Daddy Issues

When I convinced myself to start this blog, it was based on the idea that you can go for a run in any conditions and under any circumstances knowing full well that certain extremes would and should cause you to stay in. Electrical storms, hurricanes, blizzards, blazing heat, etc.. I won’t list the silliness I’ve gone out in and am well aware that people have gone out in way worse. These are just the environmental factors, however.

Physical issues are a whole other ball game. The repetitive motion of running lends itself to injury sometimes no matter how well you prepare. Perhaps the terrain gets to you. Trail running is usually better on your bones but not if you’re tripping on roots. The sidewalks aren’t always a picnic, either. Just more stuff to factor in as you lace up those shoes… unless you go barefoot or wear those flip-flops. Sometimes you shouldn’t try to run through an injury.

Emotional issues? Well, welcome to today’s topic.

Last Saturday was the Uberendurance Dirty German Fest offering a 25k, 50k and 50 mile distances. My twisted friend Maggie twisted my arm to run this for the first time almost 8 years ago. One of my first trail races and I’ve gone back every year since…aside from the blip that was 2020… and was really looking forward to getting out there for the 50 miler.

2 months prior had run a 65 miler from Philly to the Atlantic Ocean with Eric “The Dharma Runner” Wilden and felt healthy and strong other than missing some time after the vaccination shots.

Late afternoon the Sunday prior as I’m getting out of the shower, I see a missed call from my brother. I call right back and he tells me our father had passed away.

There’s a meme that needs to be shared here…

I can say that my “Fuck this Shit” quota had already been over flowing as of late. Life can throw a lot at you and we all have our own thresholds and tolerances. I have had more than my share of curveballs thrown my way but leading up to the race last weekend, it was the entire opposing team on the mound all throwing curveballs at the same time. Except for that one bastard who drilled me in the ribs with a fastball.

The weather forecast called for rain possibly all weekend. The night before it was a total downpour but by the time the alarm went off, the rain had passed through. I get there and am lucky enough to park with time to get to the start. Because of Covid restrictions, the start was in waves of 20 runners per. I was in the 3rd grouping. Off we go.

I love this course. The trails were muddy with some big puddles here and there but that just makes it fun. There are a few water crossings that will clean off your shoes. A few miles in, I’m running with a pack of 3-4 runners and as per usual, conversations strike up. I’m gabbing away with Adam who drove down from Brooklyn with a couple of car loads from their training group. We join in with an Army vet from Virginia who drove up with a bunch of his friends. At the 2nd aid station, I bump into my friend Jasmine and we share some miles. We’re all moving along well and having a blast in what is the usual magic of a trail race.

I was completely transported from all concerns and just focused on the steps in front.

Until I wasn’t.

At some point, all that was good was no longer helping. I think things we were talking about all started creeping in and reminding me that I wasn’t OK. I had yet to really start digesting everything especially after the day before’s conversations about what to do with my father’s remains once they get shipped back to the states and how to go about his final wishes, which are to have those ashes scattered in Minnesota. I think I convinced myself to take them there.

To be clear, we were not close these last 40 years really. He was not a good dad. He was not a good husband to my mom but she did her best and kept a roof over our heads and kept us fed. I watched him be everyone else’s best friend and have essentially grown up with wondering why I wasn’t worth my father’s love. All of the therapists and shrinks in the world are never going to get me to realize more that it was not my fault and that I am worth that love but it will never erase the fact that I didn’t get it. Nor did my brothers or my half-brother and I can’t speak for any step siblings or half siblings beyond that.

The memories aren’t all bad but if I am being honest with myself, I have to keep different versions of those memories. Telling the story of how on Thanksgiving night in 1977 he packs the family up and takes us the Spectrum in Philly to see Queen play live sounds amazing, right? Hey, I’ll never forget being a little kid and seeing one of the greatest rock bands ever in their prime. The real version is, he was a selfish man who wanted to go but had this family thing to deal with so he abruptly ends dinner and tells us all that we’re going to the show. Loads my mom, little brother and I in the car and I remember a shady transaction with a ticket scalper but we make it in and I stand on my seat the rest of the night in awe but my mom is freaked out and my 3 year old brother falls asleep in her arms. But we got see Queen.

Along the lines of A Boy Named Sue, this all made me who I am. Unlike the story in the song, there never was the big face to face show down with any reconciliation afterwards. He was never wrong and once you weren’t with him, you were always against him. I know he loved me. He was just too much of a coward to tell me. I’m going to have to be OK with that.

The last time I saw him was with my 2 brothers about 14 years ago on my brother’s patio. As awkward as the whole thing was, the conversation turned to me running marathons. My father was known as a boxing and wrestling promoter but before that was managing bands, including an Elvis tribute band that took us all over the country in the late 70’s and early 80’s. Before all of that, he actually was a good athlete and was a varsity track star… in full disclosure, he was a star at everything he did… So instead of asking me about marathon running, he tells me that running that far for someone his size, he was 5’6″ and I’m 5’11”, would be way more difficult. Marathons are easier for someone my height because I wouldn’t have to take as many steps as someone shorter. The comment in my head that never leaves my mouth was about how most marathon winners were also the starting center on their high school’s basketball team. Naturally.

It turns out with the “Go Run In This” approach to running, that another obstacle to factor in would be grief. The Dirty German 50 miler is 3 loops and as I reached the end of the first loop and feeling physically fine, my heart was not in it. I started running the 2nd loop but didn’t want to continue. The push from certain trauma wasn’t there. The inspiration to do it for a greater purpose was no where within me. I was done. 16+ miles was it. I go to the table where the timers were to let them know I took off and wasn’t lost in the woods. I saw Jasmine prepping for her second lap and finally admit what was going on and as the words escaped my lips, was the first time my voice cracked and I got emotional about it. I wished her well and went to my car.

Later that night and the following days, friends were reaching out to see what happened and where I was and I have yet to answer any of them and for that I feel bad and do apologize. I managed a few miles a couple of days ago and a few more yesterday as a car goes by blaring “Papa was a Rolling Stone” because… of course it would.

Running has been a release for me in the past. My passion for it is not there at all right now but I’ll get it back. Whether it is 100 meters or 100 miles, if your heart isn’t there you are not going to perform the way you should. I put the pedal down to see what was in the tank on my last mile yesterday and it reminded me that if I want to do this stuff, I still can. I have a few races on the calendar, including my 5th Boston Marathon this fall, a birthday next week and the sun is staying out longer and the weather has been fantastic. The spark will come back. I mentioned those curveballs and the fastball to the ribs. I am always going to step to the plate for the next at bat.

Seeing too many friends lose their dads and the impact it had. It’s different for all of us no matter the circumstances. They miss what they had and I will miss what I never had now knowing I never will get to have it. What I am most proud of is seeing my brothers and the amazing fathers they have become. My nieces and nephews are lucky to have them and I love them all. I need to keep telling them that more.

I will toe a starting line again. I’ll put in the work to get faster and go farther. I am not done yet. As the name of the blog states…

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Should anyone care to read more or even watch videos, a very nice tribute has been put online and I will share it here… https://slamwrestling.net/index.php/2021/05/02/music-boxing-wrestling-promoter-rob-russen-dies/

Take care of you and yours and remember to be safe, be kind and be well.