A Gummie Bear Offering

Accepting help isn’t always easy. Accepting your own limitations sometimes seems downright impossible. Yesterday, as I faced a 20 mile training run, I knew I would be the slowest, the most inexperienced and most likely to be the last one to arrive at the finish. And I was right. I just had no idea how right I was.

I started with the group around 9 in the morning in Frenchtown (the site of the starting line for the Marathon in 3 weeks). After talking with a few different expert runners, I decided to take on a new approach of running a mile and walking a minute and then running a mile and so on. This was supposed to save my legs for later in the run…and it did. And the bonus is I feel like I can walk today without being crumbled over like a 97 year old woman.  The only downfall is it really slowed me down (which I wasn’t sure was possible). I know stopping to walk was helpful to keep me injury free and reserve my energy but I wasn’t prepared for just how slow I would run in between these stops. I usually run about 13 minute miles (which is very slow but great for me who thought I’d be running a marathon when pigs took to the skies) but with this new approach I found I was taking 14 to even 15 minutes to get done with a mile. That’s starting to look close to a walker pace. However, I was feeling like I was doing okay and somewhat enjoying the challenge of the twenty mile run.

Then, at mile 8 (site of the second aid station) I realized I was, in deed, last.  But to make it a bit worse, I began to realize the pack of fellow training group runners that I thought I’d be out there with were at least 30 minutes ahead of me. The volunteers at the aid station were extremely nice, offering me the full variety of drink products and various snacks they had and then it happened. Her eyes met mine and she gave me the sympathetic mother look. My AH HA moment struck hard. Oh…I am SO last. She crooked her head and said, “Are you sure you’re doing ok? I mean, we could drive you back.” Oh crap. Is it THAT bad? I wondered to myself. Then I heard myself say, “No no…I’m fine, just slow is all…just started running in January,” I said defending my pace. “I’ll be fine, thank you,” I muttered and I scurried off down the road.

At mile 10, I noticed a truck on the side of the road. I slowed to an even slower walk and removed my headphones. The man walking towards me was obviously a runner…dressed in the uniform and smiling. He timidly asked, “Are you with the running group?” I replied with a half hearted laugh, “yeah” knowing it didn’t look so obvious. He explained he injured himself and couldn’t continue and was just checking to see if anyone else needed a ride back. Someone like me…someone so far behind the others…so sad. I again was tempted but found myself again saying, “no no, I’m fine…just slow…no injuries so I’m just doing fine…but thank you.” I watched him drive away. I wondered…just how far back am I? Should I have gone with him? I continued on…running for 14 minutes walking for one, then walking for just one more minute…then maybe through a song. BUT still going. If I can just get to the next aid station I thought…then I can ask how far back I am…then I can know I can get to the next aid station…then just four more miles after that…I can do this. I start running again…I can do this. I can do…all the sudden a mini-van pulls to the side of the road. It’s full of kids and runners. A young boy runs towards me smiling and holding out a bowl of gummie bears… “Here,” he says, “have some of THESE!” His mom asks, “Are you doing okay? Do you want a ride?” HOLY CRAP…the universe is practically smacking me in the face….TAKE SOME HELP! I look at her wearily and ask, “Where is the next aid station?” She replies, “Well, we just packed up and heard you were out here and wanted to get you some water and check to see if you needed anything,” her voice trails off…she smiles. I give in. I ask her to take me to the next aid station and then I’ll run the rest of the way back to the car.

I get in…sit by the boy with the gummie bears and listen to him explain why he will never be a runner. “I’m hot and I didn’t even run today…YOU were on your 11th mile…almost to 12!” he says excitedly. “I don’t ever want to eat that GU stuff…my mom says it’s made out of boogers!” he says with big eyes. “Tastes like boogers sweetie” she corrects from the front of the van. “Oh, yeah…tastes like boogers,” he says shaking his head. I want to kiss him. I love this kid. As we drive the four miles to the next aid station we pick up another runner with a knee problem and I start to notice the others in the van. The runner that is dizzy and dehydrated. The one that just can’t move anymore and me. I look out the window and see some of my friends struggling up the only hill in the course…it looks brutal. I can’t imagine my survival of it in just a mere three weeks. A wet blanket of guilt comes over me…Why am I in this damn mini-van? I wonder to myself. I need to get out! NOW! I ask when we can pull over but I don’t want them to catch my panic…don’t want to seem ungrateful. Most likely the other aid station wouldn’t have been there for me if I didn’t catch the ride. They would have had to wait an extra hour just for me! The thought of that makes my stomach turn. They probably would have packed up and drove up to me on the course and offered to take me back the car. OR (my mind is racing now) maybe they would have just left entirely…I would have been out on the road alone…no water…no aid…just the sun and me for the next 8 miles. Horrible fate. I can see the headlines now…Local woman stranded and unconscious by fake cow on Clements street…authorities say she refused multiple offers of aid.  So I needed the ride I reason in my head. I tell myself I won’t on marathon day because they will have more aid stations and keep the them up for seven hours...and I will start earlier in the morning and I will have thousands of people around me and I WON'T BE THE LAST ONE (oh, I hope I won't). I know I’ll be alright that day...right? I finally can get out of the van.

