100,000 Miles

Sometimes stories just write themselves.  This is one such story.

It was the first Saturday in May.   The weather couldn’t have been more perfect: Sunny, gentle breeze and temperatures hovering around 70 degrees.  Forty or so runners had gathered at the beautiful Bear Creek Farm in Moreland, Georgia to run for eight hours around a 1.02-mile asphalt loop amongst the residents, most notably the magnificent horses who were more than willing to run side-by-side with the runners. 

This was the 13^th year of the event and the first time I was able to run in it because it was also the first time it was being directed by someone other then myself.  I finished my 22^nd loop when Cindy, her friend Jan and my grandson Krischan arrived to partake of the festivities.  Krischan’s first comment to me: ‘What took you so long, G-Pa?’  He couldn’t have been waiting for me for more than seven or eight minutes. 

I asked him if he wanted to run a loop with me.  I’m not sure I had the entire question out of my mouth before he was taking off—intuitively, I might add—on the loop in the correct direction: Counterclockwise, just as he was taught several years ago when I took him to the local high school track for the first time. 

As he is prone to do, Krischan took off like a jackrabbit.  More accurately, like a hare…as in the story of the tortoise and the hare.  We talked about that fable a week ago and Cindy and I tried to convey the moral of the story: Slow but steady wins the race.  I caught up to him and reminded him of it.  He slowed down—if only for a couple of seconds before speeding off.  This cycle repeated for the entire loop and the next.  As we approached the gazebo (the start/finish line of each loop) I pulled slightly ahead and told him he was the hare and I was the tortoise.  His reply: ‘No, this is the story of the Krischan and the G-Pa’ before taking the lead and keeping it the remaining 150 yards back to the gazebo.  So much for Aesop and his fables.

Krischan stopped at the gazebo to get a drink and some snacks, courtesy of the other runners in the event.  In no particular order he dined on Gummi bears, Doritos, cookies, M & M’s, Pringles potato chips and cupcakes and drank (also in no particular order) Gatorade, Coke, water and Sprite.  I ran the next loop alone and when I returned to the gazebo Krischan was gone: He was doing a couple more loops with Cindy and Jan.  Krischan would join me again on my 30^th loop (I would run 31 when all was said and done) and provided the most entertaining 15 minutes I can remember.  

Here’s what Krischan had in store for me (as well as the other runners on the course):

Runner: How far have you run?

Krischan: Eight hours (he knew it was an eight-hour run, thus the reference), but it didn’t feel like eight hours.

Runner: How did you become such an awesome runner?

Krischan: That’s because I work out.

As we approached a runner who had told me she wanted to meet Krischan:

Me: This lady up ahead wants to meet you.

Krischan: Why?  Is she a fan of mine? 

Random comment by Krischan to me: Did you know red blood cells carry oxygen to your body?

Random comment by Krischan to another runner: Too much running is bad for you.  (You can blame this one on me: Krischan has seen me after some of my longer runs.)

Random comment by Krischan to a runner drinking a beer in the gazebo after we finished the loop: Too much beer is bad for you.  (Again, my fault.) 

Random comment to a line of four men taking a walk break on the course (keep in mind they had been out on the course for over six hours at the time): Come on, you slowpokes.  You all need to stop walking and talking.  Let’s run!  (This followed by another burst of hare-like speed, of course.)

Krischan sat at a picnic table beneath the gazebo as I finished my final loop, at which point I took a seat in a canvas chair and began counting loops as the runners still on the course went by.  Krischan grabbed a canvas chair, plopped it down next to me and before he sat down ran out on the course to run another loop with someone he had never met.  Six-year olds know no strangers, you know. 

About 15 minutes later Krischan came running up the hill towards the gazebo, albeit with a different runner than the one he had joined at the beginning of the loop.  He took a seat in the chair next to me, sat for a good—oh, 25 seconds or so and joined another runner he had never met to run yet another loop.  Fifteen minutes later he returned, again with a runner other than the one he left with.  The runner commented when she ran by: ‘Your grandson sure kept me entertained.’ 

When all was said and done, Krischan had completed nine of the 1.02-mile loops; nine very, very hilly loops all within a time frame that couldn’t have been much more than two hours.  Before today the most he had ever run was one mile.  As he took a seat in the canvas chair next to me one last time he looked over at the grease board listing the top three males and females and asked why his name wasn’t listed.  I went over and wrote his name at the bottom of the board with a ‘9’ next to it.  He promptly ran over and changed it to 59, later changing it to 100,000.  I asked him how on earth he managed to run that far.  ‘I started early.’  That boy has an answer for everything.

After the awards ceremony and some post-race conversation and refreshments it was time to clean up the gazebo and surrounding area.  Krischan was a real trooper, putting plastic cups in the trash can and making sure everyone got some of the Doritos from the bag he was guarding with his life.  On the way home—a 20-minute drive at most, Krischan was out like a light.

That’s what happens when you’re only six years old and spent the day running 100,000 miles.