The Country Run

This was supposed to be a recap of my marathon in Cooperstown. I did this race last year and struggled in the heat and elevation that this small town in the middle of New York offers. The race it itself is tiny, 50–70 runners, running on an open road that runs around a large lake. This race was supposed to be about how I struggled through a marathon I hadn’t be able to properly train for because of injury. I guess sometimes you can’t control every part of your story.

Three miles in, after we passed by the Hall of Fame and the small village that surrounds it, I felt the first drops of rain. Actually, I was covered by sweat so I didn’t feel those first drops but I noticed the drops start littering the faded black road in front of me. The race is not like the other marathons I have run. It is small, intimate and after the first mile or so the crowd of runners dissipates into small groups or lone runners making their way on the narrow shoulder of the road that surrounds the lake. So when I saw those first signs of rain, it was me, the road and on my right was nothing green meadows and the lake. As I glanced around, wondered how much damage I was doing everyday back home when I board a crowded subway, cross a river and spend 8–10 hours in a small office overlooking Third Avenue, with two computers staring back at me.

By mile five the light drizzle gave way to real rain. The country road we were on had now wound down closer to the lake so those green meadows were gone. I would like right down off the road to the lake. The rain was falling hard enough to actually cause the lake to noticeably rise. The water seemed clearer despite the fact that it was swirling and splashing. I started getting closer to the runner in front of me. I didn’t want to pass anyone. My hope was to pace slowly at the start of the race to help save myself for the back half of the race on the other side of the lake. But everything felt good The rain was cooling me down and I had stayed within that 8:00 min per mile range so I hadn’t overextended myself. Each time I looked up he seemed to be getting closer to me until finally, I pulled up next to him, nodded, and passed him.

As the rain got a little bit stronger and I heard the first crack of thunder. I smiled and looked up at the cloudy sky, trying to looking for signs of lightening. I expected to see lightening that would crack across the sky, like the time when I was in Greece, sitting in my cousin’s front yard looking at the coast of Turkey from the island of Xios. We were sitting on plastic chairs in the grass and dirt covered lawn, surrounded by a small stone wall, midway up a small mountain where the town our parents were born is located. No rain that day, but long bolts of lightening following by loud booms of thunder. I think I was twelve years old and I remember that day distinctly. Its been close to fifteen years since I went to Greece and I remember how replenished I always felt after spending time there, being outside, swimming, walking around and just being part of something simpler. Looking up at that cloudy sky and ahead towards the rolling country road, I was reminded me of those moments when I wasn’t surrounded by buildings and concrete. Moments when I could actually see the sky at night, unlike most of my life.

I passed ten miles and my legs still felt fresh. The next runner in front of me had slowed down and started walking so I had passed him. In the distance I saw the next pack of runners. I planned on leaving them in front of me for another four miles, at least through the one big hill between mile 14 and mile 15. The rain actually felt good, washing over me and keeping me cool. My clothes were soaked and plastered against my skin but my body was warm and getting warmer. I looked at the other side of the lake and realized this would be the worst weather I had ever run any race in, let alone a marathon. But I wasn’t scared and somehow I just felt like it would be okay.

I kept my eyes on the patch of runners that was now about twenty yards away from me. At a certain point I knew the lake would no longer be on my right. It would be replaced by long tracts of farmland on either side of me. That was when the hills became much more severe. I kept glancing up in the horizon to evaluate the hills that were coming. Suddenly in the distance, I saw someone running back towards me. I was baffled that anyone would turn around during this race. It wasn’t exactly flat and adding extra steps to go back for a friend was as crazy as it was noble, especially on a day like this. But as he approached me, he shouted “They turned us around, its over!”

I was confused at first, not really sure what was happening. The group that was in front of me kept going until they reached a volunteer and a police officer who signaled for us to turn around. I wasn’t sure if they were changing the course because something had happened so I followed their route. I cross their path went to the intersection where the same police officer signaled for me to turn around. I stayed behind that group of four men. Buses and vans started pulling up next to us asking if we wanted to come off the road. I kept waving them off and kept my eyes on the group in front of me. I figured the worse case scenario is I could make it back to the hotel, which would be around 19 or 20 miles. The thunder boomed again and smiled maniacally. It was becoming clear, the race was over. This would be my story, fighting to the finish even without a finish line or a medal.

I caught up to that group of four, mostly guys that were older and grayer than me. They nodded in my direction and confirmed that the race had been cancelled because of the weather. At around 14 miles, someone came and picked them up. I kept going and the rain got harder, the thunder sounded closer and there were less and less cars whipping by. I laughed to myself because it really didn’t bother me to lose this Finish Line, I was just happy being out there. The injury that had plagued me during training had not flared up at all and even if I had gone slow, I had just run 15 miles in the pouring rain and felt cleansed.

Moments later a beige station wagon pulled up near me. I stopped my watch and peered into the window as it rolled down. Her name was Sue. She was dressed in rain gear, with a bright neon vest that signaled she was a volunteer in the race. Her hair was covered by a hat and a hood. Sue showed the features of someone who probably gardened and who spends time outdoors. And I don’t mean the type of person who just goes out to tan but when Sue went out, it had a purpose. Her eyes were very kind and she had this elegance that I am not used because I think it all came from the wisdom of living in a simpler place.

Before I got into the car, I tentatively advised that I was so wet, I didn’t want to damage the car. She smiled gently and said “No worries, we are all runners here right? Hop in I can take you back to town.” I smiled and got in. She had one of the other runners, Sean, in the backseat already. The conversation we had was subdued and focused on the weather and running in general. Sue managed to explain that she and her husband Bob had retired to a cottage about an hour from Cooperstown years ago so Bob has been doing this run around the lake for years. Sue had run 16 Marathons and Bob had run 32. The life she described in those few sentences seemed liked one that I would envy. I pictured her and Bob running together on certain days. On other days she would spend days in her small garden or reading under a tree in their backyard.

I wouldn’t get my finish line or a medal this time but I may have gotten something better. Sue may have given me a glimpse of my future, a small cottage in the country with empty quiet roads to run on. Or at least the awareness that I sometimes need a break from from big buildings and crowded. I may even need to run outside in a country rainstorm every once in a while to wash the gunk of the City off of me.