H was uncomprehending when I told her my plans for the weekend. “You’re doing what?! Walking through the night with a man who, for all you know, could be Jack the Ripper. What about this seems OK to you?” She painted pictures of Dave kidnapping me in a van with no one around to see or hear. How would she be able to check on my safety, she would only know there was trouble well past morning the next day. I was unmoved: nothing she said caused me any concern. Looking back, I’m not sure why I felt so secure. I suppose I figured since it was an organized scout activity, it couldn’t be too risky. As is turns out, much was at risk, but not as H imagined.
Dave picked me up late in the afternoon. We stopped first at his family’s house where he was living. Several times in our conversations Dave had mentioned what a nice house he lived in. Having lived in St. Joseph where the heart of Whirlpool executives lived in their little estates, I had a picture in my mind of a “nice” house. Pulling into a solidly middle class culdesac, I had to reconfigure. It was obvious that he was so grateful for what I saw as his very functional home.
I remember lots of people milling around joking and waiting for the final call. Dave’s mom ran around, hair in tight curls close to her head, compiling and arranging things. Dave’s Dad was wearing the funniest outfit, I quietly wondered if it was joke. He was in white knobby polyester pants with wide legs, punctuated with old-looking running shoes and crowned with a worn-thin, large collared button-up shirt. I felt almost outside of myself observing this family who I was quite certain I could never name each member of.
From his house, we drove up to Salt Lake (in a VAN!) to This is the Place Monument. Dave suggested I eat a banana to ward off the chance of leg cramps on the walk as we were leaving the car. I remember just wanting half of the banana, reaching to break off what I wanted, and Dave shoving ⅔ of the banana in my mouth and walking away laughing. For the first time I felt a little anxiety. Would he not respect my boundaries? Was I in danger? I decided this was just a joke and I would be safe, though I was a little concerned at his humor.
After some small bit of ceremony, we were let loose to walk the sidewalk along Highway 89 until sometime in the morning when we reached Pioneer Park in Provo. As the group started walking, there was exuberance in the air, we were all off on a shared adventure. I acknowledged my fear to David that he would potentially see me at my worst without having much experience with me at my best to balance it with.
We walked as a fairly large group at the first, thinning out over the first few miles. Dave and I were walking alongside his brothers and their friends who were the varsity scouts Dave was to oversee. I was impressed with the family interactions. Brothers were sensitive to one another and quietly encouraged as the miles piled up.
Through the night we walked mile after mile. The halfway point was somewhere around the Point of the Mountain which we hit in the wee hours of the morning. Many of the boys called it quits here, collapsing into vehicles, weary, cramped, and blistered. I watched their relief and for the first time wondered if I really could make this journey.
Just so we’re clear: 50 miles is so far to walk! I had it in my head that running a marathon was hard and about the furthest a body could be pushed. But since walking wasn’t as strenuous, walking twice as far should be the equivalent exertion. But I failed to consider that walking takes longer, and hence I was exerting through the hours my body would normally replenish itself through sleep.
Somewhere around American Fork, exhaustion pulled us to a grassy spot where we laid down for a brief rest. I think I even slept a short while. My body protested my will to get up and start again, moving slowly and with stiff muscles and on will alone. By this time I had an enormous blister on my right heel which was swelling with each step. Dave tried to offer aid, but the damage was beyond street-side assistance.
On we walked along Highway 89, mostly alone, much of the time quiet. I wasn’t familiar with the terrain and much of the development of the area has occurred in the years since. Through the dark and barren waste I trudged hitting the very edge of my ability. Aid stations were very sparse through the second half of the race and the only one I really remember was the Purple Turtle in Pleasant Grove, 15 miles from the end of the journey. Many people shuffled around the area, there was some cheering. But I most remember Dave’s mother, peppy and showered, walked a little with us as she searched for her husband to cheer him by walking the last stretch with him. This was just before dawn and hope and renewal revived with the energy around us.
And so we walked up the Orem hill. This was David’s home, he knew the landmarks and watching them crawl past one at a time, we felt like we were hardly moving. Finally, we arrived at the crest of the other side of the Orem hill, Provo stretching out beneath us. I scanned the horizon for the finish: Pioneer Park. I could see in the far distance a park with cabins, wagons, and a totem pole. I pointed it out to Dave and he told me he couldn’t see Pioneer Park from his vantage point. Though he’d lived here his entire life, I figured he was just near-sighted. I was weary like I’d never known. My legs wanted to buckle. Pain shot up my body with every step on that right foot’s blister. Yet, the goal was in sight. I could do this. It would take everything I had, but I could walk that measured distance and complete this trek.
