received a running trophy period. That's not why the trophy brought me to tears, though. The tears came because I knew the story behind the trophies. They came because the trophies so beautifully represent what this race says about the community and connections that are the power behind the Run for Respect. Two years ago, Laura reached out to her friend Andrew Rice. They grew up together in Pontiac. Andrew teaches an industrial technology class at Manual Academy in Peoria, Illinois, and Laura thought maybe his students could create trophies for the Run for Respect. In some ways, the students in Andrew's class are fighting for respect much like Laura's. Many of them have grown up in challenging circumstances, and having someone like Mr. Rice believe in them has been a much needed spark in their lives. This year, Laura did something a little different, though. She took some of her students an hour or so up the road to meet her friend Andrew's students. Her students got to meet the trophy-makers, and the trophy-makers got to meet first hand exactly who'd be taking the trophies away. I wasn't there. I don't need to have been to know how Andrew's students felt. I used to virtually run the annual Run for Respect. It was a good and worthy cause. Then one day Laura and three of her students came to meet me and some of my friends while we were in Chicago. I met the kids behind the Run for Respect I had only previously been able to get to know from a 1000 miles away. As I talked with my new friends - Austin and Mitch and Nick - I felt a cause I once ran for turning into a purpose I could get behind living for. What was once something I poured my time, money and legs into, in an instant became a connection worth building relationships on. It was something suddenly worth traveling to Pontiac, Illinois to share with others in person. I wasn't the only one who traveled to Pontiac this year. Those students who made the trophies for the race - after they met Laura's kids they too decided they needed to come be a part of the Run for Respect. Because they did, we not only got to hang out with Laura's students, we also got to meet Andrew's students. When we shook those students' hands and told them how much we appreciated the trophies, we saw pride. We saw young people with a purpose. There's something amazing that happens when we help each other discover purpose.
I for one don't believe we discover our purpose in life. I belief life, and God, reveal that to us through others. It's revealed when we travel to Pontiac and make real what was once virtual. It's revealed when trohy-makers meet trophy-takers, and they both understand one is not possible without the other. It's revealed when teachers pour themselves into their students and their communities. When the lessons they teach become about living together and not taking a test as an individual. So a funny story. My buddy Tracey and I received these beautiful trophies at the dinner the night before the race. Our good friend Nicole, she did not. Tracey and I, never ones to miss an opportunity to poke fun at our dear friend, told her she was simply being sent the message she'd have to go out and earn her trophy. I'll never forget standing at the awards ceremony after the race. They were calling out the names of the winners of each of the age groups - the people who would get one of the trophies. The ceremony arrived at our friend Nicole's age group; our friend Laura was calling out the names. Third place - not Nicole. Second place - not Nicole. First place - and a trophy - our friend Nicole. Nicole walked up to the table of trophies, got hers, and walked back toward us. The emotions I felt seeing her hold that trophy went way beyond her winning a race. Way beyond her coming full circle on a joke that started the night before. It was more about life coming full circle. We get into this running thing wanting to do our best, and maybe somewhere along the way we pick up some medals, and maybe a trophy or two. But the lucky runners, like me, we discover running has a deeper purpose. And it's not about the trophies. It's about the trophy-makers and the trophy-takers, and how they reveal to us the beautiful way we are all connected. Run for Respect. Maybe that's what that race is about. Maybe that's what running in general is about. Maybe respect is all about discovering the beautiful way we are all connected. If so, I saw a lot of respect in Pontiac, Illinois last weekend. God willing, I'll see it again in 2020.
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As long as we live, no story ever really ends. One way or another, what appears to be the end is always just another beginning. Nothing makes that truer to me than running. Every run, every race, they have a finish line. And finish, is there a word that more definitively says the end? Could anything more clearly say, this story is over? That's what I thought back in 2015 when I ran my first Run the Bluegrass Half Marathon. It was the second race of my life. A bunch of friends I'd met online were headed to Lexington for this race and it sounded like fun. After running my first half marathon a few months earlier, I'd fallen in love with the friendships running offered. I hadn't fallen in love with running, though. I had no interest in the pain and suffering running so cruely demanded in return for those connections. In Lexington, on this course, that price was unusually high. Billed by someone as America's Prettiest Half Marathon, that billing didn't take into account just how ugly hills can be to a runner who's never tackled elevation steeper than the steps on his front porch. For over 3 hours, I tackled those hills that day. And for at least 3 days after, I couldn't walk. I promised my legs, and myself - it's possible I even struck a deal with God - let me walk again and I promise, I'll forever abandon this notion 240 pound men are formed in the image of runners. A few days later, I walked again. And a few days after that, I ran. Looking back, I have no idea what turned me from a promise keeper to a promise breaker. At the time, it surely wasn't that I couldn't live without running. That's like suggesting I couldn't live without e coli. I think at the time I just sensed I was in the midst of a story that was beginning. It didn't have a "the end" feel to it. I didn't go back to the Run the Bluegrass in 2016. But in 2017 the gently rolling hills called again. Hanging out with friends was again a big part of the draw, but for maybe the first time ever, I had a running goal in mind. I wanted to go back and run that race 15 minutes faster than I'd done 2 years earlier. I'd been running more, lost a little weight, and I didn' t know of a better running litmust test. I wanted to find out where I stood as a runner. I came up 2 minutes short of my 15 minutes faster goal. It wasn't the finish I was shooting for, but a finish that said I was improving. The real race story was that I even had a desire to improve. I left Lexington 2 years earlier vowing to never run again. Now I wanted to discover just how well I could run. What appears to be the end is always just another beginning. Between that 2017 race and 2018 a lot changed. The way I ate changed. The way I ran changed. I began running over 100 miles a month - nearly double what I was previously running. As a result, I was lighter and had a lot more energy. But how much more energy? What difference had it made? I've discovered any question worth asking deserves an answer, or else, it wasn't really a meaningful question. And the best place I knew in that moment to find the answer was the 2018 Run the Bluegrass. Before I got to Lexington for that race, I set what felt like my most audacious running goal ever. Looking back, considering my mindset leaving Lexington in 2015, I'm not sure I'll ever have a more audacious goal. But I went to Lexington in 2018 wanting to run my fastest half marathon ever. When I crossed the finish line, that's exactly what I'd done - (Run the Bluegrass 2018). I crossed the finish line in 2:25:37, two minutes faster than my previous fastest half marathon.
When I think back on my thoughts leaving Lexington, it floors me where my running journey has led me. Sure, it's led me to a healthier and happier place. It's led me to a faster place. But those places are all just beginnings of the next story. Earlier this month I launched a new project, Running4Soles. As part of it, I registered to go to Honduras in August of this year with Soles4Souls. While I'm there, I'll help distribute shoes. I'll also meet a man named Raul, who uses fitness to encourage his Honduran brothers and sisters. It's my hope that, together, we'll plan a 5K. Then, in 2020, I'll bring a Running4Soles team back there and together, his people and our people, we'll continue on this running journey - together. When I left Lexington in 2015, I was focused on a finish line. I was focused on the end of a journey. Little did I know at that time, the journey was only beginning. As long as we live, no story ever really ends. One way or another, what appears to be the end is always just another beginning. Nothing makes that truer to me than running.
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Keith CartwrightLife is like running. Archives
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