Never say Never

Patrick “PDaddy” Hatton
3 time Marathoner
Chicago ’08, ’09, ‘10

Retired: 10.10.10 12:55:50pm

There it is. My official Marathon resume. Finishing times are not relevant as I never ran the marathon to win an award or impress people with my performance (ie….I’m slow). I ran my first marathon because I wasn’t sure that I could. I ran my second because I knew that I could, but knew I could do it better. I ran my third, well, because they’re addicting. Besides, Chicago ’10 was on 10.10.10….how could I not run it?

Admittedly, training for the three peat was more tedious and less disciplined than ever before. It was a job this time, not an adventure. After blowing off most of the summer, I compressed my training into 8 hard weeks and while I was running better than I ever have, I struggled to answer the one burning question that plagued me on long runs and morning debates with the alarm clock…”Why am I doing this?” As a matter of fact, in a dark moment half way through a tough 14 miler on August 29th, I simply stopped running in my tracks when I couldn’t answer that question (not a great idea since I run an out and back route…imagine the conversation happening in my head that long 7 mile walk home…not pretty, not pretty at all). Additionally, I found myself secretly hoping at times for an injury to give me a “legitimate” excuse to get me out of the race. Yes, this distance can make you that crazy. After my busted run, I put the notion of quitting the Marathon out to my running “support” group, I got split reaction….either “It’s OK if you do. You’ve already run it twice” or “Seriously, don’t be ridiculous. It was one bad run”. While I knew it was only one bad run, I knew it was much deeper than that. I had a mental hurdle that I genuinely didn’t know if I could clear and I feared the possibility of not finding the drive required to train for this distance. Using a little tough love, the “don’t be ridiculous” contingent convinced me to stick with it, even using some of my very own “lines” on me. A few days and a strong 8 miler later, my head was back in the game, this time, committed not only to training hard and running well, but also to retiring from this distance, a tough distance for someone of my experience level and body type. I committed to giving it my best and walking away without regret, regardless of my result on 10.10.10.

In the past few weeks, I’ve had to awesome opportunity to give race day advise, words of inspiration and answer countless questions for a group of Marathon virgins. The seasoned Veteran helping the rookies maximize their Marathon experience. Ha! Who would have ever thought that this would be me? What would/could I have said to them if I had quit on 8/29? I can’t imagine. It’s funny how everything in this crazy sport always comes full circle. The quote “Running never takes more than it gives back” is 100% true and I am grateful to have been able to give a little back this time around (btw…all 7 of the virgins became official Marathon Finishers on 10.10.10!)

Chicago ’10 has now come and gone and I am “retired”. Extreme temperatures pushed the Event Alert System to Code Red by mile 18 and took its’ toll on me and the other runners. I don’t remember seeing so many in need of medical assistance during my previous Marathons. My heart broke for the runner I saw collapse just past the 800m to go sign. 17 weeks and over 500 miles of training to get so close. While I finished the race, I failed to achieve my goal and feel defeated once again by 26.2, aka “The Beast”. It’s a cruel distance that messes with you mentally and physically without regard for the sacrifice and pain you put yourself through in your attempt to conquer it. I am extremely proud of my accomplishment, but know that this distance owns me and struggle with the idea of giving up the pursuit of my 26.2 goal. I found myself overcome by emotion in the starting corral as I took in the sights and sounds of the day for the last time and wonder if deep down I’m capable of walking away. I was 100% committed to never ever facing The Beast again before the race, but now, despite the tired legs, blistered feet, sore knees and fragile spirit, I’m on the fence about retiring. 26.2 is an addiction, a cruel yet liberating force that can make you crazy. One taste of the kool-aid and you’re hooked. As a matter of fact, despite passionately vowing to be “one and done” after their training season, the “virgins”, still high from the run that changed their lives, can’t stop talking about their race experience and which one they running next. So far, according to them, we’re running Indy in 2 weeks, Buenos Aires in October ’11 and Chicago ’11….they sound just like I did in 2008…welcome to the club guys.

It’s too early to tell which side of the fence I will eventually land on. As of this moment, I am retired and plan to focus on setting new personal bests in the 5k, 10k and Soldier Field 10 miler. Perhaps a ½ or a maybe even a tri will find their way onto my schedule in 2011. And then…who knows? MJ unretired and completed another three-peat, right? Ryno, Clemens, Magic, Ali and Lance all came back. Heck, how many times has Favre unretired?

Standing at this crossroad in my running life, I can’t stop thinking to myself……never say never Hatton……Never say never.

