Liz: Unflinching Kindness
Liz is a reporter and a runner with the Pasadena Pacers. She ran the Pasadena Half Marathon alongside 3000+ SRLA runners this past January. At the run Liz had an experience with an SRLA runner that changed her perspective on kindness…
First person non-fiction narratives make me uncomfortable. I’m a journalist. I’m the paintbrush, not the sunset. But, in January, when a teenaged girl slid her arm through mine and lifted up my left side to help me get across the finish line of the Pasadena half marathon, I realized I had a story about me worth telling.
People get religious about running. Stamina, perseverance, self-reflection, moral lessons, kindness, self-improvement, appreciation for nature, including one’s own body is all the stuff of running clubs. The half taught me yet another gem: To graciously accept a favor from someone and yet know I’ll never be able to repay in kind. That kind of thing used to make me uncomfortable also. You pay me a compliment, I pay you one. You host a dinner, expect an invitation to my table in a few weeks. But, fighting to always feel in the black on kindness means never being weak, never needing, and that’s not possible. I’ve got the young woman that held me up to thank for sinking in that truth.
I moved to Pasadena last summer. After 25 years in New York and two decades in Massachusetts, the sunshine and dry air motivated me to exercise more outside. I joined the Pasadena Pacers running group and launched into the 10-mile challenge. I ran the Rose Bowl loop nearly every day, and took the long runs on Saturdays. Once I got to 10 miles, I was strong and fit, ready to take on the half marathon and decided to push to do the L.A. Marathon on March 8.
Everything went to pot at Christmas. I got a respiratory infection on the way to a ski trip in Colorado. My illness was exacerbated by altitude sickness, and it reappeared a week later in January having blossomed into viral pneumonia. I have asthma. This isn’t good.
I tried to run 18 miles the moment my body wasn’t in stay-in-bed mode. It was too soon. My left knee started aching and searing with pain at mile 16. I tried shorter runs. The illness was not abating. My left knee was hurting, and I coughed up half a lung every time I got up to speed. I did the race anyway. I took the weekdays before resting and started out for the half marathon Sunday, January 19 having overslept, nearly missing the call time.
Mile 10. My left side was aching most acutely around my knee (I later learned it wasn’t my knee, but IT band syndrome from overuse and overtraining while sick), but numbness and stinging permeated up into my hip. Down Seco into the Rose Bowl loop I jogged, gingerly rushing through every left footfall. My 11-minute-mile coach Keith ran past me, patting me on the back with a “You’re almost there. You got this.” Seeing him and hearing his encouragement got me around the top of the loop past most of the golf course. I was pushing through pain, which every coach tells you not to do. The finish, inside the famous stadium was around one last bend.
I was hobbling. Every step felt like a stabbing. I held up my left quad muscle with my left hand to keep going. I stopped and heaved a sobbing cry just .3 miles from the finish line. I didn’t know if I could even walk it. I was devastated. This was my goal. I’d come out West with no job, no friends, no plan. The Saturday runs became my joyful ritual, as I got to know my new surroundings on foot. The achievements were my drug, but one with healthy rewards that bled into my sometimes lonely weeks. I could not believe this. It wasn’t even the full marathon.
It was close to the finish, so people cheered me, “You can do it.” “You got this.” “It’s just up ahead.”
Liz (left) crossing the finish line at the Pasadena Half with an SRLA Student.
“I can’t,” I cried out to the random strangers.
As I shouted that I can’t do it, a young woman ran past me looking back to glance at the heaping mess she just passed. She didn’t hesitate for a moment, ran to me, said, “Which side is hurting?”
“It’s my left knee,” I said. “I’m in so much pain.”
“Come on, you’re finishing this,” she said as she lifted me up on the left side. We jogged arm in arm to into the stadium to people cheering for us and the others. As we ran, I thanked her over and over, said she was an angel and that she was so wonderful to help me. Her T shirt read, “Students Run L.A.” She was quiet and modest and said, “You should definitely get an ice cream cone after this.” I promised her I would.
After we crossed the finish line, we hugged. She ran off to be with her friends. That was it. No further fanfare. I was weak and in need, and she gave me more than a boost. She showed me a rare, unflinching spirit of giving and kindness, the kind of generosity that can seem to be disappearing if you just read the news. I can attest, however, that it is alive and well among the young runners of L.A.
You can support the next generation of runners by giving at SRLA.org/donate.