The Race

Two months ago I registered for a triathlon. When I sent my form in, I knew there was some risk with the date. Johnny’s surgery would most likely be in August sometime. What if his surgery was near the race date? What if he was still in the hospital? We learned a long time ago that predicting upcoming schedules is next to impossible. So I sent it in. I had wanted to do this race for the past couple of years and it seemed like it might work out. I decided to take the chance…..life is full of far greater risk anyway, so what if I’m out $55, it might work out.

When Johnny’s surgery was scheduled for August 19, I thought - this might work. There’s a good chance we could have him home several days before race day. We know some people who have a son that had virtually the identical surgery early in July. Their son was home in about 8 days.

After we lost Johnny, the race was the last thing on my mind. All energy, all focus, was directed toward the funeral, toward grieving, toward putting one foot in front of the other to function, caring for our daughter, and do the things that needed to be done. In some ways, this last week has felt like we were still parenting Johnny. It’s a struggle to be planning and involved in something as significant as a funeral and to be so overwhelmed with emotion and grief at the same time. But it was so important for us to honor Johnny, and to continue parenting him, right through the funeral. We were still has parents. If we were not an advocate for him, who would be? It’s always been this way, how could we stop now? Just a few more days…..then we could rest.

The funeral was such a healing time for us. Everything about it was special to us, with meaning and significance. It was a great reflection of our family and our wonderful time with Johnny. We had an army of people helping us and are again so humbled and grateful for so many stepping forward to lend a hand. Our church was phenomenal, and offered so much help and support. Different groups we are a part of separate from our church just rallied around the tasks to be done. It was an incredible outpouring that meant so much to our family. And those that attended offered heartfelt words of encouragement, comfort, and sorrow to us that mean a great deal to us right now. Our families were close by, sharing in our grief, also offering comfort and helping us. I’ll share more about the funeral on a future post.

The evening after the funeral, it occurred to me that I needed to make a decision about the race, scheduled for the next morning. In some ways, I was drawn to it. Running, especially, has been such a haven for me the past several months. Time alone, with my thoughts, with God, sorting out our struggles and fears. Everything has greater clarity after a good, long run. The simple action of moving forward as fast as you can under your own power….being in motion…it’s so therapeutic for me. I am most at home, most relaxed, when running. I do triathlons but really I’m a runner first, swimmer and biker second. So I think that’s why I was drawn to it, but at the same time, I was exhausted, had none of my gear ready, and really just didn’t have the competitive spirit for obvious reasons to be that interested. Later, it occurred to me that it might be good to just drive over and watch, maybe get my t-shirt. I don’t know, just get up early and get out of the house, away from everybody and everything, some time alone. I kind of left it that way, and set my alarm to see how things felt in the morning.

My alarm went off early, and I got up to go with the plan to just watch, maybe hang out a little, again just thinking I was getting out of the house to do something, anything, that resembled my old life, trying to separate from the events of the past week that have been nothing close to anything I ever did before we lost Johnny. I needed to be back early, anyway. We had family coming over and I wanted to see everyone. I thought of it as a test. Can I exist back in my old world, and blend in?

Right before I left the house, the thought occurred to me that maybe I could do something special as a sort of a tribute to Johnny. This particular race, for the rest of my life, will always be associated with losing Johnny, regardless of whether I was going to compete this year or not. I wanted to turn it into something meaningful. A plan began to evolve in my mind. I grabbed a few things from the basement and garage and headed down the driveway.

The morning was beautiful. Bright clear blue sky, sun shining. Maybe a little cool but the bright sun would warm things quickly. I hit the road with my gear and drove to the race staging area, only about 35 minutes from where we live. I arrived to the usual commotion of activity at the start of any race. Athletes everywhere running around nervously, getting ready for the event, unloading and setting up their gear. The race director was appealing to the competitors over the loudspeaker to see if anyone had an extra bike helmet. Apparently someone had forgotten their helmet. People were racking their bikes, pumping tires, hanging their gear, sitting and meditating. I reported to the registration area and picked up my t-shirt and race packet. Then I went to the body marking area and got marked. Number 359. Heat number 3. The kid doing the marking wished me luck. I picked up my race chip and strapped it to my ankle.

