5 miles

Today is a long run. We run with the group on the Amherst Bike Trail. I have mentioned that I like this trail. It is well marked and relatively flat. There are also all kinds of people on it all the time. I feel safe. Even with all the people, you still find wildlife on the sidelines. Today I saw assorted birds and a woodchuck. It was like running in my backyard. But not.

I started running with one of the walkers. She was running to start and I realized that we run at about the same pace. That made me feel good. A fellow runner. She had to stop to walk, though, so that made me feel even better because it made me feel like a runner.

Ellen, one of our trainer's, ran with me for some time. We talked and realized what a small world it was. We had many acquaintances in common, and it was nice to hear how people were doing. Turns out may of my old colleagues at the Catholic Health System are related or friends of hers in some way. I have been out of touch with many of them, so hearing about them was cool.

I also realized that I don't run and talk very well. I never do it. I run alone. Who the hell am I going to talk to? I don't even sing along to my IPod when I run. That takes energy away from the task at hand. I need focus and discipline to run as slowly as I do. I can't have a distraction like talking.

But it was nice. Before I knew it, I had run a mile. And I think I did it faster than normal. Then I ran two. Then Ellen had to hang behind to make sure others were on the right track and were okay. I was faced with solitude for about a mile. It was rather nice. The day was perfect. The sun was out but it was still too early to be damn hot. The trail ran along Ellicott Creek and I felt quite good running alongside the Creek.

This Saturday was also the day for the Ride for Roswell. It is one of the big fundraisers for Roswell Park Cancer Institute, a premier cancer center right in Buffalo. I did the Ride for Roswell in 2004 fresh off my century ride. Today, I was running next to several riders.

I had missed the elite riders who had set off for the longer mileage ride. Instead, I got families and friends on ten-speeds or cruisers or mountain bikes or bikes with banana seats (still super cool). Many were wearing t-shirts with pictures on them or with names on them. There was a team with yellow t-shirts emblazoned with the face of a young woman. My guess is that she didn't survive her battle with cancer and this group of folks was riding in her honor. See how quick I am to determine that? Do I know that for sure? Of course not, but it doesn't take a genius to reach that conclusion.

I had passed the group as I made my way from mile 2 to 2.5. It wasn't until I was on my way back to mile 2 and back to the start that I passed the group again and started to tear up.

I started to think about the woman whose face was printed on the yellow t-shirts. What was she like? How old was she? What cancer got her in the end? Why are her friends smiling? How are they not crying? I don't know her and I want to cry and hug each one of them.

I started thinking about my own father and the cancer that got him and the fact that he was 42 when he died and I will be 40 in another month or so. Then I realized that I have been alive longer without him in my life than I have been with him in it.

What does that mean? That means that I need to have either a good cry about this or I need to suck it up and finish running the 5 miles that I need to run today.

And I smiled.

And I thought about the folks riding for the yellow woman (it's what I call her now). And I knew why they smiled. They can. And I can. And I can keep running.

I caught up with Ellen with about 1.5 miles to go. I was pumped from the energy of the bike riders. I had this new-found optimism.

Then we came to a mountain in the road.

It was an incline, really, but when you've run nearly 4 miles and you don't really do this, that small incline may as well be Mt. Everest without the annoying oxygen deprivation.

I thought I was still running and Ellen was running beside me talking to me.

Then she stopped to a walk.

But I didn't.

I was still running.

I looked over at her and wanted to scream, "For the love of all things Holy, Ellen, do you want to pretend I am running? Make an effort to run with me even though I have slowed to the pace of a drunk snail? Can you not take what's left of my self esteem and pile it under the rock you just walked past but that I huffed it by?"

She either realized I was running or realized, shit, I've just killed all optimism in this poor woman, and she started to run again.

Then she told me she was hanging back to wait for the others. To make sure they were okay.

I couldn't shake the walking. Every person I saw on the path in front of me was a menace. I had to get by all of the walkers.

There was an elderly gentleman in front of me. He had to be in his seventies. I kept pace with him for a bit until I realized I was running and he was not. So I picked up my pace and passed him. Woo hoo! A small victory!

Then there was another group of old folks, three in total, I think. They too had to fall to my running prowess. I passed them also. Yes, another victory!

Then I was pooped. That drained me. But I couldn't slow down. I cannot even imagine the personal embarrassment if I was passed by the same seniors I had just ably run by! Arrrggghhh!

After I finished RUNNING, I stretched and talked to some other folks who had hung back after their runs. I like the group dynamic of the Saturday long runs. I think I am even enjoying the talking!

It seems evident that the Amherst Bike Path is where all sorts of TNT alumni go to run on weekends. We met Sheila, a woman who had run eight marathons and a slew of half marathons. Her advice to us was that we follow the schedule. We should do exactly as it says. If it says run two miles, run two miles. Even if you feel better and feel as though you could run more, just run what is on the schedule.

You don't have to tell me twice, Sheila.

Then she told us that she started running when she was 66 and now she's 77. Those are not typos. 66. I hope I am still running when I am 66. Hell, I hope I am still alive when I am 66. But 77? Jesus, I love this woman! What an inspiration. And she is a cancer survivor. I am not sure which cancer, but come on! If that doesn't inspire you, I don't know what will.

So I had a great day. I was inspired by the riders riding for Roswell and I was inspired by Sheila. I was also inspired by Ellen. Hell, if she hasn't started walking, I might not have passed the senior citizens!