Just When You Think You're Done

One minute. That's how much better my time to run a half-marathon race was this year than last. Me and fine wine. Uh, right.

Seriously, I am a "good tired" right now having completed the Run Raleigh Race earlier today in a blazing 2 hours and 6 minutes. For reasons which will later become clear, I need to mention that the race sponsors included the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

I owe my personal best, and this story, in large measure to my friend, Jim Palermo, himself a one-time marathoner and Saturday running companion for the last 12 weeks. Predictably, Jim finished ahead of me today not only because he is younger and in better physical shape, but because I exploited a situation that matched my growing fatigue with a younger runner's need for coaching.

Jim and I learned that Shane, whom we met at about mile 5, is a Wake County middle school teacher. For obvious reasons, we had an immediate connection. At some point, I noticed on the back of Shane's t-shirt a hand-written message: "For Broken Dogs," Shane's race was personal.

Shane recovered his 60-pound mut and the impetus for his race participation, from the pound with buckshot still under his skin. "Wiffie," we learned, was Shane's constant running companion until his four-legged friend's hip gave out.

In a kind of sympathetic cosmic reaction, Shane found himself recovering most of last month from a blown knee incurred in a softball accident. Shane decided only last Friday that he would keep his commitment. Plus there was a girl to impress, as Shane later revealed to me.

About mile 10 when weenies and winners begin to separate, Jim shot ahead of us as I gratefully hung back with Shane, now doubting his ability to finish the race.

"I am spent," Shane said. So we walked a couple of minutes, catching our breath, feeling the burn of lactic acid in our quads and calves.

"We can do this," I told Shane. I took off in a slow jog, looking back over my shoulder. He followed.

"Only a mile left," said a race official at last. By now, both of us were just putting one foot in front of the other, lifting our knees no further from the ground that it took to clear it. In a moment of clarity, I said to Shane:

"Shane, we have been running for nearly two hours. I have discovered that you are the exact age of my youngest child. Everyone on this course is now near exhaustion. God willing, someday you will be where I am. You will work hard in your career. Toward the end, you will find yourself nearly give out. Then something wonderful will happen. Just as you think you are about to give out, you will start to give back. And when you do that, you will find new energy. I'll see you at the finish line."

I left Shane once again, secretly hoping he would find the strength to follow. I did not look back this time.

And you know what? Only three minutes after I arrived at our Cameron Village finish line, I saw Shane sprint to the wire. I shouldered my way to him through the throng. We embraced. Shane immediately thanked me, and wanted Jim and my email address to invite us to a year-end pig-picking at his house.

It was a good day. Just when you think you are done, the fortunate find a way and a reason to go on.