Crimmed

August 25, 2014

Greetings from the glimpse,

If you want to learn a lot about someone,...

I’ve started that sentence in my head many times.  I complete it with: Travel with them.  Watch how they treat the waitress. Go through a crisis with them. See how they help strangers.  Go for a run with them.  Change a flat tire with them.  I have a few others, but I added one more to the list this weekend:  Sit in a medical tent with them.

This weekend The Crim Festival of Races was held here.  There are a variety of distances but the premiere event is the 10 mile course.  It is an enigma in this era of kilometers, but it is a tradition born nearly four decades ago, and we runners love tradition.  I’ve run the Crim ten mile race for 33 years in a row so I have a little invested in that history.

The morning was excellent for a run.  Not too warm, a little humid, but there was a thin grey cloud cover that kept the sun off the people in the streets.  It was also an excellent morning for a run because I lined up next to my son Carson.  It was his first ten mile race in the Crim weekend, and I felt lucky to be at the start with him.

It was a good run, one of those pressure-free, natural experiences that are hard to plan for or recreate.  Time flowed past almost unnoticed.  We chatted as we ran, and traded words with a few runners and spectators.

We laced our way through the city, past the cheering crowds, the clappers and drum lines, the bands and the choir, and the water stations.  Throngs of people lined both sides of the street shouting to several thousand runners surging past, in all manners of styles and speeds.

We conquered the Bradley Hills and our pace lifted, neither of us wearing a watch, we counted on how we felt to guide us as we ran.  As we approached nine miles I watched Carson run; easy stride, good posture, seemed relaxed and comfortable.  I encouraged him to take off and finish at whatever pace he could manage.  He stayed with me. 

We turned onto the Bricks and pushed to the finish, and a few feet from the end he grabbed my hand and raised it up as we conquered his first ten miler, our feet crossing the finish line at the same step.

We both were smiling at the victory, jogging the few steps past the finish.  Then, Carson was suddenly a little rubber legged and light headed.  It was not a serious issue, I knew that, and I think in his head, he knew it.  But it was interesting to see his response when the medic asked him if he wanted to get checked out in the first aid tent. 

It was the composed and mature way that he said, ‘Yeah, I think that might be a good idea.’  No false pride, no macho posturing.  Just this self-assured sensibility.  It’s the kind of thing you could go right by and not notice. 

I followed him into the tent and we worked our way through the cots and equipment and found an out of the way spot to recover.  I watched him sit down and the nurse take his vitals.  He looked at me and smiled, still a little dazed, an expression that said, ‘Well, that was unexpected.’

I have been inside the medical tent before.  I have sat on the chairs or lay on the cots, shaking and weak and delusional.  I have been in tears.  I have been nauseated, cramped, in pain.  It all passes.  I’m not a doctor, I’m a runner, and my instinct said that my son was safe, as he sat patiently waiting for his body to level out.  Even so, it was good to be standing next to people with stethoscopes. 

You can learn a lot about someone by how they respond when they are faced with something unknown like this.  Their body is betraying them, behaving in ways that can be a little disconcerting.  Carson was calm and polite, and joked with the people around him. 

It was just this little moment, the door easing open for a moment, and I caught sight of courage and resolve.  It is an intimate thing, one that I can’t fully share, but I recognized the Steel in my son.

As we left he thanked everyone, even those who had not met him.  We moved into the sunlight and sat in the warmth and let our bodies return to what might be thought of as normal.  Unless you’re a runner.

Saturday morning was a pleasure for me.  It was good to run, to be out in the world again. I loved the noise and the color and the people.  And with it, the hallmark of the day, learning about my son.  In victory, in generosity, in a challenge, he showed that he has in him what I would wish for in his life. 

I’m not surprised, actually.  I see the same strength of character in all of my children and I am grateful for it.  I know they will all be faced with flat tires and medical tents and choices between grace and forgiveness.  I love seeing it show up in the races they run, the friendships they make, the difficulties they conquer, the life they build. 

I’m lucky to have these kids to hang around with, because you can learn a lot about someone by the company they keep. 

Hope this finds you learning,

David

Copyright © 2014 David Smith