And I did. I threw my arms out and my head back in victory at the wagon, “We made it!” Dave stood beside me, recognizing that I was spent, and dead wrong, and mulled over his response a minute before telling me the truth: Pioneer Park was just a little less than a mile further down the road. Blink, blink. I gestured to my supporting evidence: “This is Pioneer Park! They’ve got a wagon, there is a cabin. Why would they have those if this weren’t Pioneer Park?! This is MY Pioneer Park!” Realize at this point Dave and I had walked over 15 hours together. He was as spent as I. He also only had a few hours acquaintance with me outside of this trek. And yet quietly he acknowledged my evidence and asserted that we had a little further to walk to the finish line of the trek.
This cruel mental trick I had played on myself of visualizing a premature finish defeated me. I crumpled down into a tantrum, rocking on the ground in tears, reviewing the evidence again. Dave didn’t know what to do. So he pretty much just stood by, waiting for the storm to pass. He rightly knew there wasn’t much energy left in me to support a tantrum. There wasn’t. I hardly had water for tears. I had two options: get up and finish the race, or stop a little less than a mile from the finish and always wonder if I really couldn’t have dug a little deeper. I decided to push one last time. I apologized, adjusted my right shoe once again, held up my hand for assistance arising, and moved through a dream those last weary steps.
We completed the 50/20 at 10:00 in the morning, 16 hours from starting, a little behind Dave's sister Becca and a little ahead of his Dad. We didn’t realize this had been a race and laughed that we’d stopped for dinner and a nap. We wondered if we could have completed it sooner.
But I was in a haze of exhaustion and pain. Dave dropped me off to my apartment where I was, probably only this once, significantly alone. I promptly fell face first onto my bed and sobbed as my legs, acting of their own, curled up in answer to my hamstrings, calves, and arches’ tight pull. After a few minutes in this posture, I went to shower. There was no hot water. There was no food in my fridge. I had no mother to tend to me when I most desperately needed a mother. Once again, I had to dig deep and solve the problems only I cared about having solved.
Early in the evening David called to see if I hated him. And then he sent his mother to my apartment to attend to my blister which would keep my foot out of shoes for a solid two weeks. My loyalty was drawn with my gratitude at her care.
I’ve since read that adrenaline bonds people and if you want to fall in love, you should do things on dates that build it like sporting events, hikes, scary movies, roller coasters... I see now that this one-of-a-kind and pretty crazy first date bonded Dave and I in a unique way, though I wasn’t interested in seeing it then. I have been through many hard things in my 44 years, yet only one other time have I ever hit the edge of my capacity like I did on this walk at 49.3 miles.
And that is what I kept remembering/hating. I had been viewed at my most vulnerable and weakest point, known there for my failings. I had shown my worst side, as I feared I might, throwing a tantrum when my expectations were defeated.
There are tears in my eyes today as only now, 25 years later, I suddenly see that I also evidenced my greatest strengths. Perhaps in knowing the best and the worst, David felt well-educated in the full spectrum of my character, and continued to pursue my company.
After some small bit of ceremony, we were let loose to walk the sidewalk along Highway 89 until sometime in the morning when we reached Pioneer Park in Provo. As the group started walking, there was exuberance in the air, we were all off on a shared adventure. I acknowledged my fear to David that he would potentially see me at my worst without having much experience with me at my best to balance it with.
We walked as a fairly large group at the first, thinning out over the first few miles. Dave and I were walking alongside his brothers and their friends who were the varsity scouts Dave was to oversee. I was impressed with the family interactions. Brothers were sensitive to one another and quietly encouraged as the miles piled up.
Through the night we walked mile after mile. The halfway point was somewhere around the Point of the Mountain which we hit in the wee hours of the morning. Many of the boys called it quits here, collapsing into vehicles, weary, cramped, and blistered. I watched their relief and for the first time wondered if I really could make this journey.
Just so we’re clear: 50 miles is so far to walk! I had it in my head that running a marathon was hard and about the furthest a body could be pushed. But since walking wasn’t as strenuous, walking twice as far should be the equivalent exertion. But I failed to consider that walking takes longer, and hence I was exerting through the hours my body would normally replenish itself through sleep.
