Course Support

My wife has always been supportive of my running hobby. She has provided encouragement and crowd support for each long distance race I’ve run, even when it involved traveling out-of-town. She has endured bad sleep at a noisy two-star hotel room as well as at a nice hotel room with our restless dog.

In December 2013, we traveled to Sacramento for a race. There are four things I still remember vividly about it. 

First, at the 7:00 am start, it was 28°. Granted, the race was in Sacramento, California in December, which is undoubtedly much warmer than Sac City, Iowa in December, but that’s still cold. Due to the cold conditions, the first water station unexpectedly turned into a safety hazard. As runners grab and dispose of cups at water stations, water gets spilled and falls to the pavement. This happens at every water station at every race. But it was below 32°, so the water on the ground froze into a sheet of ice, which required runners to quickly react and adjust their footing.

Second, at around mile 20, I intentionally and stupidly made two high back kicks (heel-to-butt), to see how my legs were doing, and instantly injured the piriformis muscle and sciatic nerve in my left leg. I felt decent enough to finish the race, but my pace dropped over the last six miles. Over the next few weeks I could feel that something wasn’t right–it turned out I had injured my piriformis muscle.

Third, despite that, my finish time was decent enough that I first entertained the idea of making a serious attempt to qualify for the Boston Marathon.

However, all of this is just backstory. The most enduring and entertaining thing I remember about the race involved a pair of spectators, one of them being my supportive wife.

As a participant, I had done my planning for the race. As a spectator, my wife had also done some planning for the race, with some input from me. The general plan was for my wife to meet up with an old high school friend and watch the race and cheer on runners together. They would be stationed at a specific street corner along the race route, very close to the friend’s house, around mile 22.5. 

I was familiar with the route, I knew where to look for her.

She knew where to look for me, but I also wanted to let her know when to look for me.

So, given her precise location and its point along the route, I did the math, factoring in the start time for my corral, my target pace, the total number and duration of water stops, etc. I came up with a specific five-minute time window within which she could expect me to pass by: 10:10-10:15 am. 

The field of 6,000 would be spread out by that point, so I should be easy to pick out of the moving crowd. In retrospect, however, I should have taken a picture of myself in my running gear to visually show her and her friend exactly what to watch for.

For my part, I had run the race according to plan (with one huge exception, noted above), maintained my target pace, and was about to pass my two dedicated spectators within the calculated time window.

As I approached, I saw my wife and her friend. However, I also saw they weren’t actively watching the runners, and they clearly didn’t see me approaching. Rather, they were swept up in conversation, busy chatting away, which wasn’t entirely surprising since they are both good talkers.

In order not to be missed, I had no choice but to interrupt their verbal marathon. To get their attention, I waved an arm above my head and shouted, “Here I am! Cheer for me!” which they did, so the plan worked out, with only a small piece of impromptu directing.

For her part, all my wife had to do was watch the clock, and at 10:10 am, pay attention for five minutes. That’s it. I delivered on my part of the bargain–I ran continuously and steadily for 20+ miles, to be on time, at the pre-arranged location, as planned.

To be fair and truthful, that’s not all my wife had to do. She also had to give up her weekend, wake up early Sunday morning, check out of the hotel, scrape ice off my back car window, and drive 25 miles to meet me, at the rendezvous point, at the designated time. 

And for what? To stand outside in the cold and see her husband, whom she sees all the time anyway, for 20 fleeting but shining seconds. That is support.