David Hardt At Fort Lewis

Business meeting

By David Hardt

I started running when I was 13. My goal was to always show up at the starting line prepared and confident. After competing in several school races, some resulting in failure and some in success, I found myself wondering if I could ever actually win a race and have all of the hard, long hours of training pay off. Yes, I was a weird kid; I spent time chasing a dream instead of girls. As I progressed in my running, I made my way into high school running competitions.
I still remember what my coach told me as a young impressionable freshman as we sat on the grass and stretched before our cross-country training.

“Men, the bigger the prize in the race, the more competitors you will face who will focus on kicking your a**. When everyone who lines up on the starting line is gunning to win, the fact that you must understand is it will be harder to lose. The biggest difference between a winner and loser is a loser is an individual who has great training performance but fails to live up to the event when it arrives. The winner is the individual whose performance under the pressure is greater than you would expect from his training. Men, you will learn in the life of running that you will have setbacks, but it’s what you do when you face the setbacks that will make you cross that finish line first, knowing that you worked harder than the guy next to you. A winner is an individual who is not overawed by the opposition but lives to rise to the challenge every day, every minute, and when he least expects it.”

I wrote down those words on a paper many years ago, and over the years I have often glanced at the wrinkled, sweat and dirt stained paper and found myself invigorated with competitive passion over and over.

While in Iraq, I conducted my training in the harsh heat and the darkness of the night. Late one night as I trained I remember thinking, “Man, I wonder how it feels to be that guy who is leading the pack in a real race, seeing no one in front of you except for the route vehicle.” Months later I would find myself with the chance to do just that on a mildly cold day in Washington at the third annual Run/Walk 4 The Poor Trail ½ Marathon Benefit Challenge in Lakewood at Fort Steilacoom Park.

Before any race, my favorite part is the carbohydrate loading portion. Carbohydrate (car·bo·hy·drat) — An organic compound derived from carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen that is an important source of food and energy for humans and animals. Sugar, starch, and cellulose are carbohydrates. Any food containing carbohydrates, for example, bread, pasta, or potatoes.
After getting my grub on and getting properly hydrated with some good tasting Accelerade advance sport beverage (I am being sarcastic; it's barely stomachable), I did some stretching. Then I spent some time relaxing and watching movies, trying to keep my mind off the run. For some people, getting ready for a race is no big deal, but for me it’s like getting ready for the biggest business interview of my life. It doesn’t matter how big the race is; it’s just the way I have been programmed over the years. The question I get often from my associates is “How is running for two hours or better yet four hours fun?” My favorite reply, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

As the night wound down, I took one last glance at my running log. My half marathon training times were in bold print so they were easy to identify. I found my best time and then looked at the difficulty of the run. Armed with this information, I registered in my mind a goal for the upcoming race. I closed the book and headed to bed. There was nothing more I could do but rest and relax.

6:30 a.m. Sept. 29, 2007
I awoke to my dog, Grace, licking my face. Since I’ve been back, she has not missed one day of waking me up at the same time. I rolled out of bed and did the whole hygiene thing. I jumped into my running gear and then grabbed my honey, peanut butter bagel and my Accelerade and made my way to the door, but not before giving Grace a big hug and kiss. I walked out the door and made my way to the business meeting, confident and more ready than ever.
I arrived at the site early and immediately started my prerace stretching and warm-ups. The weather wasn’t too bad compared to what Washington delivers on a daily basis. After some time, the other competitors started showing up. It’s normal to look around and find your possible competition. I spotted three young guys standing over in the corner by the big red barn. I made my way over to them. I jumped into the conversation, and we started the normal running shoptalk. Runners have a weird way of talking. It’s similar to Army talk with all of the acronyms and stories of races and accomplishments and mistakes. Being in Iraq and training and not running a race in some time left me talking only about my training and what worked for me. We ended the conversation with this. “Well, I don’t know who’s going to lead us in the race, but I hope they have a good pace.” Everyone concurred, and then we all started to look around searching for the guy who possibly would be leading this race. In this situation, the person who would lead would be the least expected.

The race director, Kirkland K. Quinn from the Washington state trail running walking and duathlon club, brought everyone in and gave a short brief of the course and what to expect while on the run. I had a general idea of what to expect, because the day before I did a recon of the site (yes, I said recon). I knew there were going to be some killer hills, hence the saying on the race shirt “I survived the die hard hill” with two smiley faces on the outside of the quote, and then some nice down hills and then some good straightaways. After the brief, we made our way to the starting line. A nervous silence came over the runners. I could hear the beeping of watches as the runners prepared their watches. I had my iPod+plus ready to go. It tracks how far you go, and a lady with a warm, comforting voice tells you your pace, distance and how far you have left to go. If you calibrate it well, it works awesome, and in this event it worked like a charm.

