Hi Dad! About that last race...

A picture of my dad, taken three years ago.

Hi Dad,

I know you left us just over a week ago.  I also know that you're back with Mom. I'm also guessing that you're already looking for the best place to fish for Chinook salmon.  But I just ran a race and for the first time in my life, you’re not around to talk with me about it and I'm not ready for that routine to end. That means I want to talk to you about my last race, The Hillbilly Hike 10k.

You ran a 10K? What's that mean in miles?

6.2.

Just six miles? Not a marathon? Are you ever going to do a marathon? I mean, I spent years telling everyone my son runs marathons. What's wrong with running marathons?

Nothing. I've just never trained to run that far.

Well, it kind of makes me look bad if you don't run what I tell people you run. Anyway, did you say this race was a called the "Hillbilly Hike." Why do they call it that?

I don't know, Dad. I suppose it's sort of a theme. They have a picture of a hillbilly on their t-shirts and medals. Some of the runners dress up like hillbillies. People even pose for fun hillbilly pictures afterwards.

Just for you, Dad. Your favorites! Biscuits & Gravy from the Hillbilly Hike!

I'm guessing that my son - who's family came from the south - did not dress up like a hillbilly.

What can I say, Dad. It was just a tad too cold to run in a sleeveless flannel shirt. And I really don't have the legs for ragged jeans.

Still denying your roots. So how'd you do?

Not bad. It was my first race coming back from a hamstring injury.

How'd you injure your hamstring?

I strained it when I sprinted across a busy city street because I didn't see a car coming.

My son with four years of college and who runs marathons still isn't smart enough to look both ways before crossing a street?

Actually, Dad, it was a one-way street. I only had to look in one direction.

These are the moments when I'm so proud of you.

Anyway, no sooner than my hamstring started to heal, my pectineus acted up.

Excuse me? Your what?

With around a mile to go in the 10K.

It's a muscle near my groin.

A muscle near your what? I think that's more than your dad needs to know.

I relieved the tension in my pectineus with the stretches I learned in physical therapy.

You know that's not making any of this sound better.

Dad, it was finding a way to stretch out and engage my pectineus so that I could get back to running. What's wrong with that?

If you really care about me as your father, you'll never mention the word "pectineus" around me again. Let's get back to that short, little race you ran. How'd you do?

I came in eighth overall and first in my age group.

Were there more than five people in your age group?

Uh..four.

And how many in the race?

I think 75.

Why didn't you make the top five?

The people in front of me were faster.

Do they run marathons?

I don't know, Dad.

I bet they do. And if you want to run faster, you really need to start running marathons. That's what I would do if I were you.

Dad, you never ran a race in your life.

No shortage of pie for participants!

That's because I had one helluva pitching arm. I didn't need to run with that going for me. Did I ever tell you I had college coaches talking to me when I was in high school?

Maybe just once or twice. You know, Dad. I'm going to really miss talking about my races with you.  Can I tell you something else?

So long as it's not about your pect-whatever.

I’m going to dedicate my next race to you.  It's something I've never done before.  But when I run the Sycamore 8 next month, I’m dedicating it to you.  

I'm guessing it's not a marathon, is it.

Sorry.

That's okay. Just so long as it's not some "wine-themed" race. I only drank that stuff to be polite when you were around.

I guarantee that the Sycamore 8 has nothing to do with wine. But I'm not telling you anymore about it. You'll have to hear about it after that race.

Fair enough. Hey, I need to get going. Can you give your wife a hug for me?

No problem, Dad.  Do the same with Mom for me.

As many of you know, my father passed away on October 31.  It's my hope this post hints to how much I will miss him.  Dad always wanted to hear about my running, even as his dementia proved more limiting to those conversations. I will miss not hearing his voice offering me advice I’d never take.  As a result, I appreciate everyone allowing me to use this blog for one final conversation.

A quiet morning with mist over a pond prior to the race.