Duck & Run - The Twitch

Duck & Run
The Twitch
By Hank Brown

I distinctly remember passing through mile 21 at the Kiawah Island Marathon and thinking, “Brown, I think you’ve got it this time.”

However, based on my notoriously bad history with marathons, I wasn’t quite ready to declare victory just yet. You see, marathons and I are not very good party companions.

I’m not saying I have bad luck, but it seems something always happens somewhere along the way. At my first marathon, the Rocket City Marathon in the late 80s, I barely made it to mile 16 before surrendering to an ice storm and frigid conditions. Quitting in that race haunted me for a long time, and I made a pact with myself to try and finish future marathons “no matter what.” Even though that is an honorable and somewhat courageous objective, I sometimes question my sanity when hobbling around on dehydrated, cramping legs the final stages of the marathon. Oh well, it’s what we do, right?

I remember shuffling through hot, sticky air at the Myrtle Beach Marathon a few years ago, and the Mardi Gras Marathon a few years before that, thanks to unseasonable tropical storms which blew through each city the night before. I remember stopping dead in my tracks on Boylston Street in Boston with the finish line in sight, desperately urging my legs to move out of the concrete which must have set up around my ankles. I remember wandering around aimlessly in my space blanket for what seemed like days after finishing the Disney Marathon, searching for a ride back to my hotel. When I finally arrived at my room, my family (including my ex-wife) had already packed up for a day at Disney World, leaving me alone to soak in the tub.

Welcome to my life, at least my life as a marathon runner. Now don’t start playing the violin. I’m not looking for pity. But for some reason, I’ve never seemed to be able to master this event. And to be honest, I don’t really care about mastering it, I just want to get through one with some semblance of a running gait over the final mile, and I want a finish photo that’s worthy of framing and displaying on my desk.

My trouble zone is usually between miles 15 and 19. I can tell if I’m going to have a good or bad day by how my body responds during that dreaded stretch. On this day at Kiawah, I struggled a little from 16 to 18, but once I hit the turnaround, I found a welcome tailwind and regained my cruising speed. I saw my wife at mile 20, smiled for a picture, and gave her an encouraging “thumbs up” to signal that things were going well… so far.

My friend Steve, who had graciously volunteered to accompany me, had been monitoring my pace like a drill sergeant, keeping me on my very conservative game plan. My goal was simple… finish with dignity. Just once. That’s all I was asking. So, after passing 21 with plenty of gas in the tank, I started to feel like it might just happen. Yep, I was cruising and nothing could stop me now…

Except The Twitch.

Somewhere between mile 21 and 22, my hamstring twitched. Just a little twitch, but I knew what it was. Dang! Here we go again. I slowed down, stretched, and walked a little. I hoped that would take care of it, but I knew history was not on my side. When my legs start to cramp, it’s the beginning of a long, slow funeral march.

Sure enough, the next 4+ miles were gruesome. It felt like someone would occasionally reach out, grab my legs, and squeeze everything out of them. On each occurrence I would stop, stretch, and hope this was just a bad dream. At one point, between 24 and 25, my hamstring knotted up so badly all I could do was stand still like a bent over statue. I was so pitiful that one of those walkers in a purple Team In Training shirt who start hours before everyone else, passed me and offered me a salt tablet (which I refused but Steve accepted and said it almost made him sick).

Steve was very patient, but I could sense his frustration as the seconds, and minutes ticked away. It’s amazing how quickly the world can change from thumbs up to thumbs down. Just a few miles ago, I was on top of the world, scripting my wonderful marathon experience in my head to all my friends. But as I finally staggered toward the finish line, I didn’t want anyone to know I was even there. Same old story, different chapter.

It’s tough for guys my age (I just turned 55) to achieve things like we used to do, at least from an athletic standpoint. It’s hard to accept running “just for fun” in a 5K, or pulling out a 7 iron when a 9 iron used to be plenty of club. We still have that pride, and yes, a little bit of ego, but our bodies continue to knock us to the mat.

I guess that’s why I loved the final Rocky movie (Rocky Balboa). During the movie, Rocky battled his inner demons of what he once was, and struggled to come to grips with what he should be in the next phase of his life. In the end, he finally came to peace with it, but not without one more shot at glory.

Maybe that’s why Brett Favre has such a hard time retiring. In fact I think most of us guys have a difficult time “retiring” from one chapter of our lives and moving on to the next one. It’s hard to forget the glory days, I guess.

The day after the marathon, I was sore, but no worse than all the previous marathons I ever ran. I “eeched” and “ouched” my way down the stairs, and moaned my way out of the car when we stopped at rest stops. Within a few days I was walking normal, and back into the usual grind of everyday life. When people asked about the marathon, I raised one eyebrow and said “well, I finished, but it wasn’t pretty.” They seemed impressed nonetheless.

I guess finishing a marathon is still quite an accomplishment, no matter how long it takes or how ragged you look when you finally arrive at the finish line. So, just like Rocky, I’m at peace with that. But I’m still not ordering the finish line photo!

