The Process: Together
I really like telling this story. I feel like it holds several universal truths or lessons for me.
In my early 20s, the U.S. Navy and my fellow servicemen and women helped form my identity. But being built on the foundation of uncertainty and loneliness of my childhood and teenage years, I didn’t really understand my own value at the time.
In 1994, I was assigned to the security detachment at Naval Support Activity (NSA) Naples, working an eight-hour rotating shift providing security for the bases and enforcing the law for the 10,000 Americans in Naples.
I had a couple of guys I hung out with, and one day, we decided to skip a mandatory physical training session.
Unfortunately, our absence was noted.
There was a Marine Corps Cadre assigned to our department for weapons and hand-to-hand combat training. It was led by a gunnery sergeant, and our mistake was that we had decided to skip the day he led the session.
I wish I had words to convey the twisted steel musculature of this gunnery sergeant. I could digress to stories of the marathon pull-up sessions in which he ground some of our fittest Greek gods into the ground without breaking a sweat.
He had decided to dissuade us from ever skipping physical training again.
The next day, Gunnery Sergeant Ramirez (not his real name, but close) called us up next to him before dismissing the rest of our squad.
When everyone had left, Gunny set out in front of us, running. Of course, we followed. We knew why we were there. We ran for a bit, and then he stopped to put us through an eternal round of pushups, eight-count-bodybuilders (or burpees), and situps. Then, he started running again, and we followed until he stopped and took us through more calisthenics. And then we ran. And then we did exercises. We ran. We exercised. Ran. Exercised. And on and on and on.
As this seemingly endless circuitous route was finally bringing us back to our starting point, I really began to falter. Head hanging, arms barely moving, I concentrated on each step simply to avoid passing out and falling onto my face.
The other two guys with me were in much better shape. Their experiences at BUDS, the first level of training and qualification for anyone attempting to strike for the SEAL teams, had them in great shape physically but, more importantly, mentally as well.
They were ahead of me and doing much better than I was. In retrospect, maybe Gunny saw their level of fitness as a challenge.
It was as we approached the last half mile and I continued stumbling forward that the two men came back and put their arms under mine. Basically, being held up by my friends, Terry and James, we all three made it to the end together.
Back where we had started the special session, Gunny surveyed the three of us. We were bent over, our BDUs soaked, heaving in front of him. He assessed the destruction he had wrought, and satisfied; he released us.
We were all relieved to be done, but for me at that moment, I was changed by the acts of my two friends. Stumbling along, these two saw me as part of something with them, and they had carried my burden as well.
Up to that moment, these two were acquaintances, and we did fun things together, but in holding me up, they had become my friends.
Through this new community and friendship, I became more confident and secure in the meaningfulness of my own existence and identity as a person.
As I have been talking with the runners that meet at Downtown Fitness & Running for Wednesday and Sunday runs, the majority have mentioned that if it weren’t for the group, they likely wouldn’t be running.
I get it. There is energy in community and friendship that forms around a common goal. Even one so simple as placing one foot in front of another.
Tom and Annie usually run together talking. Well, in my observance, Annie talks a lot, and Tom kind of sets the running pace. Right now, his pace is one that has to be ahead of me. He keeps goading me, though. “Don’t let the old man beat you,” the 59-year-old says periodically over his shoulder.
Last week, in the middle of the six-mile run, I was briefly able to get ahead of him.
“Oh great, now he’s ahead of us,” Tom said behind me.
“Stop sprinting, Thomas,” Annie said a moment later.
They both cruised ahead of me in front of Streicher Construction on the Riverwalk extension.
He keeps finishing before me, but in a way, his challenge is a welcome for me.
Admittedly, I am now more concerned about making sure I get ahead of Tom than I am about getting ready for the Heartland Half Marathon. But the challenge also helps me feel like I am part of the group.
Sometimes, as a writer, I live vicariously through the stories I get to write. But this is different. I am part of the process. It is a new experience.
Each time they run, each runner ends up back at the Square on their own but also together. The communal moments continue as they all sit around laughing and talking as they stretch and eat popsicles. This is the same for the race as well. It is a shared experience.
I wrote about it a bit last year as I finished up the Huntingburg Heartland with a runner who was also struggling. We struggled together to the end, and in that shared moment, we had a shared commonality and an avenue to friendship.
Of the two men that carried me that day, I have remained good friends with one of them. We’ve shared a lot together in the 25 years I’ve known James. I was in his wedding. We worked together in a business he started. He helped lead me to my faith in Christ.
Last year, James stopped by with his family on their way across the U.S. on vacation. That night, we were sitting in my living room talking late into the evening. We were reminiscing about our time in the Navy, and I told him the importance of that moment we shared together with the Gunny was for me.
“I don’t remember it,” he said after I finished pouring my heart out to him.
What?!
I guess that is the beauty of kindness. You may forget about the moment you gave a kind word or just offered some support to someone, but the lasting impact on the recipient of that kindness can be life-changing.
By the way, Kyle got another plaque in The Wettlauf. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, read this.
Thanks for coming along on this journey with me to attempt to find a story about running in the Heartland Half Marathon. You can sign up for the race here.
Here are a couple of the past columns.
