It was an official closing of a chapter. Slamming shut of the book. The recovery is now complete, the past is all behind me and the goal I set for myself a year ago has been achieved.
“You know the surgeon who stitched you up said you might not run again,” my wife reminded me after I finished the Gasparilla 15K down in Tampa last weekend. It was almost a year after the fateful surfboard injury when a fin from my board stabbed me in the thigh leaving me with nerve damage — a prickly, pins and needles sensation up and down my leg — and a thigh that looks even scrawnier than before.
But I’ve worked very hard the past year to get myself back to this point — to run another 15K. Just a week or so before my injury I had put in a mighty respectable time at the Gate River Run in Jacksonville. And as I moved from the couch to crutches to physical therapy to finally slow, short runs last summer, I kept thinking back to what it felt like to run that race. To feel strong on your feet and like you were powered by some unyielding steam engine. You don’t have to be a great runner to be a strong runner, and while people like me will never get medals for it, there are few better feelings than crossing the finish line after a really strong race.
I wanted that feeling again, and I set a goal for myself as I went through my rehab: to not only run a 9.3-miler within the year, but to do it faster than the last one. I had no idea if that was realistic — the best goals and challenges are the ones that sound utterly ridiculous. I’m going to fly like a bird. I’m going to fly to the moon. I’m going to spit flaming kerosene out of my mouth. There has to be a level of lunacy or drunkenness when you set these things.
But to me, it was to prove that I was all mended and, more importantly, unbowed. That bouncing back was little more than applying determination, a lot of hard work and a positive attitude. Listen, I’m not trying to make more out of this than it was. Let’s be realistic: I hadn’t fought off cancer, or even a mountain lion. I hadn’t lost a leg or survived an airplane crash. I keep that all in perspective. People have done amazing things — all I did was run a race.
But, big or small, you always have to set your sights on something just out of reach. And that was my goal — what kept me going. If nothing else, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it — that I would do it.
And I did. When I crossed that finish line, I had beaten my time last year by a full minute, clocking in as the 154th fastest runner out of nearly 4,200. It felt like such an accomplishment, and at the same time, like nothing at all. The normalcy — going out and running a strong race like it was no big deal — was half the fun. That and seeing the big smile on my daughter’s face as she saw me run by. Children have a way of looking up to their parents like they’re superhuman, and the smiles they give make you feel like you are.
So it was a special day. Shoot, I was almost the first runner to show up at the free after-race beer tent that morning. It was around 8:45 when I finished. The Michelob beer ladies looked impressed as I walked up with my ticket. I don’t know if it was because they thought I must have been a top runner, or that is just seemed positively insane to run 9.3 miles and then grab a cold one before most normal people had even changed out of their pajamas.
“What am I the first runner?” I asked, wondering where everybody was. “No,” said the woman who took my ticket, “but you’re number two.”
Oh well. It’s not where you finish; it’s the sense of accomplishment you feel once you get there. And all alone looking out over beautiful Tampa Bay I needed a toast. To a tough year. To a grueling year. To a great race. To normalcy. To being OK. To moving on and burying the past. To my daughter’s smile. To a surgeon who couldn’t have been more wrong. To new goals and free beer. And most of all, to slamming the book shut.