to the pictures from above, I flung my arms in the air before crossing. I do not remember doing so. At 4 hours, 26 minutes and 02 seconds I crossed the line. Erin was a step ahead, as she was the last mile and a half.

We were met by many smiling faces and pats on the back. The above medal was placed around my neck like I was on an Olympic medal stand. With a big hug from Erin, I couldn't help but get a little choked up. As we made the short walk inside BC Place Stadium, the numbness in my legs quickly turned to pain. My calves and thighs began to cramp and my shoulder and neck tightened up. Runners all around us were doubling over in pain. While uncomfortable, the emotions of the moment made it all bearable. I'm not sure whether or not I'll ever run another marathon, but I'm certain that I'll never experience a similar feeling as crossing the finish line in Vancouver.

Final Thanks

As the Run With Rorai web log signs off, I'd like to once again thank all whose support, love and encouragement made this program possible. Thank you to those who visited and left your comments. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Talk to you soon.