In March 1993, sitting in the passenger seat of Michelle’s Pontiac Grand Prix, I left my parents house in Connecticut for a job in upstate New York. 

That was the day that I stopped calling Connecticut home.  From that moment on, home was wherever Michelle and I were.  Whether our address was in New York (Syracuse, Kingston, Cohoes, or Schenectady) or Massachusetts  (Randolph or Cotuit), Hartford was the place that we visited my parents, it wasn’t “home.”

That changed yesterday. Running through Bushnell Park, I felt like I was home.  Maybe it’s because I was with friends from Mashpee, or maybe the fall weather put me in a great mood, but as we ran through Hartford and East Hartford, I felt connected.  I felt like I was running in my hometown race, and it felt good.

Each milestone that we ran past brought back memories (well, except for miles 10-12 .. that just sucked).  There wasn’t a pattern to the memories. They were completely random.  From parking across the street from the old Civic Pub (@ least where it used to be) to running past streets that I used to clean from the back of the garbage truck during the summer of 89, I was constantly reminded that Connecticut was my home for 23 years.

As far as the race itself, it was the best time I’ve ever had in an organized race.  Kevin, Colleen and I ran side by side for the first 7 miles.  That first hour (62:53 to be exact) was effortless.  We were laughing and talking.  I was pointing out some of the landmarks from my younger years. I felt like I could have run like that forever.

One of the highlights from the first hour was seeing Aunt Mary @ the water stop on Pitkin Street.  She was working, handing out water to the runners, but took time away to run 200 yards with me.  It was great and completely pumped me up for the next 2 miles of running.

After that, things started to get a little bad.  Around mile 8, I went ahead of Colleen and Kevin.  I wanted to test how it would feel to run alone.  I think that I’ll be doing a lot of solitary running on October 29, and I wanted to see how I could handle it. 

I feel like I failed the test.  Miles 10-12 were through parts of Hartford that I had never been to, and probably couldn’t find again with a map.  I was running at about an 8:45 pace.  I wasn’t tired, but I was getting weary.  I was trying to put myself into a marathon frame of mind.  How would I feel if this was the marathon?  Would I be able to make it?  The answers to those questions were not positive.  I started to get down on myself.  I started to wonder what I was doing and questioned how could I ever hope to finish the full 26.2. 

It didn’t help that this section of the run was through a more industrial part of the city – nothing like the tree-lined, familiar sites of the first 7 miles.  It also didn’t help that a part of the course was a grueling out and back.  Why do races do that?  Run one mile north, turn at the cone and run one mile south …  does anyone like this type of race course?

One highlight to this section – I saw Kevin and Colleen again.  They were about 30 seconds behind me.  I made a note to stop at the next water stop and let them catch up so that we could finish together.  My little experiment of alone time had gone on for long enough and I needed the companionship again. 

Unfortunately, we never hooked back up.  I slowed down through the final mile, and kept on looking over my shoulder, but never saw them.

I crossed the finish line in 1:55:21.  I ran the last 1.1 miles in about 8:40 and felt great.  I didn’t feel “let’s do another 13.1″ great.  I’d call it more of a “I can still see straight and don’t feel like puking on my shoes” great.  After some of my past races, that’s good enough for me.

My plan was to grab a water and wait for Colleen and Kevin to finish so we could get some food.  I almost fell over when I looked up and saw that they had finished ahead of me and were already wrapped in space blankets.

My first thought was they must have gotten picked up by a cab, or took a shortcut through the park.  Nope – they had passed me when I was getting water at mile 12.  They called out to me, but I never heard them.  While I was looking back over my shoulder  for them they were blazing a trail to the finish line.

I felt more than a little foolish.  In my head, I had already worked out my “you guys did great! (but I did better)” speech.  Now, I felt like a slacker.  It was a humbling experience.

That one minor blow to my ego didn’t overshadow what a perfect day it was.  Hartford did a great job putting on this event.  I think I’ll definitely be back next year.  Sadly, I won’t have a place to stay.  Ironically, on the day that I felt at home in Hartford, Mom and Dad are selling their house and moving to Houston.  Looks like I’ll be renting a room at the Marriott next October.