Rain Race

I ran the Steve's Run 10K race this morning in Michigan. The race starts in downtown Dowogiac. The course runs 6.2 miles down the main street, across a railroad bridge, through a golf course and along dirt trails around the campus of Southwest Michigan College. Steve was a young recent graduate of the college when he died of cancer. He had been the announcer for the Southwest Michigan College Roadrunners. The annual race draws hundreds of people to keep Steve's memory alive and to support the fight against cancer. I registered as a cancer survivor and got a special T-shirt which I wore in the race. (I had prostate cancer surgery last March and I'm recovering well.) The rain fell steadily as I signed in this morning. Rain doesn't slow down a race like this. As long as there is no lightning the race goes on. You just give in and accept that you are going to get soaked and muddy and you are going to enjoy it. I stood under a storefront awning in downtown Dowogiac, dodging the rain while we all waited for the beginning of the race. I met Arvin from Chicago, who declared that running in the rain was better than running in sub-zero windchill and snow in Chicago. Agreed. I heard a couple next to me conversing in German. They switched to English to ask me how the race was set up. They saw volunteers standing in the street holding up signs with times on them: eight minutes; eight minutes thirty seconds; and so on. They knew the purpose of the signs was so you could place yourself in the pack according to the time you thought you'd run. But, they asked, did the signs refer to kilometers or miles? "Miles," I said. They replied that was a little odd since the 5K and 10K races are measured in kilometers. I shrugged and said, "Crazy Americans." They laughed. We lined up in the street. I missed my friend Mark who ran the race with me last year but had to sit out this year due to a sore foot. When the race started we surged down the street, our timing chips setting off a steady beep as we crossed the timing strip at the start line. As I settle into a long run I slip into a meditative state. I focus on the road a few yards in front of me as brief impressions pop up and fade behind me. A man with a boom box playing Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again." A giant American flag rippling overhead from a fire department aerial ladder. An old German shepherd sitting in front of her dog house, barking a slow steady beat, "Woof! Woof! Woof!" just like she's saying "Go! Go! Go!" (She did the same thing last year.) A man with feet as big as Sasquatch plopping down on the asphalt as we negotiate a sharp decline from the railroad bridge. The white lime line on the golf course, guiding us to the woods. The steep hill through the cemetary, where a lot of people fell back. Sasquatch passing me on the left. A volunteer yelling "FIRE UP!!" (which was Steve's old pre-race cry.) Another volunteer uttering a laconic "fire up" as we passed by. (Its all good.) Another volunteer out in the woods wearing a safari hat and holding up a sign that said, "Look out for the zebra crossing." I love the trails the most. Today they were muddy due to the rain. At one fork in the trail you could take the high and dry branch, or the low and muddy branch. I chose low and dirty. Hooray mud! Finally we were out of the woods and did the last two miles on straight and flat roads. I picked up the pace for the final mile, stretching out my stride. When I turned the last corner and the finish line came in sight I sprinted. I finished in 54 minutes 40 seconds, a time that pleased me. A volunteer handed me a wooden tongue depressor with my place written on it. Just like old high school cross country days. As I chomped on a bananna after the race, I celebrated with several friends: Jim from work; Mark and Jamie and Arvil from South Bend; Arvin from Chicago; Mark from Wakarusa; and Gary from the Two Rivers Runnings Club. It was a good day to be a cancer survivor.
Keep praying for RETA. Keep the board members in prayer as they make decisions for the ministry.