On Saturday, November 3, 2007, the lines got blurry. The line between ecstasy and tragedy, between fit and feeble, between alive and dead. When Ryan Shay, age 28, Olympic marathon hopeful, died five miles into the US marathon trials race, the lines blurred.
The day began well in New York City, with a strong field contending for the three places on the US Olympic marathon team. The NBC Today show missed the start of the race while they were doing weather, but the racers sped away, and media coverage switched to the commercial-free Internet. With a new laptop in the house, I moved to the sofa to enjoy the simple pleasure of a great race.
The pace was slow as the field passed the first few miles, reminiscent of the parade-type start of cycling events like the Tour de France. Shay was in the front pack, and had undoubtedly run thousands of miles at that pace or faster. Why did his heart fail him this time, after powering him forward so many times? The initial autopsy was inconclusive, so we’re left to wonder, and to grieve.
The race ended with the selection of an impressive US Olympic marathon team: Ryan Hall (2:09:02) set a marathon trials record, Dathan Ritzenhein (2:11:07) ran strongly in second, and Brian Sell (2:11:40) willed his way to the third and final spot. The alternate spots were filled by Khalid Khannouchi (2:12:34), US record holder, and Jason Lehmkuhle (2:12:54), the Team USA Minnesota runner who ran a personal best by over three minutes. As the online coverage was ending, there was mention of Shay being taken away in an ambulance, but no real sense of what had happened.
When the athletes were notified of Shays death, their joy quickly turned to sorrow. Not only was Shay a fellow competitor, he was connected in deeper ways to many in the field. Hall’s wife was in Shay’s recent wedding. Ritzenhein and Sell shared Michigan roots with Shay. Even Minnesotan Lehmkuhle had trained with Shay during a winter stint in Arizona.
I learned what happened to Shay when I was on a run/errand later that afternoon and received a call with the news. I was shocked.
The next day the New York City Marathon proceeded as usual, honoring both the victors and the fallen from the day before. Back in Minnesota, another group of runners gathered to honor Rocky Racette at the annual Rocky’s Run at the University of Minnesota Golf Course. Racette, a promising young runner from the University of Minnesota died in a car accident in 1981 at age 22. In her short time in the running community she too forged a web of connections. The race has been held every year since 1981 in her honor, and had a record turnout of nearly 400 this year.
On a sunny day with plenty of green grass in front of them, the gathered crowd paused to remember both Rocky and Ryan. On this day of blurred lines, runners sought out their community. They gathered to reflect and to run.
As I joined the gathering and ran my race, I was thankful that I was part of this community. When the lines are blurred, and things don’t make sense, there is something soothing about running. The breathing, the repetitive motion. There is something special about sharing that with others.
You don’t think of dying at age 22 or 28. Your life should be just starting, with many discoveries and challenges ahead. Sometimes the lines get blurred, and we are left with only questions and not answers. Those are times for gathering and sharing, and remembering. And then, somehow we move on.
On a cross country course the lines are painted for you. Your job is to follow them. In life, it’s not so easy, of course. The lines are there, but they are harder to find.
Remember Ryan and Rocky. Keep moving forward, and building your own community. In time you’ll notice that the lines will become less blurry.
I’m going out for a run.
Chris Fuller is a certifed ChiRunning instructor and race director for The Sporting Life events. Subscribe to this blog by scrolling to the bottom and using the subscribe link.
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