"Glo-Pokes” T-shirts made? Check! [with D’Kid’s help, and materials on sale from AC Moore]
Glowy stuff acquired? Check! [on sale at Party City]
Church attended? Check!
Gear laid out? Check!
Post-race bag packed? Check!
Nap taken? Check!
Contacts with D’Girls and D’Doe established? Check! [Doe may have still be asleep when I called him at 9PM]
Let’s do it!!!
It’s a quick and tumble journey up to I-295 and over the bridge to Lloyd Hall on Boathouse Row. After missing the crucial turn at the Art Museum, [the one I usually take to the back parking lot of the Museum, which was closed anyway, due to construction of a new multi-deck lot – yeah, that will be skated when done] I pulled into the near-vacant lot on Eakins Oval. I double checked the contents of my near-stuffed backpack – I brought all six shirts with me, in case someone might not make it to the post-race pool-party planned for the next day.
I threw my pack over my shoulder, and started walking to Boathouse Row. Opening my phone and calling the number saved from earlier, [“So, what are we doing tonight?”], I felt a rush of excitement and something else … stage fright!!!
Suddenly, it was open mike night, and I had nothing prepared. Maybe that was the point?
Now I knew where the girls were; where was Doe? I called him for the 3rd time … still on his way; the word “bridge” was mentioned. I told him where I parked, and where we would be. The circle was closing. On my way down the bike path, I leapt up and down in joy.
THIS IS SO COOL!!!
As I wandered around looking for my friends, somewhere either in or near the registration desk, I heard my name. I turned and saw a beautiful, glowing face highlighted by brilliant blue eyes and the brightest, happiest smile I’d seen in ages [other than my own, which was stage left, hidden to her in the welcome hug]. She directed me, moderately shell-shocked that my on-line friends were becoming non-holographc, to the number and shirt table.
Maureen noticed first that my number was 645; hers was 646. Since we had all registered in a flurry on that last day, it wasn’t surprising that we’d be close; we hadn’t counted on consequtivity.
The next step was to meet the rest of the “team.”
Maureen took me to the “crash pad” room, where the hardcore slept on their 24 journeys.
Lor-A was not as tall as I expected; Lor-I was. Kelly, Jen and Yi Juin were Kicks-in-Laws, so I had no clue.
Girls gathered; I now needed to find my wingman: Ring-Doe. I told him I’d be out front; he could stash his stuff in my bag check.
Apparently, he walked past as I was glowing up [the sound system allowed practically no verbal communication within 20 yards of any speaker], but we did connect; and we found the girls.
A couple of times.
The pre-race instructions were given [Lor-I, was declared “Most Illuminated” by virtue of her disco glasses which, from her perspective behind them, must have been a torture device straight from “A Clockwork Orange”].
Glo-Pokes assembled, and at midnight, after being treated to Maureen’s voice in a wonderful rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” [she shined to those nearby, while the PA cut in and out], we were off.
Yeah, a gun or something more than “GO!” would have been nice!To Part Two >>>
Heck, this first part could be the 400 Beers Prologue!
For so many years I had a very regular annual road racing schedule:
March – Bancroft 5K, Haddonfield
April – Inglis House 5M, Kelly Drive, Philly
May – Broad Street Run, 10M, Philly
July – somebody’s 5K on 4th of July
September – Philadelphia Distance Run, ½ Marathon
November – Haddonfield 5 [was a 5M, then a 5K]
Plus, spur-of-the-weekend- and “Hey-it’s-a-Twilight-“ 5Ks.
I was fast then, too. It wouldn’t last.
Shortly after being married, the 5Ks disappeared. It took longer to get there than it did to run. For what? A free T-shirt?
Looking for new, more local / more Jersey horizons, I became a triathlete, adding those evens to my schedule, where they would fit during the summer. Plus, I got to buy a bike and tinker … I love to tinker. In fact I bought my first tri bike with winnings from the NCAA Tourney when Chris Webber called time-out … I wear a Michigan hoodie to this day. I should named that bike The Wolverine.
However, with the stresses of marriage, and pressures of work [both of which the endless tri-training and time away from the house certainly relieved] those had to go, too. I still have [most of] the bike.
Three weeks before the Distance Run in 1999 – while cruising through a 10-mile workout at about a 7½ minute pace; I quit running.
With Mariel due in November, D’Wife high-risk and stressed in four-dimensions [physically, emotionally, hormonally and spiritually], it seemed pretty selfish to be going for a PR at this time.
