Runners are frequently asked why they run.
The best answer I ever heard was:
The question is not why I run; but rather
why you don’t.
The second best answer to the question was from a good running
buddy of mine:
Because when the aliens land, they’re going
to eat the fat ones first.
I love clever answers.
I also like clever phrases. For
example:
I like long walks, especially when they are
taken by people who annoy me.
My favorite of all time is this one:
Life is not measured by the number of
breaths we take,
but by the moments that take our breath
away.
Now that I’m at an age that’s closer to retirement than middle
age, I find this phrase especially true.
In fact, it’s not difficult to recall the moments in my life that literally
took my breath away.
June 1977 – Getting
married
When I first started dating Cindy Christine Johnson in 1973
during our senior year in high school, I knew one day we would be married. So when the time to exchange vows arrived and
the minister asked if I would accept Cindy’s hand in marriage, imagine my
surprise when the church’s oxygen supply suddenly vanished. I somehow managed to quasi-articulate a
breathless ‘I do’ (Cindy’s was much more eloquent…and audible) and the next
thing I knew we were on our honeymoon (I was so nervous—and I’ll be totally
honest, happy--I barely remember the
reception).
November 1982 – The
birth of our first son
I was leaving for work one morning when Cindy’s doctor phoned
and said she needed to go to the hospital.
Immediately. Our unborn son’s
umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck and thus depriving him of the
nourishment he needed to continue surviving in the womb. Eight hours later Justin Scott Ludwig was
born; all two pounds and three ounces of him.
The first time I (literally) held him in my hand, I sounded like a lawn
mower on its last leg—sputtering and wheezing (translation: crying and
breathless). It would be another 45 days
before Justin gained enough weight to allow Cindy and I to take him home (on
New Year’s Day, 1983 and yes, we watched college football bowl games).
October 1985 – The
birth of our second son
Although not nearly as nerve-wracking as Justin’s birth, the
arrival of Joshua Lee Ludwig was just as miraculous. A planned Caesarian birth (I’ll never forget
the scheduled time: 3:30 p.m.), Josh was greeted into this world with a brand
new pair of infant-sized running shoes.
A harbinger of the future to be sure, as Josh would develop into quite
the athlete in the years ahead.
January 1986 –
Qualifying for the Boston Marathon
I ran a 2:53, a personal best for me at that time at the
Jacksonville Marathon. Ever since I
called myself a runner, my dream was to one day run the Boston Marathon. When the Boston qualifying standard was
‘relaxed’ from 2:50 to three hours I knew I had a chance. When I was running the last quarter-mile
towards the finish line in Jacksonville, it was all I could do to breathe as I
knew my dream of running Boston was about to come true.
April 1987 – Running
the Boston Marathon
Running my first Boston Marathon was a dream come true;
lowering my personal best (by 11 seconds) was just icing on the cake. I wanted the last half-mile down Boylston
Street to last forever, because there was no guarantee I would ever be
back Once I crossed the finish line and
had a medal—the medal draped around
my neck, I had the same reaction I had 15 months prior in Jacksonville; only
this time there were tears of joy thrown into the mix.
July 2003 – Completing
the Badwater Ultramarathon
After crossing the finish line on Mount Whitney, 134.4 miles
away and 36 ½ hours removed from the starting line in Badwater, California in
the reputed ‘toughest footrace on the planet’ I drank two beers and went to
sleep. When I woke up the following
morning the first phone call I made was to my parents. ‘Mom, dad—I
did it!’ That was the extent of my
conversation as I literally couldn’t breathe, I was so happy and in awe of what
Death Valley had thrown our way…and what my crew and I had overcome the
previous day and a half. It was
certainly my finest moment as a runner, and outside of the five members of my
crew, my parents were the first to hear how I fared in the desert.
October 2006 – The
death of our dog
Our beloved black lab Magic was my shadow for almost 15
years. Seeing her health deteriorate
took quite a toll on our family; hearing the veterinarian suggest her quality
of life was no more and that it would be best if we ‘put her down’ (I’m still
trying to consider the phrase ‘dignified,’ which I am told is just that but for
the life of me I can’t help but think it’s not). In my heart I know it was the right thing to
do, but that certainly didn’t make it any easier. When the time came, Cindy and I were left
alone with Magic in a small room at the animal hospital. The veterinarian gave us some time to say
goodbye; specifically he said to ‘take all the time you need.’ He checked on us several times to see if we
were finished. After lying on the cold
linoleum floor next to Magic holding her paw for well over 90 minutes, I said a
tearful goodbye. Cindy stayed with Magic
and held her paw as she took her last breath.
Me? I sat in the car, crying like
a baby and gasping for air. I was 51
years old, crying like a baby and gasping for air. To this day, I think about Magic every single
day. If I think about her long enough, it’s as if I am reliving
that fateful day all over again.
December 2006 – The
death of a good friend
My childhood friend Paul Allen died of a brain aneurysm at the
age of 47. Paul was a good man, and
along with his sister Sharon and mother Shirley, they were very close to our
family. Paul’s wife asked me to speak at
his funeral. I didn’t realize how hard
it was going to be until I stood before Paul’s family, friends and co-workers
and spoke of our days together in high school and college. But when I made eye contact with Shirley as I
was talking about the wooden paddle Paul proudly made me for being his ‘big
brother’ in our fraternity, I suddenly forget how to inhale. I also forgot how to exhale. It took me a good 30
seconds to catch my breath before I could continue. Paul was a good man, and when I factor in how
difficult it is for me to see a parent bury a child, I’m amazed it only took me
30 seconds.
October/November 2007 –
The deaths of my parents
Although my dad had been ill for a long time, his death came
suddenly. One is never prepared to lose
a parent, and I was certainly no exception.
Dad was always in my corner, lending his support. He was always there with the answer, the
advice, or the know-how to fix anything and everything. Dealing with that kind of loss is—well, it’s
not anything I ever learned in a half-century of life. I don’t know about you, but I always thought
my dad would live forever; realizing I was wrong was devastating. Beyond the loss of my father, the sudden
realization that I was next in line in our family to reach the Great Beyond
came crashing down.
A mere twenty-four days later my mom joined him in
heaven. She was always the perfect
complement to my dad, always managing to smooth out any rough spots along the
road of life. I still hadn’t caught my
breath from losing my dad…
March 2009 – The birth
of my grandson
I couldn’t possibly find the words to describe how much love
and joy Krischan has brought into my life, so I won’t even try.
There you have it: my lifetime of moments that have taken my
breath away. A beginning (marriage,
birth of a child), a middle (running, running and more running) and an end
(Magic, Paul, my parents). They
personify the circle of life.
In the years ahead I expect to experience many more
breathtaking moments…before that one final moment that will take my breath away
forever.
Just remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths
we take.
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