I set up some of my gear, and went through some of the usual rituals. I had some of the music from the funeral service playing on my iPod. My mind was on Johnny, on the events of the past week, on our loss, the funeral, the burial. I remembered images, thoughts, emotions. I was around hundreds of other athletes, but really insulated, moving around as if no one could see me, as I wanted to be on this morning. I didn’t talk to anyone, expect the guy doing the body markings.

At 7:15 they conducted a pre-race meeting. The usual, typical things…..stay safe, ride your bike on the right side of the road, watch a corner here or there, no biking in the transition area, swim heats will be released 3 minutes apart... I grabbed what I needed and headed down to the swim start. It was still cool, so everybody was jumping around nervously, trying to stay warm. More idle chatter among athletes. A guy a few feet away got his zipper stuck in his wet suit, and then someone helped him get it loose and zipped up.

Heat 1 went off on time. Six minutes until my heat. The Heat 1 swimmers headed out. I watched them go, arms flailing everywhere, legs kicking up white foam. It’s common to get kicked or hit during the swim leg because it’s a mass of humanity trying to swim in too small of an area with everybody zeroed in on a single buoy at the turn around point. It was a great spectacle to watch. I love swimming out in open water and do it as often as possible in the summer.

Soon, my heat was on deck. I headed down to the edge of the water. Looking out over the water, my mind was again on Johnny. On what has happened to us. The grief, the sorrow, the “Why?” question that will never be answered. Images forever burned in my mind that I will never forget. It was almost time to go....the director called for heat 3 to be on stand-by.

The race director began a countdown. “Three, Two, One…..” The start horn sounded! Our group took a running jump down the sand and into the water, down I went with them, and just as I had planned….I stopped…

The water was up just past my knees. I was about eight feet from the waters edge. I stood there, frozen, just watching the other swimmers from my heat head out into the blue water. As I watched them go, wanting to be with them, I thought of Johnny and his brief life of just over 4 months. 127 days. I thought of all our dreams for him that would not be realized. All the things we were looking forward to that would not happen. Learning to crawl, then walk. Later, it would be saying words - I wonder what his first word would have been? Then learning letters, numbers, going to school. All the books we would read together. The games we would play. The fun times with his big sister as he got older and tried to drive her crazy. Johnny’s life here on earth, over after just 4 months. My race, cut short. I stood there for a minute or so, watching the swimmers put distance between us.....until I cried. Which is just what I needed to do….and wanted to do. Tears have now become the preferred emotional attachment to Johnny. It used to be holding him close, or trying to make him smile, maybe watching him play with his favorite toy. Now it’s tears.

I eventually turned and walked back up the beach. I tore off my race chip and turned it in. They will probably record me as “DNF”, as in Did Not Finish. They asked if I was okay, I just told them that I ran into some trouble. I went back down to the beach and watched my heat come in from the water.

I originally had the thought that I would do the entire swim leg and then drop out, but sadly, I realized that doing the entire swim leg would be too much of the race and not representative of Johnny’s four months compared to a typical life time. The swim leg that ends in the transition area would be like getting to some significant place years out in a life like graduation from high school or college. As I watched the swimmers emerge from the water and run up the beach, I thought of Johnny and what he might have been like as a teenager, and then a young man. After a few more minutes, I gathered up my things, got in the car, and drove home. Going to the race, and doing what I did, was exactly what I needed to do. It felt right, and continued the healing process.

We have been told that when you lose a child, the grieving process takes a very long time, and takes on many forms. I don’t really believe we will ever be completely over this. I think this stays with you forever, but you learn to cope and get on with things, and we will, I believe that. Lea and I have talked about what we need now and we have agreed to give each other a lot of space to do what we need to do. And to say what we need to say. There is no right or wrong way to do this and we are committed to that for each other. In time, I think we will be okay. It's been a week since Johnny died. The healing continues……