Grunenwald Jill - Running with a Police Escort: Tales from the Back of the Pack

Copyright 2017 by Jill A. Grunenwald

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Tom Lau

Cover photo credit: Jill Grunenwald

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-1279-9

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-1280-5

Printed in the United States of America

To Ben.
Life is a marathon and Im so happy I get to run it with you.

CONTENTS

AUTHORS NOTE

M emoirs are works of nonfiction and I have tried to make this story as true and honest as I can, often relying on blog posts I wrote at the time of events to assist in jogging my memory (pun intended). In some instances, timelines have been compressed and characters combined. Dialogue has been recreated to the best of my knowledge.

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up.

It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed.

Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up.

It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death.

It doesnt matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle:

When the sun comes up, youd better be running.

African Proverb

I dont care for the damage thats been done,

but I dont mind the woman Ive become.

Who is this woman Ive become?

Maura Rogers & The Bellows,

This Woman

INTRODUCTION

T he decision to wear a one-piece Batman bodysuit to the race seemed like a brilliant idea until the moment I had to pee.

Ive always had a strange affinity for Batman. Well, not so much Batman as Batgirl. As far as comic books and graphic novels go, my knowledge is limited and mostly gained through the osmosis of dating fellow self-identified geeks. But Batgirl, under her Barbara Gordon alias, worked as a librarian, like me.

I had entered the Running the Bridges Race with zero expectations. Id really only registered because it was being hosted by Harness Cycle, the indoor cycling studio up the street from my apartment. Ever since they opened in the fall of 2013, Id been a regular fixture in the early morning spin classes and had made a visit there a weekly part of my training when I ran my second half marathon back in the spring of 2014, a half marathon that ended with me walking the final third of the race because of a tweaked ankle.

That was May. It was now October and my relationship with running had been on a break the past six months. Id wake up and see my neglected New Balance shoes eyeing me mournfully from the closet, and Id assure them that I was just having trouble sleeping and this was just a case of insomnia, only to then sneak out and go to spinning or yoga instead of going for a run. After, Id come home and theyd still be sitting in the exact same spot, tongues wagging in admonishment, and Id promise them that Id never, ever do it again; until, of course, I did it again.

Eventually like any amateur cheater, the guilt got to me, so when Harness Cycle announced they were hosting the 3.5-mile road race, Running the Bridges, I immediately signed up.

My hometown of Cleveland is a city of bridges, a veritable Venice of the Midwest. It is a city divided by the grand Cuyahoga River, which bends and breaks its way through the downtown district, creating fierce lines of loyalty depending on which side of the river you call home. The Running the Bridges course started at the studio and took runners over several of these bridges, from the fierce Veterans Memorial to the stoic Lorain-Carnegie, looping back to the studio, which is located in the Ohio City neighborhood.

It was at the start, standing in the stall of the on-site bathroom, that I realized the fatal flaw in my decision to dress in costume. It wasnt just that I had to unpin my bib to pee, it was that I had to unpin and then zip and strip in order to pee. I was basically wearing the adult version of footie pajamasnot a garment meant for a serious runner to wear to a race. I mean, there was a fucking cape attached, okay? And this was certainly not a garment designed to be worn by a runner as well-endowed as myself. The cheap zipper, which ended up completely breaking about a month later, kept creeping lower and lower as I ran, which meant I spent half the race tugging it back up, lest I flash the entire security team along the route.

With apologies to Billy Idol, and comparisons to Janet Jackson aside, it was a nice day for a wardrobe malfunction.

So there I was: running in a race I wasnt entirely sure I wanted to run, dressed as a caped crusader, in a costume that was constantly on the verge of unleashing my own personal superpowers with each bounced step.

At the course marker for Mile One, my friend Gina stood with a stopwatch, calling out numbers to let us runners know what our time was. She waved as I passed and I took the opportunity to sneak a peek over my shoulder. Call it silly and maybe even a little bit petty, but as a slower runner I always like to gauge where I am in relation to the rest of the pack. This race, however, the only thing back there was the police escort car as it slowly crawled behind me.

Oh, look. I was in last place.

Cleveland is a city that likes to sleep in. Especially on the weekends and especially in the fall and winter when the cold wind snaps at our windows, leaving us cozy and cocooned beneath the warm blankets on our beds.

This meant that for the next two and a half miles I had the entire city to myself, save for the police officers who stood along the sidewalks like centurions guiding me home.

If you ever want to feel like a superhero, I mean really feel like a superhero, figure out a way to shut down an entire city street and just run your little heart out with Gothams finest standing guard. Bonus points if you dressed for the occasion, and its a windy day, and you actually get some height on that cape.

It was during this moment of nirvana that I happened to see one of the policemen on the street gesture to get my attention and point to the car following me. I pulled out my earbuds and from the sidewalk he called out with a supportive smile, You must be a very important person to have a police escort!

With a grin, I popped my earbuds back in, gave him a thumbs-up, and continued on my way.

Around Mile Three, with only half a mile left until the finish line, I turned a corner and spotted Gina on a bicycle heading back towards the finish line, her volunteering done. Because this was my first real run in months, I found myself needing to walk more than usual, especially towards the end. When she saw me, Gina hopped off her bike and asked if she could walk with me.