Duck & Run - Airport Dash

Duck & Run
The Airport Dash
By Hank Brown

I popped a few peanut butter M&M’s in my mouth, closed up the package and stuck the rest in the pocket of my shorts. I’ll finish them later. Right now I had too much to worry about. My flight from Tri-Cities Airport to Charlotte was running about 30 minutes late. Dang. I had a very close connection to Providence anyway, but now I had absolutely no wiggle room. Even before my flight touched down I figured I had about 15 minutes to make my next flight.

The sympathetic flight attendants allowed those of us with tight connections to deplane first. We all crowded toward the front, and waited impatiently for the doors to open. I looked at my watch… I now had 10 minutes to go from one end of Concourse E to the other end of Concourse B. It was going to be close. I was wearing Crocks, carpenter shorts, and a t-shirt, which was not ideal running attire, but it could have been worse. I stuck my reading glasses and Blackberry in the pocket of my shorts, and took off.

It’s not very often that we get to use our running skills for much more than just traveling around city streets. I mean think about it… we run miles and miles every day to stay in shape, but when do we really USE our running skills? We can run marathons, which is the equivalent of running from my town to my neighboring town, but why would I do that? We don’t have to run to work, or to school, or to the grocery store. People would think we were crazy.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been involved in a conversation with a non-runner, and they invariably ask me how much I run.

“Oh, it depends, but about 5-7 miles most days,” I answer.

They give me this incredulous look, and say, “Why would you want to do that? I wouldn’t run unless someone was chasing me.” They laugh like it’s the funniest thing anyone has ever said.

You see, the typical Wal-Mart shopper just doesn’t comprehend doing something like running unless they absolutely have to. Well, here I was looking like an O.J. Simpson commercial in the Charlotte Airport, and I thought, “This is pretty cool. I have to do this or I won’t catch my flight. I’m trained to do this.”

Speaking of being chased, and I digress just a little… a few months ago my wife and I had been out late at night to a formal party. When we returned home, our adventurous basset hound squeezed past us when we opened the gate to the backyard. I guess she figured she was going to make a jail break, and see what the rest of the neighborhood looked, and smelled like.

Natalie took off after the fleeing hound. It was pretty comical to see that short-legged dog with long ears being pursued down the middle of the street in the middle of the night by a woman in a cocktail dress and 4-inch heels. Our little escaped convict gave it all she had for a few blocks, but was no match for her marathon-trained owner. Natalie could have chased that dog all the way to the next zip code, but it only took a few blocks. That dog was probably thinking, “Darn it, of all the owners I could have in the world, I end up with two long-distance runners!”

So, Natalie chased down a chubby basset hound. Now, it was my turn to chase down a jet airplane. Even though I only had 10 minutes, I knew I still had to pace myself. I saw a man in a business suit take off in front of me. I could tell he wasn’t a runner… he was a little frumpy, and just didn’t have that “runner look,” if you know what I mean.

“He’s going out too fast,” I thought. “I’ll catch him later.”

I dodged oncoming travelers and passenger carts, but kept my pace. I saw a moving walkway, and jumped on, thinking I could make up some time if I could run on the walkway. The man in the suit ran around it.

“Bad move,” I thought. “I’ll surely pass him now.”

The walkway is great if you’re walking, but not if you’re running and trying to pass people standing and/or walking on the walkway. I got caught up in the congestion, much like at the start of the Cooper River Bridge Run. I was thinking, “Man, I just blew it.” The suit was pulling away from me, and was soon out of sight.

I finally got off the walkway, and knew I had to make up some time. I didn’t panic. I picked up the pace just a little. It was difficult finding a lane to run, but I did my best picking my way through all the obstacles. I could see the suit ahead of me. I must admit, he was doing better than I thought, but I was still confident I would catch him. Not that it mattered, of course, but it was a challenge to my running ego.

We turned a corner and headed down a long hallway where the traffic thinned out just a little. I bypassed the next moving walkway, and I was finally making up some ground. Then I saw it. His form was breaking down. He was bobbing. He was slowing down drastically. I knew from my racing experience that I had him. I cruised past Mr. Suit, and gave him the Lance Armstrong Look. He was history.

I turned from Concourse E to the common food court area. It was more crowded here so I had to really bob and weave through the travelers. I turned to Concourse B and glanced up at the departure board. The flight to Providence was on time and boarding. Dang!

I was now in full stride and picking up the pace. Sweat was rolling off my forehead as I passed gate after gate like street signs on the road. I finally saw my gate up ahead. They were still boarding! I was going to make it.

I jogged into the passenger area, got in line, and caught my breath. I showed the attendant my boarding pass and boarded the plane. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I sat down in my seat. “Not many people could have made this flight,” I bragged to myself. I remembered I better send Natalie a text and let her know I made it.

I reached into my pocket, and much to my surprise, pulled out a gooey mess of chocolate and peanut butter caked all over my Blackberry and reading glasses. I guess M&M’s won’t melt in your hands, but they will melt in your pocket when you run through the airport.

