Where we left off:
I sipped the Gatorade. I slouched on the bench staring at the banana in front of me. How am I gonna open it? I set the cup down with both hands. I eyed the banana again. My fingers fumbled and wouldn’t cooperate. Sigh.
I glanced around the gym. A runner hunched on the bench in front of me. Another runner was sitting on the cot his sneakers off and his blisters being examined. That’s funny, I don’t even feel my feet. My brain was occupied by the pins and needles around my mouth and nose, the numbness of my arms, and what felt like bricks for my hands.
Another medical staff came over to check on me.
She came around the table eyeing the banana, “Let me help you.”
She picked it up and started peeling one side.
“My fingers won’t move, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. We’re here to help. Let's get you out of these wet clothes, where are your dry clothes?”
“My crew has them.”
“Okay, I’ll go and get them. Where can I find your crew?”
“At the finish line, wearing bright yellow shirts and hats.”
“Okay, let’s get you to sit on a cot. I’ll be right back with your clothes.”
She helped me up from the bench. My legs were like overcooked spaghetti limp and mushy. My feet ached and throbbed. Ouch, there’s those blisters. Her arm wrapped around my forearm. I trudged over to the cot and sat. She handed the banana to another woman in a red jacket.
“I’ll be right back with your clothes. Nicole will help you.”
Nicole knelt next to me. She took chunks of banana and started to feed me. Tears gathered at the corner of my eyes.
“I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry.” I whispered looking around the gym.
She smiled with concern, “We need to get your potassium up so I’ll help you. It’s okay.”
I chewed the pieces she fed me and drank from the cup of Gatorade she held to my lips. She shared she was a mom and had a toddler at home— “This is nothing.”
I laughed through my tears. My shoulders softened grateful for her kindness, though I still wished Jeff could be here instead.
Before I'd finished the last bite, she was already heading off to get another banana.
“Where are you from?” as she peeled the banana.
“Manlius, New York near Syracuse.”
Her eyes lit up, “Oh, I went to Syracuse University.”
I smiled, “No way. That’s awesome.”
She continued breaking off pieces of banana and placing them in my mouth. I chewed diligently, praying the potassium would hurry up and flood my system. How long would this take? Gratitude for her presence battled with frustration at being stuck on this cot. My friend Felicia would be finishing any minute. I was going to miss it.
Deep breath.
Nicole handed me the last piece as she stood up, “Have you run this race before?”
I shook my head. "It's my first. I’ve run lots of marathons thought.”
“I ran my first marathon for my Dad,” she said quietly, her fingers paused. “He died of cancer.”
The banana turned heavy in my mouth. I met her gaze and forced myself to swallow.
“I'm so sorry about your Dad.”
“Thank you.” she folded the banana peel in half and tossed it in the garbage.
I wanted to hug her. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I shared Jeff’s story and how I dedicated this run to those touched by cancer.
We continued chatting between bites of banana and sips of Gatorade. I was amazed at how many I'd eaten. Thank goodness I liked bananas.
Gradually, the heaviness lifted from my arms, and my fingers regained their flexibility. The strange buzzing in my nose faded, and the tingling on my lips subsided.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“I’m feeling better. I think I can hold the cup.”
She handed me the cup of Gatorade. “Keep drinking, it’s helping. Once your clothes get here I’ll help you change. You’re going to be okay. We won’t leave you until you feel better.”
I was relieved she didn’t hand me another banana. I noticed the pins and needles around my mouth were gone and my arms and fingers were in sync with the rest of my body.
“Thank you so much. I’m sorry you had to feed me.” I laughed. I was so grateful for her care and patience. It took over an hour for my symptoms to improve.
She grinned, “And here are your clothes!”
I looked over my shoulder to see Felicia and my crew with my bag of clothes. Felicia was wearing her medal. I was so happy and disappointed. I missed out on her finish. I hope she understood why I wasn’t out there.
“Congratulations Felicia!” I was so happy to see her. I could tell she wanted to get back to the hotel. I felt the same way.
I grabbed my bag of clothes. Nicole ushered me towards the bathroom holding onto my arm. I shuffled along. My feet stung with each step. My legs wobbled. Oh yeah, I just ran for over 9 hours. What did I expect?
Nicole waited outside the bathroom stall while I changed into dry clothes.
“Thank you for being here and helping me,” I said.
“No problem, Julie. I'm glad you're feeling better,” she replied.
As I pulled on dry socks, I felt a surge of relief. I could move my fingers and arms with ease. I didn’t need anyone to help me dress. I was grateful the Lord placed Nicole in my path. She was exactly who I needed.
Stepping out of the stall with renewed energy - amazing what dry clothes can do - I gave Nicole another heartfelt thanks for her care and company.
Outside, Felicia and I made our way together toward the finish area. The scene that greeted us gave me goose bumps or goose pimples as my friend Rebecca would say— floodlights illuminated the night, crowds cheered enthusiastically as runners crossed the finish line.
The atmosphere was infectious, and despite my limp, my heart soared seeing all the supporters gathered to celebrate each finisher's triumph. After everything, I felt a profound sense of accomplishment being among them.
THE END! (well, for now)
Thank you so much for reading along or listening in! It’s been incredible to share the JFK 50-mile race with you. I would love to know…
What was your favorite part of the JFK 50 miler story? Why?
Have a great weekend and see you on Monday,
Julie
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