The Best Run of the Year

This morning I enjoyed the best run of the year. It was not the best because I set a personal record in time or distance or because I did it despite the bed begging me to hit snooze one more time. It was not the best because I perfectly timed my arrival at the end of Navy Pier as the sun broke on the horizon and got to take in my city coming to life.
It was the best run of the year because it was the last run. The last “training” run before 26.2. My favorite run of the year…..but not because it’s the last run, my favorite because it is so very different than any before or any yet to come.
Let me explain.
I am fortunate to train on two of the greatest running paths in the world. Chicago’s Lakefront Running Path and the Illinois Prairie Path in the Western burbs. Both beautiful in their own way and both buzzing with activity on any given morning or weekend. I have my favorite points along the way and great memories of runs past. Most importantly, they are both familiar and safe places for me to escape in a good long run.

During Marathon training season, you get to know those in training. You don’t know their names or their stories, but know them because you see them in their groups or on solo long runs, you see them when you know they don’t want to be out there and you see them getting stronger and more tired all at once. As summer comes to an end, the traffic thins as the city transitions into fall, preparing for the winter ahead. Runners run with a purpose now.

Over the last few weeks of training, runners along the path(s) are different then during the season. You can see the difference in their faces. This is the grind. You have to fight with yourself every morning to get out and run. These are not the hard miles, they are the tedious ones. Everything aches and your legs feel like lead pipes, so much effort to put one in front of the other. Long runs are in the rear view mirror and Marathon day dangles like a carrot in front of you. There are no milestones to achieve, nothing to celebrate, simply “easy” runs to keep your body in tune.

When eye contact is made with others in the grind, no words are exchanged, but there is a deep sense of appreciation for what each other has accomplished and a nod of support as if to say, “Good job, almost there.” It’s a comforting and uplifting non-verbal conversation.

The last run, however, is different. The mood is upbeat and energetic. A burden has been lifted and legs feel light and powerful. The end is here and everyone has a spring in their step. Smiles replace the furrowed brows of the last few weeks. Anticipation fills the air and you long for the race to be right now as you could run forever in this moment. I especially love watching those in from out of town. They are in awe of the magnificent track that we are fortunate enough to train on all season. The energy in the city is electric, charged by 45,000 runners, preparing mentally now, the physical part is done, for 26.2.

My Last run today was same as the last two years. A 4 miler to the end of Navy Pier at sunrise. From this vantage point, I can see all my favorite spots. The Adler, The Shedd, The South Shore Cultural Center, The point. As the sun rises above the lake, the skyline comes alive and I enjoy the moment of calm as I reflect on the enormity of it all.

The emotions and energy that make this seemingly pedestrian run the best run of the year are hard to describe. It’s just a feeling. A feeling of pride, accomplishment, brotherhood, respect and joy. My words don’t do it justice, but I hope, if you’ve ever experienced this feeling or do one day, that you feel as energized and high as I do right now. It’s a pretty spectacular place to be 48 hours before 26.2.

Now that's more like it...

5.2 miles, 9:42 pace. Skyline hidden by dense fog. Curiously Beautiful.

love/hate

So, as uplifting as Sunday's 8-miler was, Tuesday was equally as demoralizing. Running is a love/hate relationship. The mental game can be as hard, if not harder than the physical game. I have been struggling all season with the first couple of miles. I know it's mental as I've got the legs to run. I find myself fighting through (and losing often) getting to mile 3. Without fail, after a quick break, I've been able to regroup, run freely and have always achieved my goal. Sometimes the run is easy. Sometimes it hurts. Most of the time it's a little of both.

Tuesday was different then any other "run" in the past few years. For the first time in memory, I quit. I encountered the "no I can't" demon and let him win. I was, am really, humiliated, angry and embarrassed. 1.47 miles and I quit. QUIT. A harsh word, one that gnaws at your gut and is impossible to shake. I know, I know. It's one run. One bad day. Write it off and get on with it, right?

Easy to say. Hard to do.

I am obsessing about this failure and could write a typical Pdaddy dissertation on the how and why, but will spare you. All I know is that on Friday, I will face that demon again. We'll see if I have the guts to run over him this time. If not, it's just one run. One bad day, right?

New Routes....

As I journeyed out on my first "long run" of the season this morning, I was reminded that 2010 seems to be the year of new routes. Construction has caused the commute to go from the Ike to the Kennedy. Four years of the same old ride to and from the city and suddenly, with the change of the seasons (from winter to construction), I'm seeing the city (and life maybe) from a different perspective. I can assure you that the skyline is just as beautiful at sunrise from the NW as it is from the W.

Running on the lakefront is different this year too. Our gym moved over the winter and as it's finally humane to run outside in Chicago, I'm having to adjust those routes I lived by the past 3 years. To the point and back is only 3 miles, not five, however, the point will ALWAYS be a part of my training on the lake, just have to modify the post point run to make goal......The South route to Adler is virtually unachievable by 7:30 am as it's now close to 8 miles (would have to leave home by 5 am....not happening!!). So, I'm learning what landmarks count in the mental game of training on the lake. In addition, the Illinois Prairie path, my long run sanctuary for the past two summers, is closed by me. My 2008 long run training path closed last year and now the south branch is closed....grrrrr! Oh well, while I will miss the familiarity of these sacred trails, a season of new routes excites me just as much as it worries me!