The lady sitting next to me looked at my sweat-soaked shirt, and my chocolate-coated cell phone, and surely thought to herself, “Why do I always get the crazy ones?”

I figured I better explain, “Uh, I had M&M’s in my pocket, and I just ran from Concourse E to make this flight.” She laughed and went back to her book.

I hope my bag made it…

Duck & Run - Runner Down

Duck & Run
Runner Down
By Hank Brown

It was like I saw it all happen in slow motion, but I was helpless to stop it. I must have tripped on the curb, and here I was in mid-air, hands out front like a bad imitation of George Reeves in the old Superman TV show. For a split second, I thought “I can’t believe it, I’m going to fall.”

It seemed to take forever to hit the ground. I mean, don’t get me wrong… I was definitely going down, but it was like somebody hit the frame by frame button on the VCR so all the cars passing by could watch me fly through the air and skid across the concrete.

As I was in mid-flight, my mind went through a super-quick checklist:
 Can I recover and stay on my feet? No.
 What am I wearing? Shorts, long-sleeve shirt, and gloves.
 How do I want to land? Avoid the knees if possible, avoid a skid.
 Where do I want to land? Hmmm, no good choices, but let’s stay out of the road and avoid that light pole with the concrete base.

Amazingly, I executed my “planned fall” pretty well. I hit hands first, then right shoulder, then rolled on my back, and ended up looking straight up in the sky, just inches away from the light pole with the concrete base. As falls go, this one was pretty “graceful,” even though I have to admit it’s a bit of an oxymoron.

I lay on my back in the traffic island for awhile, a little stunned, and a lot embarrassed, but I knew it could have been much worse. I staggered to my feet and brushed myself off.

“You didn’t break nothin’, did ya?”

I looked around and saw a car waiting on the light at the intersection, with an old man leaning out the passenger window. He and his wife had witnessed the crash and figured they better wait and make sure they didn’t need to peel me off the road.

“I think I’m ok, thanks.” I decided I needed to recuperate what was left of my dignity, so I waved and took off running as quickly as I regained my mental and physical capacities.

A running fall might be the worst kind of fall. Why? First because it’s totally unexpected, so you have very little, if any, time to react. One moment you’re running along enjoying the sunshine, and a blink later you’re face first on the sidewalk. Second, a runner is traveling at a pace which makes the force of the collision much worse than just tripping and falling. For example, walking into a wall might be a little painful (and embarrassing), but slamming into a wall at 6-7 mph might put you in the hospital! Finally, runners typically dress for performance and comfort, not for cover, leaving lots of skin exposed to scrape against the concrete. I was lucky - I had a split second to react, and I was wearing gloves and a long-sleeve shirt.

My darling and beautiful wife Natalie is very chic in almost every walk of life, but is admittedly a little clumsy when it comes to running. She has taken several bad spills on the roads, each time looking like the confederate soldiers in Gone With The Wind returning home after losing the war. She came limping home with blood streaming down her legs and road rash tattooing her arms from tripping on a crack in the sidewalk. She had a few choice words for everyone from the local neighborhood association to the federal government for inadequate lighting after tumbling head first on a very dark early morning run. She stepped into a hole while running with our dog one afternoon, ending up sprawled out in the middle of the road. Anyone who says running isn’t a contact sport has not met my wife!

My worst fall happened in my younger, brasher days. I was probably 19 or 20 years old, running through our neighborhood one afternoon, when I decided to cut across the corner of a yard with a low hedge bordering the property. Other than being young, and young guys do stupid things, why in the world you might ask would I want to run through a yard and jump the hedges?

Well, I always thought it was super cool how the hurdlers on the track team practiced their little “kick” move over the hurdles, so whenever I went to the track for a workout, and there was a stray hurdle sitting around, I taught myself the hurdling technique. Now, don’t misunderstand me, I was NOT a hurdler… I was a distance runner who liked to jump over the hurdles when nobody was watching.

So, as I approached this yard with the low hedges, I couldn’t resist the temptation to “hurdle” the hedges using my super cool technique. I cleared the first hurdle (hedge), took a few steps and prepared for the second one (remember the hedges bordered the property, and I was cutting across the corner of the yard). My lead leg cleared the second hedge, but my trail leg didn’t quite make it. I landed on my lead leg and thought I could recover my balance and at least stay on my feet. The more I tried to regain my equilibrium, the more I lost control. I distinctly remember my legs and arms flailing around like a wind chime in a storm, and the sense of terror as I realized I was headed for a face plant in the road.

Luckily I only ended up with a very bad black eye, a demolished t-shirt, and an extremely bruised ego. I learned a valuable lesson that day… leave the hurdling to the hurdlers! Long distance runners aren’t the most elegant beings on the planet, so otherwise imperceptible things like cracks in the sidewalk, curbs, and holes in the road turn into major obstacles for guys like me. It’s a veritable mine field out there… so the next time you run by a yard with a low hedge, resist the temptation and just keep on running.