9 a.m. — The gun goes off.
Like all races, everyone starts together as they make their way out of the shoot, but within 40 seconds you find out who’s leading and where you will fall into place in the race — until you make your move, that is.
I started to move through the traffic and found myself quickly in third place behind a young lady and an older gentleman who was now about 800 meters in the distance, separating himself quickly from the group. I found my target and locked in. I made my way, passed the young lady, and there I would be in second for what seemed like forever. But like any good race and like in any sport, things can change in a heartbeat. It’s just that when the time comes for the change you have to be there. I started to find my rhythm, and my pace picked up. My eyes were focused on the runner in front of me. I thought, “If I can see him, I can catch him.” It’s not always true, because speed is deceiving from a distance. We hit our first hill, which immediately let me make up some time. The hill was so steep that putting my foot in front of me and keeping in a flow took every ounce of discipline in me. I looked up, and there he was. I could hear him breathing. I knew right there I was in it.

With every hill there’s a downhill, and I suck at downhills. So as soon as I caught him, he was gone again in front of me. “S***.” Mile 4 came, and there wasn’t much change. He was leading, and I was following. There is a certain time during a race that you start to get a solid plan together that may help you catch up. For example, doing interval speed work as well as doing half hard pace run and a lot of other things. I knew I could get him on the hills, so if I delayed enough energy till that point I could make my move. And I did.

Mile 7: The hills were vicious and could hit you hard if you didn’t have the legs to push. Carrying all that gear while in Iraq made my legs strong, and I knew my legs could get the job done. It was at mile 8-9 that I started strategies. The hills wound all over the place, getting steeper and steeper and more challenging. When he was down in the valley, I was on the peak coming over. It was when we hit mile 9 and the hill was almost vertical that I made my push. My legs started moving, and my heart rate picked up, but my breathing was still good. I was warm, but I wasn’t really tired. I was 5 meters away from him, and it was time. I made my way to the side of the trail and passed him. I glanced over just to see whom I had been chasing for the last nine miles. Just like I thought — an older man in his 50s, healthy as an ox and kicking my young a** all over the course. But that was about to change. The moment many regular old runners dream about was about to happen — leading a race.

I made my move up the hill and then did the loop around and came back. As I came back, he just peaked the hill. I knew that I had to get down the hill in a hurry (again, I suck at downhills), because I knew that’s where he would catch up. And like I figured, he did. We were side by side for the second time, but this time it was a race. For a moment I thought about talking to him to see how he was doing, but I thought that might come off as weak or not focused on the job at hand. I decided to fall in behind him. I have learned in my years of running that when the wind starts to blow the best thing to block it is the person in front of you, so I took that strategy. We made our way to mile 10 and the hill that would break the race open. I saw the hill and the water tower, and I got excited. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I made my move. I swiftly passed him on his left. As I hit the corner, I heard a crispy, tired, out of breath voice say, “You got me on the hills, young man.” He talked; I think he knew what I was doing. I turned back quickly and responded. “Come on man, you got it.” I didn’t want to make the race an emotional, connected race, because when you do that sometimes you sacrifice all of the hard work and strategies you have been working on. Also you start to get that “I want to help out” mentality. I know that sounds mean, but like I said before, it’s all business when I am out there. That’s not to say I am a rude runner and don’t talk to anyone. But if I am as close to the prize as this, everything and anything is driving me forward. OK, so you may want to ask the question: “If the competitor behind you fell and hurt himself would you go back?” That changes the whole race and the competitiveness. Yes, I would go back. Winning or doing well is rewarding, but I will never leave anyone hurt behind. I have a conscience in that category.

Mile 12: It happened. But it took a lot of planning and right moves to get it done. I was leading, and there was no one in front of me. It was weird, like just running a normal run. But my mind was so wrapped around what I was doing — my breathing, my gait — I couldn’t really enjoy the moment. The concentration of being in the front is utterly amazing, and if you’re not used to it or you don’t have a good, strong mind, you can find yourself looking behind you every second. I believe that I have been blessed with a strong mental running brain, but like I said before, I have never been in the front of a race of this magnitude. Now, if you want to break it down and say the elite Kenyan runners didn’t show up, making this all possible for me, that’s cool, but hey, whatever.

