2010 10 30 stumpjump and larry

Susan Donnelly Ultramarathon Trail Runner. Motivational Speaker. http://www.susanruns100s.com

Stumpjump 50k and Larry Date : October 30, 2010

At the start with Cindy Ralston.

Last year, I missed this race because I went instead to a memorial service. This year, the race happened between two memorial services.

Even near race day, I didn’t know it would happen this way. Monday before the race, a friend I

1/5

had worked with years ago died suddenly from a stroke. This is a company town, so many of us working at that site in those same years still maintain a bond and word got out quickly. It was hard to think that Mike, the super-sharp one who made us all laugh out loud, was gone. We joined together at his memorial service the Thursday before the race to remember and honor him. I hadn’t worked with him in a few years but somehow my days at work that week seemed less fun, way more serious, without someone with his sense of humor in the world. Altogether, the week before the race went by as sobering reminder of mortality, priorities in life, and how to live it.

At the same time, there was also my friend Larry who I worked with now, and who I expected to die at any moment. He had beaten pancreatic cancer (against incredible odds, and he knew it) four years earlier but his cancer markers had shot up around Christmas. Doctors knew it was back but couldn’t find it. He went through appointment after appointment, but doctors seemed stumped (and not in any hurry). In the meantime, we laughed and worked and commiserated over the daily events of life together while Larry, to our dismay, grew weaker. In June, he was so weak that he finally left work on medical leave. In early September, doctors finally diagnosed cancer in his liver but couldn’t treat it because he had picked up a blood infection in the hospital that had to be fixed first. We kept tabs on him, sent him cards and called him, but the week before the race we got word that the end was near. A woman we work with who had a connection with his daughter promised to call us over the weekend if she got the news. There was a chance the memorial service would be on the weekend and none of us wanted to miss it.

2/5

All I want is some trail and time to myself today - hard to do.

I finally stepped off the too-crowded trail for a moment of peace and reflection, and to let a huge line of chatty runners go by.

Race morning, there was no message so Rob and I drove to the start. I started the race talking with friends but thinking about Larry. This was one day I wanted to run alone. I spent the miles sending him comfort and peace, and thinking about all the times we had butted heads and laughed together, and how I never imagined when I met him that he would one day have such a big impact on my life. There was one story in particular that I turned over and over in my mind: One Monday morning after a race, Larry came by my cube to ask how the race had gone. I replied that it had gone okay but then reeled off a series of things that had gone wrong and hadn’t happened the way I planned – reasons the race was a little disappointing. Larry listened patiently and at the end said, “You like to run, right?”

“Of course,” I said a bit defensively, suspicious of where he was headed. He could be blunt and opinionated.

“Then be glad you could run the race,” he said with a smile. “I can’t, and it doesn’t look like

3/5

I’ll ever get the chance to even try, and most people I know can’t run that far. Be happy you were there!”

I was embarrassed to the point of speechlessness. He was right. As obvious as it looks in print and as good as I thought I was at catching these thoughts in their tracks, I had no idea I was thinking that way. I promised myself then and there that when things started to hurt or I got lost or was struggling in a race, to remember Larry and how lucky I was just to be able to start. A good race is one you can be at.

He passed away early Monday morning after the race, and the memorial service was a few days later. The office seemed (and still seems) empty without his optimism, his corny jokes, and his light, friendly, but persistent way of reminding us on a regular basis what’s important in life.

So thank, Larry, for giving me such a precious lesson. I’ll never forget it, or you.

4/5

??

5/5 Powered by TCPDF (www.tcpdf.org)