I glance at Steph one last time as the national anthem concludes and before I know it, the horn goes off and I am on my way. Once the Dalí museum is behind us, I see one of my next favorite St. Pete icons: USFSP. A proud Bull myself, I love wandering around the scenic waterfront campus between classes and running on the sidewalks watching the sunrise.
A few miles in, I feel my watch vibrate and see a text message from Steph: “Nice pace!” She is following along on the GPS tracker link I emailed her this morning. Her text gives me just the boost I need and I continue to charge forward.
Much to my surprise, I am soon heading into Tropicana Field. My smile grows as I enter the stadium and look up to see myself on the jumbotron. Running on the field at the Trop is probably the closest I will ever come to feeling like a professional athlete, and I must say it’s pretty damn exhilarating.
I take note of the time every mile or so, making sure my pace is OK. Seven or eight miles in, though, I begin to feel my energy levels drop. I have felt strong the entire race so far, and have been careful to replenish with water, Gatorade and energy gels, but the miles are catching up to me. I slow my speed and focus on my form. The sun is full-force now and I know not to push myself too hard.
There are a lot of people dressed up in costumes at the event today: Raymond the baseball mascot, a pelican or two; I even spot Wonderwoman. But when I reach Beach Drive and head towards the Vinoy, I spot two of my favorite plainclothes heroes: my wife Steph and my dad. They are both here today and even have cowbells they are ringing for me. Steph’s smile is contagious as she calls my name and cheers; my dad calls to me over the crowd: “We’ll see you at the finish line!”
I can’t help myself; my eyes fill with tears as my heart overflows with gratitude. Training for a half marathon is never easy, but it would be impossible without having the support and encouragement of your loved ones. I am running this race for myself, of course. But I also run to make the people I love proud. And seeing my wife and dad here in this moment is a big reminder of that.
The last few miles are brutal. The sun is strong and I’m sweating more water than I can manage to take in. The minutes drag along with my feet but every single time I begin to feel discouraged, something pops up to lift my spirits and help me push onward.
I spot my cousin along the sidelines, who sees me and cheers me on. A little further down the road I see someone from Burg, my CrossFit gym. I remember the special shoutout they sent to gym members via text, wishing good luck to me and another member participating in today’s race. A volunteer handing out water cups sees my nearly empty bottle and refills it with her pitcher. I cross paths with my neighbor friends — some of the most helpful and encouraging athletes I know. I watch dolphins play in the water along Coffee Pot and as the roads turn to brick I laugh at the funny signs placed along the race’s final miles to encourage runners with a sense of humor.
At one point before the final loop, my feet begin to have a mind of their own and I have to consciously put one in front of the other every time I step. Left, right, left, right. There we go. Slow and steady.
Every time I worry I might fail, I recall my wife rooting for me; I think of my dad’s words repeating in my head.
“We’ll see you at the finish line!”
Hell yes they will.
One of the best parts of the final mile is all of the people on the sidelines letting you know you’re almost there. It doesn’t always feel like it at this point, but I really am close. Cody and Janna Angell, the owners of St. Pete Running Company, recognize me and give me high fives as they point out the finish line. It’s actually there; I can see the finish line from where I am right now.
My breath catches in my throat and I have no idea what happens in the next few minutes because I am feeling anything and everything combined. I am so close. My eyes dart back and forth in search for Steph and my dad. I spot them jumping and cheering at the finish line, and as their arms raise up I am lifted, too.
The moment my feet step over the finish line, I’m flying.
This is why I run.
This article appears in Dec 7-14, 2017.