The Last Runner And The Last Breath

Marathon Plan - Regressive Countdown - Week Ten
02/22/10 - 02/28/10 - Week Total: 42.7 miles
Total February: 130.3 miles
2010 Mileage: 245

I was officially the last runner of my last race. I am in the 65 percentile for a 5K in my age group, 60 for 10K, and for distances above 13.1 I am a still a hair above average, 56 percentile.

But when you race in a race that has no average runners, being a hair above average puts you in the last place. Fast runners from a very good running club plus some runners like me that left me in the dust when I started to collapse at mile 10. Two DNF. I knew I ran at a great pace, better than my training pace, but still felt frustrated, and to leave the frustration behind I searched for some kind of mental therapy.

Pre was there to help me.

On Thursday I sat on the couch to, again, go over Pre's life. Life I know by heart. His trials and tribulations, his passion, his determination, his perseverance, his successes, his failure at Munich which I believe made him a better person, his fights against the system, his last race, and sadly, his last breath. A last breath that occurred too early, too young. A breath that I embrace as his legacy. The legacy from a runner that has touched me the most.

And on Saturday I left with Pre's determination, perseverance, and passion to complete a 20-miler. At mile 4 I started to lose awareness of my surroundings, and the music was the only thing talking to me. Thoughts came and went, family and friends showed up in live images in my mind.

Who loves you pretty baby? A flash of my three babies comes up. Images at all ages. Who loves you pretty baby? They live now their own life. Grown up. Gone. Close at heart, but far away in the distance. A gorgeous morning, 50F/10C, partly sunny. I feel hot, it is hot. Then the clouds cover the sun, and I feel a nice cold breeze in my face. See our majestic flag waving in all its splendor on the top of a building when I hear a 747 flying close by. Yes, my ears are getting so educated that I am starting to differentiate an airplane just listening to the engines. Looked to my left and there it is: the Dreamlifter has taken off. Though ugly, it is a wonderful piece of machine that carries the 787 fuselage inside.

I continued with my pace when Stairway to Heaven hit the pod. German D. is there with his beautiful guitar playing it for me. He did record it for me, and deleted it. A complaint. Does the stairway take me ever to Heaven? I hope so. When my time comes I want to climb them in a state like this state, with a nice breeze in my face and a radiant sun warming me up. And it's whispered that soon if we call the tune, then the piper will lead us to reason, and a new day will dawn for those who stand long, and the forest will echo with laughter.

And Franco De Vita sings "nothing is the same". And yes, without Luis nothing is the same. Tell me that you will come back, that this is your place, that nothing will change. Here, between you and I, nothing is the same if you are not here. Why to lie? Tears, pouring tears running by my face. My life stopped here. Yes Luis, nothing is the same. Will never be.

And I think of you all my runner friends. I think of Ricky E. that broke 4 hours and is getting ready for Paris. I think of Pre, not built like a runner but the best American runner ever. I am built like a runner. We were born to run. Someday girl I don't know when were gonna get to that place, where we really want to go and well walk in the sun, but till then tramps like us baby, we were born to run.

And then Chucho is playing my dad's piano. It is 1975. Carrie is also there. We were a trio. A nice trio. We still are. He is playing a Chicago's song. Will you still love me? Just say you'll love me for the rest of my life... and then I see the three of us singing so out loud that we lose our voices. Our youth is frozen in those images. Plans to get back together in 2011. In Florida. The three of us. It is a date.

I see the sun semi-covered and the sun rays through the clouds. And that's God talking to me. And there is Craig V. telling me that the only way to avoid the pain of losing those we love would be to never have them with us at all... And I would love to have a run with him and talk about the things trapped in my throat.

And I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold, I've been in my mind, it's such a fine line. I found Randy, my heart of gold. And Randy, through Seger, sings to me: I've seen you smiling in the summer sun, I've seen your long hair flying when you run, I've made my mind up that it's meant to be, someday lady you'll accompany me.

And the music goes on, and on, and on.... and in a minute of silence, between songs, I only hear my breath, and it is Pre's last breath. That's all I hear. I look to the ground and see my feet, right, left, right, left, and think of Enrique Alejandro, and though I am tired, I need to keep running. He can't run, he can't walk, so my feet go for him, and though I believe my feet cannot go any longer, they can. The fighter still remains. In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade and he carries the reminders of ev'ry glove that layed him down, or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame, I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains.

The 20 miles, as a run, were bad, too long, but they were a journey and a new experience... They taught me something. Taught me that my anger and my shame of being The Last Runner were surpassed by the inspiration of The Last Breath.