Somewhere around American Fork, exhaustion pulled us to a grassy spot where we laid down for a brief rest. I think I even slept a short while. My body protested my will to get up and start again, moving slowly and with stiff muscles and on will alone. By this time I had an enormous blister on my right heel which was swelling with each step. Dave tried to offer aid, but the damage was beyond street-side assistance.
On we walked along Highway 89, mostly alone, much of the time quiet. I wasn’t familiar with the terrain and much of the development of the area has occurred in the years since. Through the dark and barren waste I trudged hitting the very edge of my ability. Aid stations were very sparse through the second half of the race and the only one I really remember was the Purple Turtle in Pleasant Grove, 15 miles from the end of the journey. Many people shuffled around the area, there was some cheering. But I most remember Dave’s mother, peppy and showered, walked a little with us as she searched for her husband to cheer him by walking the last stretch with him. This was just before dawn and hope and renewal revived with the energy around us.
And so we walked up the Orem hill. This was David’s home, he knew the landmarks and watching them crawl past one at a time, we felt like we were hardly moving. Finally, we arrived at the crest of the other side of the Orem hill, Provo stretching out beneath us. I scanned the horizon for the finish: Pioneer Park. I could see in the far distance a park with cabins, wagons, and a totem pole. I pointed it out to Dave and he told me he couldn’t see Pioneer Park from his vantage point. Though he’d lived here his entire life, I figured he was just near-sighted. I was weary like I’d never known. My legs wanted to buckle. Pain shot up my body with every step on that right foot’s blister. Yet, the goal was in sight. I could do this. It would take everything I had, but I could walk that measured distance and complete this trek.
And I did. I threw my arms out and my head back in victory at the wagon, “We made it!” Dave stood beside me, recognizing that I was spent, and dead wrong, and mulled over his response a minute before telling me the truth: Pioneer Park was just a little less than a mile further down the road. Blink, blink. I gestured to my supporting evidence: “This is Pioneer Park! They’ve got a wagon, there is a cabin. Why would they have those if this weren’t Pioneer Park?! This is MY Pioneer Park!” Realize at this point Dave and I had walked over 15 hours together. He was as spent as I. He also only had a few hours acquaintance with me outside of this trek. And yet quietly he acknowledged my evidence and asserted that we had a little further to walk to the finish line of the trek.
This cruel mental trick I had played on myself of visualizing a premature finish defeated me. I crumpled down into a tantrum, rocking on the ground in tears, reviewing the evidence again. Dave didn’t know what to do. So he pretty much just stood by, waiting for the storm to pass. He rightly knew there wasn’t much energy left in me to support a tantrum. There wasn’t. I hardly had water for tears. I had two options: get up and finish the race, or stop a little less than a mile from the finish and always wonder if I really couldn’t have dug a little deeper. I decided to push one last time. I apologized, adjusted my right shoe once again, held up my hand for assistance arising, and moved through a dream those last weary steps.
We completed the 50/20 at 10:00 in the morning, 16 hours from starting, a little behind Dave's sister Becca and a little ahead of his Dad. We didn’t realize this had been a race and laughed that we’d stopped for dinner and a nap. We wondered if we could have completed it sooner.
But I was in a haze of exhaustion and pain. Dave dropped me off to my apartment where I was, probably only this once, significantly alone. I promptly fell face first onto my bed and sobbed as my legs, acting of their own, curled up in answer to my hamstrings, calves, and arches’ tight pull. After a few minutes in this posture, I went to shower. There was no hot water. There was no food in my fridge. I had no mother to tend to me when I most desperately needed a mother. Once again, I had to dig deep and solve the problems only I cared about having solved.
Early in the evening David called to see if I hated him. And then he sent his mother to my apartment to attend to my blister which would keep my foot out of shoes for a solid two weeks. My loyalty was drawn with my gratitude at her care.
I’ve since read that adrenaline bonds people and if you want to fall in love, you should do things on dates that build it like sporting events, hikes, scary movies, roller coasters... I see now that this one-of-a-kind and pretty crazy first date bonded Dave and I in a unique way, though I wasn’t interested in seeing it then. I have been through many hard things in my 44 years, yet only one other time have I ever hit the edge of my capacity like I did on this walk at 49.3 miles.
And that is what I kept remembering/hating. I had been viewed at my most vulnerable and weakest point, known there for my failings. I had shown my worst side, as I feared I might, throwing a tantrum when my expectations were defeated.
There are tears in my eyes today as only now, 25 years later, I suddenly see that I also evidenced my greatest strengths. Perhaps in knowing the best and the worst, David felt well-educated in the full spectrum of my character, and continued to pursue my company.
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