After 17½ years, I stopped for a while. Heck, I had plenty of training in the box, no problem. I ran the race, and finished in a [then] disastrous 2:08; compounded by a 15 minute defeat to my sister-in-law.
My first run after Mariel was born was Wednesday, February 9, 2000. It was wonderful, but I couldn’t be consistent. I did the best to maintain, but what is the motivation to train without a goal? Just to kill time? Once I ran 5 miles in 90°/90% with a motorcycle helmet on to win $50 from my neighbor – MTB Mark.
Many of the races I had done while they were in there tweens were approaching drinking age now: PDR was 10 when I first ran it in 1988, Broad Street turned 20 in May 1999. I missed both of my friends’ 25th Anniversaries.
The first time I pinned on a number as a Dad was for the Broad Street Run, May 7, 2006. Not a PR, but fulfilling. [Thanks, Annabelle] It would have been even better if the family had been there.
The Philadelphia Distance Run that September was humbling. You can find that story here
I was still in replacement mode … “Let me see how I do now, as a slow fat old man, Daddy; compared to when I was a fast slim young dude, dude.”
Recipe for failure, or at least disappointment.
Somehow though, cards started falling in place. I changed running forums, first of all, and met a whole new runner-verse. I wandered into a place reserved for people far younger than me, and was cordially invited to stay. Highly intimidated at first [fearing my “old man” secret might leak out and get me expelled], and not exactly which persona to adopt [eventually settling on “E: None of the Above,” i.e., be yourself dumbass], I was drawn out and befriended.
Still, these people we just 1’s and 0’s. I had heard stories and seen pictures of a warm and loving community, something I desperately wanted to belong to, scattered across though country [the globe, even – see “Audrey” to the left there]. A big annual meet-up is at the Philly Marathon in November, but with that being D’Kid’s birthday weekend, the chances of me getting free a Slim and None … and Slim just left town.
My newest bestest friend, Maureen [link over to the left] filled me in about this thing with a thing – wonderfully Jersey-spoken – that some of the girls were doing; would I be interested?
Details? One loop around Fairmount Park [8.5 miles – which I’d done plenty] in the dark [done that, too] at Midnight [probably] with 4 girls I’d never met? [that’s new!]
Um, that might not fly 100%. Let me make a call.
“Doe. We’re doing the Distance Run, right? Let’s do this. It will be cool!”
Doe’s on board, and with a familiar face in the mix, I have clearance.
Off we go. A new adventure. A clean slate. This time, is the first time.To Part One >>>
Some 24 hours from now, give or take 60 minutes or so, a bunch of people who have existed to me only as made-up names, avatars [with maximum size of 160 by 160 pixels], and email addresses, will become real-life living and breathing friends, as we meet at Llloyd Hall in Fairmount Park to run [?] one loop along the Schuylkill River - essentially the back half of the Distance Run - IN THE DARK!!!
This is big. This is huge.
I've never felt so welcomed.
Thanks, gang. I'll see you tomorrow.
Midnight Madness - Prologue >>>
I took a hard fall on my skateboard today. Nothing new, I just hadn’t done that in more than 20 years. Gravity still feels the same as it always has. My knee, hip and elbow got pretty scuffed up, but nothing’s broken, which is fortunate since, in Newtonian terms, I did collide with a whole planet.
My 5½ foot frame has taken quite a beating over these 46 years.
Taking it from the top:
Scar on the very top of my head: brother whacked me with a stick about 1½" thick, breaking the stick, plus other cementheadly events
7 concussions
Broken nose [3 times]
Fractured cheekbone [mugging attempt]
I still have all my wisdom teeth
Chronic tinnitus
Separated shoulder [rugby]
Fractured collarbone [fall from monkey bars]
Broken ribs [4] [assorted collisions]
Moderately high blood pressure
Semi-annual chiro alignment
Dislocated elbow [bike]
Fractured radii [bike]
Broken hand [metacarpal] [soccer]
Broken fingers [various]
Fertility-treatment scar [my only surgery]
F’d up right knee [I don’t know what I did, but it’s fine now]
Fractured left tibia [soccer]
Shattered left baby toe [water park]
Plus hundreds of nicks, scratches and dings, and dozens of heartaches and heartbreaks.In spite of evidence to the contrary, I am not clumsy ... I'm just careless, reckless and a little bit self-destructive
