Anxiety is part of life. N'est pas? This week, before my eleventh Falmouth Road Race, my anxiety was more or less off the charts.

With only 27 training runs, ranging from a quarter mile to the momentous 7 mile run a week before the event, I knew I wasn't in peak shape, but hoping that I had 'enough' conditioning to see the event through to the end.

Friday

Driving almost four hours round trip to Falmouth High School the Friday before the race to get bib #9511 gave me plenty of time to think, or should I say 'overthink.'

Generally speaking, overthinking is not my specialty, but on this long trip, it was like I almost had no choice.

Once, on the Cape, I connected with my Phi Sigma Kappa Big Brother, Bill Simpson, and his wife Joan for lunch. (Bill introduced me to my wife many years ago). Connecting with friends you've known for 55 years made an otherwise grueling trip well worth the time.

Saturday

Then the day before the event, I woke up very early to get my body used to the wake-up time I'd need the day of the race and carefully attached my bib and Elijiah's photo to my singlet. If you count the eleven Falmouth Road Races and 2-3 training runs each year, I have worn a singlet only about 30 times and that's about 30 times too many for my body type, but you do what you have to do.

I fell asleep believing that my adjusted strategy of running down hills and walking up hills appeared to be working well enough in training to go through with this.

Pride is an interesting thing, and in many cases, relative. For example, the first time I ran this race, I was proud to finish and stay out of the medical tent.

The fifth time I ran this race, I was proud that I beat an 11-year-old girl and that 4,073 people finished AFTER me.

This week, I was proud that 268 people finished after me. My walking up hills and running down hills strategy was supplemented by running in shade and walking in sun when it was flat.

My pre-race plan was to finish in one hour and forty-five minutes, and although I missed that goal by 47 seconds, I still finished the event.

Aside from the time, the heat, the crowd, and the lack of frozen yogurt bars at the end, believe it or not, this was the most interesting Falmouth I've ever run because of the people. Read on for some detail.

Getting Off the Bus

As I hopped off the bus at Woods Hole, getting ready to sit on the seawall for a couple of hours before the race begins, Doug Goodhile and his wife Amanda found me.

Doug's dad was on the board of the non-profit I formerly led, and Doug did some volunteering of his own for us. He's the President of Edge Benefit Partners.

We chatted for about ten minutes while walking to the start line and caught up on all the details and wished each other well. It was great to see him and Amanda at the event.

As I learned after the race, Doug and Amanda finished with the exact same time. Running 7 miles together might be the definition of true love.

Hiding in the Shade

Shortly after arriving, and after my first porta-potty trip, I connected with Stephanie Franklin, a former Board Chair of the non-profit I led, and she confessed to me that it was my recruiting her to run the Falmouth Road Race that got her started, and that this was her fifth time at the event.

Stephanie is an executive with Vertex, the company that makes Trikafta, THE most recent major treatment for Cystic Fibrosis. Today, she was running for ALS, the second largest non-profit team in the event, along with her husband and other family members. It was great to connect with her and her family at the event.

There is No "I" in Team

At 8:30 some of the members of the Breathe Team gathered for a photo.

Although I don't know anyone on the team, I am proud to stand there with them and represent the hundreds or thousands or hundreds of thousands of those who work hard to make a positive impact for those affected with Cystic Fibrosis.

It was great to be part of such a worthwhile cause at this event.

Posterized

At close to the four-mile mark, I stopped to visit with the Dimond family. Sydnie was an intern and then an employee at the non-profit I led.

Her Mom and Dad always cheer and make me feel like a rock star when I visit their house along the route.

And of course, every year Sydnie has a poster letting everyone know who she's cheering for. It is always great to see her family along the hottest part of the route. It gives me an excuse to stop for a while.

Father and Daughter

At the five-mile mark, I stopped to visit with Bill McCurdy, owner of Premier Ultrasound and his daughter, Ellen Murphy, CEO of Sona.

Bill was a board member of the non-profit I led, and my very first consulting client. Ellen worked with me when I consulted for Sona (then known as Bellybaloo), and like Sydnie, joined the after party at my Boston Marathon event in 2021.

At the end of their driveway, they have a big crowd cheering for me (and invited me back after the race for a beer). Plus, Bill drove me back to my car after the event, saving me a half mile or more of walking.

The Big Hill at the End

On the big hill right before the end of the race, I stopped by the Cystic Fibrosis tent where the staff was encouraging their runners to finish strong.

Tracy Lund, my contact at CF, gave me a much-needed bottle of water.

It is great when the people who work for an organization with a cause, demonstrate a lot of respect for the volunteers for the cause.

A Real Trouper

Of course, throughout the event, I am wearing a photo of Elijiah, a real trouper and a young boy with Cystic Fibrosis.

My strategy for the past four years has been to think of Elijiah when moving up that last big hill to remind me of the battle that those with CF are fighting every day.

I am grateful that Elijiah's mom, Laura Holt an executive with the company that licenses Situational Leadership to me, allows me to run for him.

The Finish Line

Each year, no matter how hard I try, when I cross the finish line, I am crying. I think of all the things that could have (and in some cases 'did') go wrong.

I think about the effort it took, and the consequences of NOT finishing, and I just well up. But in reality, I feel lucky that I was able to do it, and grateful that I was able to stay out of the medical tent as well.

No Frozen Yogurt Bars

Last year, I thought I missed the truck distributing them, but this year, they were again nowhere to be found. The reason I ran this race in the first place was the frozen yogurt bars at the end.

Final Comments

This year, I also shed a few tears while sitting on the seawall waiting for the race to start. I started thinking about how lucky a 74-year-old guy was to be able to do this.

Sure, I wasn't in peak condition. Sure, I hadn't done a lot of training due to my prior injury. Sure, I wasn't going to set a personal best.

But as I looked around at the hundreds of singlets and thousands of runners who were running for a cause, I realized that most of the causes they were running for included thousands or millions of people who couldn't run.

Yeah, I felt very lucky and glad that my persistence would overcome obstacles. I was also grateful to live on the dividing line between brave and stupid for most of my life. And, of course, I was grateful to be able to connect with people in a unique way, even though I was wearing a singlet.