Yesterday morning I found myself in front of a little outdoor garden sitting area -- four benches in a small circle by the beach overlooking Vineyard Sound. Bricks, many with names and acknowledgements line the floor and the area is enclosed by beach plums. In the center there's a boulder engraved with depictions of a lighthouse, a male and female runner, and a wheelchair athlete and the words “Falmouth Road Race est. 1973 - Finish Line Garden”.
I don't think the garden was there when I ran the Falmouth Road Race a few times several years after it was established. Standing there the memories of finishing -- especially the merciful downhill toward the finish -- made me smile thankfully.
And I remember the practice run that I took the day after the race when I saw a group of runners ahead of me and was determined to catch up with them. Little did I know that it was a group of world-class runners, led by Bill Rodgers. Perhaps a competitive urge helped me move in on the pack. To his day, I marvel at what allowed me to stay with the group for several miles. I still believe that it was some supernatural power that possessed me. Never before and, sadly, never again did I experience the ease of running as I did for those few miles. And the company was amazing.
So there I was, back in Falmouth. As I walked away from the garden I pondered what has changed since I crossed that finish line.