In March of 1987, it was a Wednesday morning at about ten o’clock,
I was off from work. My doctor said he’d meet me in a gym. I had a ten mile
race on that Saturday, March 14th, down in Atlantic City. I had been
suffering with back pain that crippled me after a ten mile race a prep-race in
Lynn, Massachusetts just about ten days before. I expected to race well then;
but ran into some trouble as I slid on ice going down a hill. A man grabbed me
as I was sliding headfirst into a tree. I ended up finishing a disappointing 4th
place female and the birth defect no one knew I had reared its ugly head, once
again. I drove home in agony for nearly four hours.
During the week, one of my bosses saw how crippled I looked
as I walked by his office doorway. He inquired. He then suggested I see his
doctor. So, I did. I explained to the doctor, ‘I was trying to run through this. I’ve
hurt my back many times before. I was told never to run again 18 months ago. Just
go have babies…’ I explained to him, that ‘…right now my husband and I are
focused for another year or so on careers and building equity’. The doctor
understood. Then again on Monday after work. We met again on Wednesday. I hadn’t
ran in five days, as ordered by him. As well, I was having a hec of a time of
doing so, when I had the first week after the Lynn race. The pain shot through
me upon placing my right foot on the ground. I was peaking in my running
getting ready to qualify for the 1988 Olympic Marathon Trials.
So, the second Wednesday after the Lynn Ten mile race. The
doctor had me come into a gym to see if I could race four days later that
Saturday in Atlantic City. I really was in doubt. My not quite twenty-five
years old body had, had it. I felt weak,
riddled with pain. Pain that I’d dealt with before. Pain that had stopped me
the year before for near seven weeks. Not able to do anything but go to work. The
thirty to forty minute drive to work was a tearful event. And at times worse
when there would be an accident on our notorious Route 3 going towards
Manhattan.
So here I was, lacking confidence although now the pain had
gone down to near zero. I could still hear it calling my name. The old pain
echoing through my body. As well, at the same time received the news that two
of my closest relatives were dying. All at once it seemed. Everything, except my
three year marriage and my ability to be employed was sinking into the deep
abyss with a feeling of no way out. My pain became spiritual. The physical was
discarded, when I knew others had been and were suffering. Basically, I was a
mess. People would ask how I was. I’d nod. Smile. Not say much. I was losing
two family members at the same time, so it did seem. I revealed this to this
doctor before I got on the treadmill. As well, he wanted me to not see the
time, nor the pace, nor the distance of the treadmill he’d put me on to run. He
wanted to see where I was at. He told me so. He draped a huge towel over the
entire treadmill panel. Had me facing on one of treadmills that had no clocks
to either side, nor in front of me. I would run until he told me to stop. Yet,
here I hadn’t ran in five days. And I hadn’t ran without pain in eleven days total.
He pressed the buttons. I’d never been on a treadmill
before. Then it began. I began a slow
jog. He pressed a few more buttons, draped
the towels over the panel. Said, “I’ll be back. Stop if it hurts.” And he walked
away. Music in the gym played in the background. It was the first time I’d ever
been training in what we consider the mainstay of gyms nowadays with weights,
machines and the like. I never had the money. And running was cheap. Running long-distance
was for the poor people. It was for people who only wanted to live and be
outside, no matter the weather.
Time passed as I broke a sweat and felt good. I feared
running too hard. For if I did and I was actually somewhat healed I could ruin
my race on Saturday. Soon the doctor came back. And before he lifted up the
draped towel he asked, “How long you think you’ve been on here?” I laughed as I
continued to run. Thinking that was a weird question. Like how would I have
known? Do I have a clock in my head or something? I replied, “Well, that’s
silly.” He nodded. I continued, “You want me to guess?” He responded, “Yes.” I replied, “Oh, Um… like
forty minutes and thirty six seconds. How’s that?” He then responded, “How far
do you think you went?” I replied, “How about six point two miles.” The doctor
took the draped towel off the panel. The panel showed six point two miles, and
forty minutes and forty seconds. He added, “I guess, you know your body. And I
think you can race Saturday.” And so, driving was the pain. But once I started warming up that Saturday
the pain dissipated from the near three hour drive. The wind whipped, no clouds
appeared in the sky. I asked God to help me put my emotions aside.
I had only a short time to warm up in the thirty degree
temperatures, the wind made it feel as if in the teens at times. I got stares
as I lined up with the men. Another woman was favored to win. She appeared to give a sneer to me. You sneered
me… It’s on. You just pissed me off. I love being the underdog. The gun fired.
We were off. I tried to hang to Mike Patterson. So, did a few other men. As
Mike took off pulling us through a ridiculous low five minute plus mile, the
wind battered us. Within a mile and a half. I smartly tucked in behind two men.
They knew I was sitting there. I asked, “You think we can get him?” One to my
front left replied, “You sound good. And you’re still with us.” I asked, “Do
you mind?” The other replied, “It’s okay.” I reply, “Thanks. But how will I
know I’ll beat all the women?” The one to my left replied, “You’ll see when we
loop. We’ll do that more than once. So,
you’ll see then.” I reply, “Okay good.” The three of us settled in for the next
bunch of miles.
Finally, at around mile six I was all alone. I passed the
big elephant at six miles I rolled through at the pace I aimed for ten miles I
was at thirty four minutes and forty-nine seconds. I knew my sub-sixty minute
ten miler was now possible. I’d never gotten under sixty one minutes for ten
miles. Yet, the wind could impede such a
pace. It was strong enough at times to knock me over. And that I knew it
actually had happened to a man in a previous race. Soon, I knew no one was close to me. No man,
no woman. There were three men ahead of me. I knew Mike had won, handily. Soo, I saw the finish and realized with would
be close for under sixty minutes. I finished in sixty minutes and twelve
seconds. A tad disappointed. But minutes later after I’d finished and went to
do a cool down run. The second woman finished. The Sneerer was ten minutes behind
me. She was none too happy. Yes, she had the cheering section. The buddies, the
friends to support her. She definitely had college in her. She was a cutie. But
she was not happy. Versus I was elated. I
could not wait to get home and call the doctor with the good news. Needless to
say, an hour later as I drove home north, the pain hit hard. Yet, it brought
back the fact of my losing two relatives. And soon I would mourn the loss of
one sooner rather than later.---Jody-Lynn Reicher
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