Monday, May 10, 1999
One runner's moments to remember
BY GEOFF HOBSON
The Cincinnati Enquirer
Never mind I was on the course slightly longer than the Ford Administration. Never mind the final score was 5 hours, 21 minutes, 26 seconds and one bloody toe cuticle.
Never mind that ugly hill at mile 23 on Eastern Avenue, just before Pete Rose Way rescues you, smashed the 5-hour mark to bits.
Never mind all that.
It's always a good day when you finish a marathon. Especially this one, a hilly, hot grind where personal records went out the window, but positive memories took hold and should make this race a staple of the Cincinnati sports schedule:
• For all the curses I muttered against the course, you can't beat two views, and they'll make you come back next year. The early sun shimmering off the Ohio River as you head over the Clay Wade Bailey Bridge into mile 3, and the clouds bouncing off the trees after the 8-mile mark in Eden Park.
I felt so good, I could have sworn I was Boston Billy Rodgers heading into Copley Square with a two-minute lead.
• The cheers ringing through Hyde Park Square near the halfway point are a part of Cincinnati sports lore this morning. The people yelled for you, whether you looked like Oscar de la Renta or Oscar Madison.
Of course, they help. At Mile 12 on Erie Avenue, I saw my 12-year-old son running to greet me, and then Kevin and his buddy Brian Bell ran about a quarter of a mile with me.
It doesn't get any better.
• Shelia Schroeder strikes again.
In 1997, she asked me to be one of her runner's guides for her annual sojourn to the New York Marathon, where she con tinually racks up finishes despite suffering from multiple sclerosis. She was one of those faceless volunteers Sunday that made the race click, helping at the mile 23 water stop.
She's so busy, we communicate only by message machine, and a month ago she left a message she was willing to run the last three miles with me. She was there at the perfect moment. I was so angry, so hot, so frustrated knowing I had no shot to break five hours and vowing never to set foot on this course again.
“You've got me for the rest of your marathon career,” said Shelia, running — instead of walking — for the first time in 15 years. Then she proceeded to yell to the crowd, “This is Geoff, cheer for him.”
Forget the Mount Adams hills. They got all the ink, but the Eastern hill and the one at Red Bank Road at mile 15 snuck up and bit you in the psyche. I had lowered my mile pace from 11:25 to 11:20 and was stalking sub-five hours until I blew up on miles 18 to 23.
But there was Shelia saying, “Great pace, great kick.”
Which is why it's nice to be able to sleep in your own bed and wake up and run a marathon in your hometown. You know the people and they want to help.
Those are the moments you remember. Not all 5 hours, 21 minutes.
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