I see my friend that just ran the hill and she looks great...beaming with pride because she just killed the hill behind her. I immediately feel guilty to be ahead of some of the others. I sheepishly say to her, "I should be an hour behind you." She reassures me the van ride was okay, "look at how far you've come," she says as she turns to run. 

I start my final four miles. I run most of it. Forget my run to walk ratio. Up ahead I saw a runner lying on the ground. More around me were walking now. Most looked overwhelmed in the heat. I knew they had all ran that hill that I skipped. I run harder to try to make up for it. I walk only when I absolutely have to and only then. I stop for a car to cross the street…look to my left and there it is…I see Hannah’s house. One of the group homes of Youth Homes Inc. and the one where she lives. I almost start crying. I CHEATED I think to myself. I got in that mini-van. Hannah doesn’t get to cheat in her “marathon” when it gets hard. I start running again. I’m so mad at myself. I get lost in my negative spiral of self – doubt. I won’t be able to do this...what was I thinking…I’m the only one out here that has just started running this year…a MARATHON…what the hell…what am I trying to PROVE anyway? I AM nuts.

Then I remembered that little boy in the back of the mini-van…the one that said “I’m hot and tired and I didn’t even run like YOU did.” The little boy that somehow knew I was trying to do something really hard and I needed, God forbid, a little help…and that was OKAY. I then thought of the mini-van in a different way. Maybe it’s a good reminder to help me realize it’s okay to accept some help along the way. Of course it sounds easier than it is done…for all of us from time to time. For Hannah , she is challenged with learning to accept her own situation while avoiding the comparisons to others, learning to accept the care she receives from staff and believing it is genuine and, of course, the area that’s tough for me too…learning to acknowledge limitations, being proud of the accomplishments to date and accepting help while working to improve.

He couldn't have been more than six years old.  He knew I was last.  He said smiling, “Here…have as many gummie bears as you want" as if to say "you deserve it.”  

A special thanks to Coach Anders, The Runner's Edge staff, Run Wild Missoula and all the volunteers that man those aid stations...couldn't do it without you!

An update on Hannah from Youth Homes staff:


Hannah just graduated from the 8th grade last Monday, and what an event! She was excited, but also sad to say goodbye to her friends who will be going to a different high school next year. The whole day turned into "Hannah’s day", and for the first time in months she wanted everyone here involved with her promotion. She asked her primary staff (Jessica) to help her get ready for the "big event"! (When you are an 8th grade middle school girl, it is a BIG DEAL) So, they had a fashion show to find the perfect dress, pick out jewelry, and styled her hair. It was the first time that Hannah really let Jessica fill the role of a family member, and she let it show that it was important to her. She not only wanted her to be part of preparing, but also to be at her promotion for support, as well as the shoulder to cry on after saying goodbye to her friends. This was incredibly significant because Hannah’s hasn’t shown that her relationships with staff are important to her. Lately, she has been putting more effort into pulling away and claiming that we don’t really care about her. It seems that these past claims weren’t how she actually felt, and it was an uplifting experience to see that she may be beginning to allow herself to have meaningful relationships with us.

With the marathon coming up, and having Kim run for Hannah, Hannah also seems to see that she is also supported by the community. After talking with her about it several times, she made it clear it made her feel good to know that the community cares for kids in group homes. She is shocked that someone she doesn’t know cares about her enough to run in her honor. Hannah said, "To have someone run a marathon in my honor means that the person wants to do something for you and wants to represent you and get to know you. When someone runs for me, I feel happy and like someone knows I'm here on this earth." These are those little moments of sunshine that she can sit back and contemplate about when things are tough.

Therapy has been rough. Real rough. Hannah continues to compare herself to the other girls in the home, and is extremely jealous about the attention and support one girl gets from her mother in particular. Hannah has been rejecting of staff care, support, direction, nurturing, etc. She has been bottling up her emotions, and then letting them come out sideways, through frustrated tears and frantic behavioral and emotional outbursts...yet through all this, Hannah bounces back up the next day to "try again", only to be met once again by her own conflicted emotional moments. Anxious about school coming to a close and spending more time at Talbot for the summer, getting used to a new resident, and working on hard issues in therapy, all have Hannah feeling a bit overwhelmed at times. But, just like marathon training...its one step at a time!!