Today, I ran a route that brought current hood and old hood together. While the run was rough (hills?...really???) , the weather and the intrigue of running in a new place contributed to a personal best for 8 miles and a generally perfect run (based on consistent pace from start to finish according to Nike+) I have been wanting to run this path for 3 years, but always took the known road. Maybe this is the year I will run that path on Route 59 I've been eyeballing all these years. And maybe this is the year I finally run the Busse Woods path that Dave, my guru, talked about back in the infancy of my running life. And who knows, maybe this is the year I cross I355 on the Illinois Prairie Path Bridge to satisfy that longing I've have every time I drive under it. Maybe this is the summer I explore one of those life ideas I've been kicking around.......I don't know, but I kinda have a feeling that it's going to be a great summer and I look forward to all the new adventures. Hope you're OK with me sharing them with you.

THIS Man's best friend

Let me take a minute to tell you about the greatest dog in the history of dogs. Renegade Hatton. 7.14.97-3.22.10

Coming off the hard decision to quit after investing a ton of time, energy and money in Toby, a street dog we adopted with a big heart and a bigger mean streak that couldn't be broken, we took our time researching breeds, looking for the best fit for a young family with an energetic 1 1/2 year old girl who was clearly in charge. We settled on a Golden Retriever and started the search for a breeder. I have always owned pound dogs and was torn between doing what's right by saving an abandoned dog and doing what is right by bringing a dog with a great pedigree and high tolerance for hair pulling, climbing over and otherwise messing with into a house with an infant child. A few frightening moments with Toby protecting his food from a curious child made the decision easier than expected.

Our research led us to a breeder in Graymont, IL with a litter available just in time for Haley's birthday. So we hopped in the Pathfinder and headed south, having no idea what road lay ahead. An hour and 1/2 and a few wrong turns later (this is before GPS kids), we find the Roeschley farm, excited as kids on Christmas Eve. The Roeschley family meets us at the car, but not before Haley has wobbled over to the barn and found the litter of beautiful Golden puppies. It wasn't long before Haley made it clear which puppy was going home with us. The unnamed pup was drawn to Haley and danced around her, darting in and out with quick kisses on a giggling face. We had our girl and who could have known the journey we would take together the next 13 years.

Our friend Kim most accurately described Renegade when we first learned of her cancer 2 months ago, "Quietly loyal" he called her. Exactly.

Renegade had a maturity about her that was obvious as early as obedience training in some random Church hall in Riverside. Through 8 weeks of classes, Renegade was the star, mastering every command with little effort while patiently waiting for the other dogs to catch up. On graduation day, however, Renegade reminded us that she was indeed a puppy by going awol during the final off leash test, running all over the hall, surprising everyone, including a stunned instructor. The memory of that night lives in my head and to this day, making me laugh and wonder why she was messing with us that night.

Renegade's loyalty showed itself in many ways such as the subtle act of moving from my side of the bed to Teresa's each morning when I left for work, nestling at our feet under the desk when working on the computer and the fact that in all of her years, in 4 different houses, many different road trips, countless baseball, softball and soccer games and the natural instinct of the breed, she's only wandered off once to explore.

With a calm, easy going demeanor, Renegade also played the role of protector of the family. One might never see this, but her instinct to protect was intense. She carefully watched over wrestling matches with the kids, getting on to me if I got to rough, managed the playful interactions between Sedona (her best friend), Logan (a Lab pup) and Elvis (her little Cockapoo brother) to make sure nobody got hurt and every single time crazy Elvis went nuts, barking at whatever was going on outside the house, Renegade would get up, check out the situation and let us know whether or not there was anything to be alarmed by. My favorite story of Renegade, the protector, happened one summer, camping in the Michigan Dunes with my brother and his family. Late Friday night, the campsite was pitch black except for the flicker of the fire. Renegade lay at my feet. Sean and JD grab a flashlight and head to the nearby truck to get their DS games. Without hesitation, Renegade sits up and moves to the side of my chair, sits and watches the boys to the truck and back, returning to my feet upon their return. Subtle, but obvious. Likewise, on Sunday, as the adults broke camp, the kids headed off for one last romp in the dunes. As the kids go down the road, Renegade moves to the corner of the camp site and sits, watching the kids disappear around the bend. For 45 minutes, Renegade sits and watches the road, ignoring passing cars, people and other dogs. She sits and watches, waiting for her kids to come home. Once they turn the corner, Renegade takes off to greet them and escort them back to the site. It was at this moment I realized how special she was.

