With...Buck Whitlock

I ran my first marathon, the Kentucky Derby Festival Marathon, April 24, 2010. I'll write more later about that experience. Today, I want to focus on something terrific that happened at around the 14.5 mile marker.

Back then, the course for this race included runs through Iroquois & Cherokee Parks.  The split for marathoners and half-marathoners was at about 10.7 miles. Heading north on Fourth Street, half-marathoners turned left onto Breckenridge, marathoners right.

Over the previous couple decades, the South End of Louisville had done themselves proud, making the first chunk of the race theirs. People lined Third Street & Southern Parkway to cheer, distribute beverages, play music, and otherwise offer support.

Then came the 'wow' factor of moving with the pack through the tunnel into Churchill Downs' infield. Through the morning mist, some of the fastest, most graceful horses in the world can be glimpsed getting in their morning training, the twin spires towering overhead.

Coming out of the Downs it's about 3 miles through Old Louisville up Fourth Street. Again, for the most part the streets are lined with encouragement.

Then you turn.

And nothing.

About 300 yards east on Breckenridge I remember asking, out loud, 'Where the _________ did everyone go?' No one answered. I think my voice echoed back to me. I'd swear I saw a tumbleweed. One little boy joined the runners for about half a block. From the shrieking voice following behind him, I think he was trying to escape a spanking. He may have never noticed us.

Given that this was my first full marathon, running those 2+ miles on a desolate, unfamiliar street with virtually no support was pretty lonely. It's bad enough that this is one of the ugliest parts of the city. Doing it alone made me feel like I was running through sand.

At any rate, I knew that Denise would be waiting around the 14 mile mark as the course turned into Cherokee Park. She'd have a Gatorade, a banana, some Aleve, and, most importantly - her glowing, familiar face.

At first I didn't see her. My eyes fervently scanning both sides of the now re-crowding street - I grew even more discouraged. Now the sun was poking through, burning off what had been a lovely light cloud dispensing just a bit of sprinklage. A hot hour and a half was on its way.

For just a minute I contemplated walking.

Then, there she was, with all the things I was looking forward to.

Plus one.

Standing next to her, holding a fluorescent orange sign that said 'Go Dad!' was my father-in-law, Buck Whitlock, beaming ear to ear. It was one of those moments when time slows down. I could just make out an angelic choir growing louder with each step, 'ah Ah AH AHHH!!!' Sunbeam spotlights delivered their light directly onto these dazzling people. Everything was good in the world.

My step lightened. My pace picked up. My head straightened.

Denise and Buck seemed genuinely as happy to see me as I was them. They cheered. Buck poked the sign into the street to be sure I saw it. I laughed. Out loud.

How could I not?

Emily had worked hard on her sign, with inspiring pictures and words. But, she couldn't be there that morning. Buck came to represent her.

Because that's the kind of guy he is.

I love Buck Whitlock. Goes without saying. You don't get to choose your family, but you love them.

Better, though, I like Buck Whitlock. Has loved me like his own son for nearly 25 years. Took me to my first MLB game. Hugged the fear out of me on the worst day of my life. Burned up the highways between Louisville and Bristol, then Louisville and Pittsburgh so that he and Mary could be with us and the kids.

He's the kind of guy who never met a stranger - can talk to anyone about just about any topic, and will. No pretense. The epitome of hard work. Identified by his grandkids for his singular laugh. Want to know what a faithful husband looks like? Check him out. A devoted father? Buck's it. Unrivaled grandfather? He's your guy.

He's not going to impress you with his scholarship. But, if you'll shut up and listen - you'll learn from his wisdom and find a fount of knowledge to boot.

I don't resent that he is the man my wife will constantly hold up as the model for her husband to live up. I'm honored.

See this picture? Taken about 16 years ago. This past Christmas, the man (in his 70's) was in the floor, ready to re-create it. Top that.

And, there he was - once again on my side when I really needed someone.  Getting a kick out of holding a 'Go Dad!' sign for his son-in-law because he knew I'd know where it came from, and he loves his 'Emmo.' Nothing he wouldn't do for her. Or her dad.

My brief encounter with Denise and Buck powered me through Cherokee Park. Later that morning I finished my first marathon, again passing a cheering Denise and Buck at the finish line on River Road. He's been at the finish of all the races I've run in Louisville. Driving Denise and others around to spot me at various points around town. Always finding a great parking place. Never complaining.

I've said it before, but it bears repeating - with is a powerful word.