down the stretch

'You've always wanted to do it, why not sign up now?!,' Denise called down to me.

It was a Friday morning, just a few months into settling into our new home in Georgetown after ten years away from Kentucky. We (ok...at least I) was excited to be back; back in an avenue of ministry I loved and felt comfortable doing; back 'home.'

'It' was the Kentucky Derby Festival Mini-Marathon.

For years, the race had enticed me. Growing up in the south end of Louisville, I remember fondly the stream of runners headed down South Third Street towards their trek through Iroquois Park. Not yet a runner myself, I can't explain my attraction to the Mini. But, it certainly captivated me.

As a teenager I remember walking home the morning after a party, sort of a pre-Derby week warm up. This was back when the Derby Festival was only a week long; kicking off with the Mini & the Great Balloon Race the Saturday before Derby Day. That particular morning the runners agitated  more than fascinated. I just wanted to get home, throw up and go to bed. There they were, all cheerful and energetic bouncing up Kenwood Road in their little shorts and bright colored shirts; smiling of all things as they ran at this ridiculous early morning hour.

Still - something inside me thought, 'One day, I'll join them.' Just not that day...

'Why not?,' I called back. Ten minutes later, the deed was done. I was locked in to running that last Saturday in April, 2006. My hands shook a bit, my heart pounded. What had I gotten myself into?

I wonder sometimes why she encouraged me to do it. Was it to nudge me towards jumping into living in Kentucky again with both feet? Was it to nudge me back into running on a regular basis? I'd slacked off some since the move and having the race out in front of me would clearly require renewed commitment. Was it because Denise knew how special the Derby Festival was for me?

The past ten years, nearly every Derby Day, I'd sat in front of a t.v. miles from home and cried as the U of L band played 'My Old Kentucky Home' minutes before the horses went into the gates. 'Weep no more, my lady' morphed into 'By the Rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion...there our captors asked us for songs. Our tormentors demanded songs of joy!' It'd become a running joke about Dad and his, umm, 'sensitivity.'

Was it because, as she said, 'you've always wanted to, why not?!' Denise has always been big on actually doing the things one has long discussed. Talk is talk.

Or, was it because Denise loves me and simply wanted to encourage me to enjoy something which had long called my name? Hmm.

I didn't really know how to train. My longest run was something like 9 miles. But, it didn't matter, I think. That day adrenaline, memories and my family would be all the training I'd need.

The run itself was just perfect. My time wasn't great: 2:02:22, a 9:20/minute pace. But, I didn't care. I was finally actually doing it. Those crazy people running absurd distances at asinine times of day? I was becoming one of them. And loving it.

All of it. The moments leading up to the starting gun with runners and race officials scurrying to and fro, stretching, slamming drinks, urinating in the bushes, adjusting headphones, bouncing up and down with Derby Fever. The first couple of miles streaming down Southern Parkway, crossing over to South Third Street and back towards Iroquois Park. The clop, clop, clop of thousands of pairs of feet meeting pavement in widely varying rhythms joining as one.

As we ran, I pointed out to my running partner, Scott Swicegood, numerous points of nostalgia. The McDonald's where I'd briefly held my first job - I quit because the scheduled me to work the night of the 1986 NCAA Championship game. Please.  A guy's gotta have his priorities. We passed Esplanade, the street I grew up on. Entering the park,  Led Zeppelin's 'Ramble On' played on my iPod. Caleb had added it to my playlist, having heard me talk about loving to listen to Led Zeppelin II while driving through the park as a teenager. He'd timed it perfectly!

We came out of the park and tromped down Southern Parkway, coming into its full late spring canopy of stately trees. I nodded down New Cut Road towards our high school. At Woodlawn, I pointed left, telling Scott that Denise and I had lived right down there on  Cliff Avenue in the early days of our marriage.

Soon, we passed South Louisville Christian Church; the church of my boyhood & the site of our wedding. Here, my family had gathered to cheer us on. What a rush! There's nothing like the people you love the most in the world rooting you on.

Next up was a detour through the Churchill Downs infield, then back out to Fourth Street and the home stretch. Shortly after, as we passed the 10 mile mark I turned proudly to Scott and said, 'This is now the longest I have ever run in my life!,' an oversized dorky grin dominating my face.

The finish was a blast, too. Denise stepping out of the crowd into the street calling my name, hailing me to push hard. I, of course, cried.

Later, as we feasted on greasy fried chicken and butter smothered rolls @ Huber's Family Farm, my legs a bit achy, my brain swirling with the morning's events, my heart gooey and warm with the love of my family -  I knew I was hooked.