I came down the hill, and I could feel my quads getting tight, but they still had push. The sign read “last mile turn right.” The thing was the sign was tilted in a way that gave you two choices. I slowed down, looked both ways and then made my decision. It was the right one, thank God. As I made my way onto the last loop around the lake, I looked back, and with that little pause the older man caught up to me. “Oh great, it’s going to be one of those races — right down to the end.” I think this is where I blanked out and started running like a lion was chasing me. As I headed around the lake, the wind hit my face, but I was unfazed, and I kept running. I saw the lady pointing at the corner which way to go. I suddenly realized that it was almost over. I almost got emotional, but there was no point. I had to finish strong. I hit the corner, and I saw the crowd at the finish line. They were clapping. I picked up the pace and then slowed down a little. I glanced over my back and saw no one in sight. I glided in over the finish line and then slowly came to a stop. I asked the lady, “That’s it, right?” She cocked her head “Oh, now you have to go around the lake one more time.” I looked at her and my jaw dropped. I got a sick feeling in my stomach. I replied, “Are you serious?” She smiled and laughed, “No, you won.” I looked down at the ground, shook my head and said, “You can’t say things like that after a long run like that.” I was being serious, but she thought I was joking. Just to be a good guy, I laughed and made my way to my bag and got my sweats on and started my cool down.

I noticed that the field of runners I was going against was nowhere in sight, especially the older guy I was going against. After about two minutes or less, the guy who had made me push hard came in. The business meeting was over, so I went to talk to the guy. We talked about the hills and all the changes at the end. He said he knew what I was up to, and he wondered why I didn’t just attack and get it over with. I told him that I knew he was an experienced runner and that he could find a way to break me off if I wasn’t careful. He respected that, and we shook hands. As I walked away, he laughed and said in a semi-serious voice, “I will get you in Portland or at the next local race.” I turned around and smiled. “Sounds like a challenge; bring it.” I walked away thinking, “Oh man, what can of worms did I just open?”

After everyone came in, the award ceremony started. I was presented the overall race medal, which was a cool diamondlike rock with the name of the race and the place on the back. After the ceremony was over, I walked over to my bag and started to get ready. Before I left the site, some friendly people came up to shake my hand and say thank you. I found out that it had spread that I was in the Army and had just gotten back Iraq and that I write for The Ranger. I thought it was weird, because I didn’t tell anyone. One of the ladies who was in the run had followed my writing while I was in Iraq, and she recognized me from the picture in the paper. I learned something really important that day, not just about winning and doing all the stuff to make it happen, but that there are people out there who take time to read and follow what’s going on over there. To me that was the biggest reward ever. I am a humble guy, but for once since being back, I was proud to have committed myself to writing and sharing my life with souls I am finally getting to meet.

Back to the real world and the integration process. This process has gotten better, and I am adjusting every day. This run and this accomplishment provoked something in me that again has nicely changed things in my life. As I jumped in my jeep, I took out the paper I had written in high school. I looked at it and smiled. After almost 16 years, that speech had come true. I was a winner. I brought what I had done in training to the business meeting. I will continue to train and keep my focus because I know that on Nov. 25, 2007, I will step to the line in the Seattle Marathon with a thought of the men who couldn’t finish. That is going to be a run to remember.

David B. Hardt
(*The writer)

Comments

[Janice]

Dave you are our winner I can't wait to see you Oh how I wish I could be there for you race on the 25th of November. You are my Son and I could'nt be more proud of you. Keep writing you have really shown what should be important to all of us . Thank You Your MOM

[Kat]

David,
I have no words to express how I feel reading your latest post. I am so HAPPY for you that you won your race. I have followed your writings the entire time you were gone, you served with my brother and through you I was able to follow him. You have the gift of words, a true Bard. Thank you so much for being so open and sharing who you are.

Ok now I need a box of tissue because I am crying! Much love to you. Welcome Home!

Kat

[D Modisette]

I am so glad to hear you won your race. You've been winning races to me for the last year and a half. Just know there are those, who you may never see, but are cheering you on.

Enjoy your time at home. My guy stayed back to pack the stuff and we await his return soon.

God Bless.

[Cathy B]

David 'the writer',
Congratulations on the race! So good to see your post! Think I joined in with Kat, a few tissues were necessary. Sounds like transitioning is moving along and we are so happy for you.
Cathy B and family