The Turkey Trot

  Yeah. So, about a year ago, my wife tells me that she wants to run in the Turkey Trot this year. I was a little surprised to be truthful. My mouth was saying something like ‘Well, okay if that’s what you want to do’. But my mind was really thinking: ‘Why would anyone…? Are you kidding me…? What the hell is that about?!’

  For anyone unfamiliar with it, the Turkey Trot is a footrace that is held early on Thanksgiving Day. It is usually to raise money for some worthy cause like curing cancer or feeding the hungry. While I wouldn’t argue with that, the practical side of my mind wonders why we don’t simply donate the money and stay in bed on our day off. In my defense, I am naturally a night owl and get a second wind at 9:00 PM. Rising at 5:30 AM would never cross my mind unless our house was on fire. And even then it falls between maybe and probably.

  However, being a devoted husband, I found myself driving the 25 miles to the high school stadium where the “trot” was being held. I went with the understanding that I was purely support staff and nothing more. I would hold on to the sweater, encourage and meet up at the finish line.

  We arrived before the sun was fully up, and I was astounded to have to search for a parking space. The stadium was packed as though it was a NFL game during the playoffs. I was taken aback. Way aback. The streets were cordoned off for the race, and the sidewalks were jammed with trotters walking from their cars from every direction. Although it was a National holiday and businesses were closed, there was a sea of people. Older people, little kids, dogs on leashes, strollers and runners with furry turkeys on their heads. The atmosphere was alive and buzzing. Though I tried to remain an uninvolved observer, (since I felt that the interest would pass after she did it once) it was difficult not to get drawn in to the electric excitement.

  While my wife was running alone, I was milling around, fearing I might miss the parade on TV, or get the bird in the oven too late, something happened.

  I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but I suddenly knew that I was going to run in the race next year. Yes. There was too much fun, life and challenges going on without me. There were pictures being taken at the finish line, high fives, hugs and back slaps that made me feel like a real weinie for being satisfied with holding someone else’s personal effects. I was the bystander observing real life from the bench. No, this would not do.

  Well, nearly a year has passed since the turkey trot, and again my dear wife brings up the date, the registration and questions about me really participating. I marvel that the earth has actually revolved around the sun in what seems to be the length of time it takes to watch a bad movie.

  Should I have kept quiet? Did I speak up on a silly whim, and should I back out now?

  No, I registered and would follow through. I must admit that I had a few fearful visions in my head. One was of young, fit runners glancing nervously at a paunchy, mid lifer getting oxygen on a stretcher. Another was of an empty stadium, and a few officials being annoyed that they almost missed Thanksgiving because they had to wait for the last straggler to come through, which would be me.

  But alas, I did just fine. Not only did I make it, but I had a blast. There were amateur bands playing in driveways along the way, and encouraging people waving, wishing well and offering drinks of water. I ran until I gave out, caught my breath and ran some more. I count myself among thousands of others now. I am a runner. I am anxious for next year. I am angry at myself for dismissing it so quickly. But I am also fearful. What if there are other wonderful, fulfilling things that I have refused to consider? What else has been written off as something that’s not for me, that needs to be placed in the ‘Under Consideration’ box once again?