As Reney aged, we could see her hips starting to bother her (typical for a Golden) and it began to take a little more effort to get up after a long night sleep and she stood at the bottom of the stairs a little longer before making the slow journey upstairs. It makes to smile to think of Renegade's sad eyes looking up at me for help into the car or onto the couch, yet when we weren't around, she had no trouble hopping up on her green chair and curling up for an afternoon nap. So sly.

A pet is a companion and protector. Renegade was far more. She was magnetic and everyone was drawn to her. She gladly obliged all who wanted to meet her and worked her way into the hearts of many. (She was so loved that we got a sympathy card from the Vet's office (a busy office in a Petsmart) with personal notes about Reney from the entire staff and learned that she was listed as the Most Desired dog to groom at the groomers)

We discovered the growth in her mouth about 2 months ago and were thrilled to learn that the cancer had not spread. Unfortunately, the melanoma could not be removed without significant pain and suffering and instead of extending her life, the oncologist suggested the surgery would actually make her quality of life worse for the 6-12 months she had left with us. After the initial shock and pain of the end coming into view, we looked forward to a great summer of fun with our girl. We were told what to look for to insure we didn't selfishly ignore the signs that the pain was becoming a burden to her, pain we know she would hide from us at all cost. Almost instantly, we saw a change. Renegade had always been a very affectionate girl, but there was a different sense of urgency in her need for love. She followed us from room to room and howled at times for attention. The tumor grew rapidly and before long, she was skipping a meal a day, the pain in her mouth too much to bear, but the Dr. said 6-12 months, not 2 weeks, she must just be nervous. During the weekend of 3/19, I noticed a deep sense of sadness in her eyes and for the first time, she would turn her face away when touching the affected cheek. A call from her other mom, Meg, and a visit to the city to play with her best friend Sedona was in order and surely a cure for this sadness.

Driving to the city early that Monday morning, Reney lay on the floorboard with her head on the console between driver and passenger seats, watching me the whole ride in as I stroked her soft head, something she had never done before. When Teresa called at noon to tell me that the tumor was bleeding, my heart sank. In denial, I asked T to call the vet and see what we needed to do and as feared, the vet wanted to see her as soon as possible. It was time and as hard as this was to face, it was reality. She spent her last day doing what she loved, playing in the dog park with Sedona, Meg and Bidy. Her spirit as positive as ever. After a tearful goodbye in the city, Renegade rode home shotgun with her face resting in the dashboard, taking it all in. She knew.

The last moments were beautiful. Renegade as calm and loving as ever, head in Teresa's lap as her eyes closed for the last time. The Vet and nurse could not have been more gentle and compassionate. She was at peace.

While it was no easy task to make the decision to ease Renegade's pain, it's a decision I will never regret. She gave us too much love and too many memories to ask her to endure pain and sadness so we can selfishly avoid the pain and sadness of losing her.

Today, I still call out her name and look for her beside my bed in the morning. I miss her wagging tail greeting me when I get home each night and the gentle nudge of her cold nose on my hand, begging for me to pet her. Elvis is depressed and lies by the back door, looking for his sister all day, eating not a priority. The kids haven't known life without Renegade until now. While hard on them, I'm sure it won't be too long before they're asking for a new puppy. Reney can't be replaced, so we can only hope we get as lucky this time.

Thanks for listening to my rambling. Those who knew Renegade understand why it's hard to put into words what she meant to me and her family. She was one of a kind and enriched our lives beyond our greatest expectations. She will be missed.

Making a parent proud

In my Chicago 2009 recap, I spoke about how great those moments are when you know you've made your parents proud. Today, I'm on the other end of one of those moments. I just dropped HayHay off at Elgin High to complete the testing portion of her Gifted Academy application. I am so proud of her on many levels, but none more than for having the courage to apply for this very exclusive High School program. If she is accepted, it means changing High Schools, making new friends and 4 long hard years of study. That's an awfully big commitment for a 14 year old girl. She made this choice and I'm proud of her for challenging herself to be her best.

We got first semester reports cards last week too and all the punks made us proud. All A's and B's for the boys despite Jared's new "I don't like school" attitude and Sean's struggle to concentrate when it's homework time....Haley brought home 4 A + and 3 A's. (The A's included Gym and rotation which was Cooking in semester 1) Not too shabby. Good thing they got their grandparents smarts.

For the record, I'm a nervous wreck watching the time slowly tick. I hope Hay is doing well and keeping her cool. 3 1/2 hours to go...I did stare down some of the other kids taking the test to throw them off their game and promised not to stand at the window, knock and give thumbs up throughout the morning. Sean told Haley to "kick their slimy butts" on the way out the door. I hope she does....