A few weeks ago as made my way past North Park Elementary school, where Dylan went to grade school, I started having stomach cramps. I was four miles into what I hoping would be an 8 plus mile run. I pushed through it, and between mile 5 and 6, I found myself near Rio Norte Junior High school where Dylan went for 7th and 8th grade. Stomach pains, more than likely due to dehydration than what I ate for dinner the night before, were still hindering me. Nonetheless, I kept on and was reminded of that short period of time that is junior high.
The school was big on physical fitness. Dylan had a program he was supposed to follow. It included aerobic and resistance routines. He used my weights and followed the program for most of the time he was supposed to. Dylan and I would do the aerobic portion together. We would ride our bikes for a few miles. Maybe five or six. I am pretty sure that we rode from our house in Valencia to Canyon Country and back once. About 13 miles. And we ran. Just a couple times, and Dylan always complained that his stomach hurt after about half a mile. Running was new to me, but I had lost quite a bit of weight and at one point felt good enough to proclaim that I wanted to be able to run one mile without stopping. Well, I had done that and more when Dylan started his program in the summer. Donna and I were able to convince him to run with us in our first 5k in the fall of 2007. It was the beginning and end of Dylan’s running career.
I’m not really sure how it happened. Sometimes I think it was just may way of dealing with things, but after years of doing a 5k a year, I decided I was going to do a half marathon in the fall of 2014. I thought about Dylan a lot on those training runs. Many of those thoughts and memories I have posted here. In January of this year, I decided I would try it again because this is my tenth year of running a race. In February, I lost my dad. In fact, two years and one day after Dylan.
When you run or bike for longer durations, your mind plays a huge role. It can mess you up and tear you down. It can also make you forget that you are even running. It can play tricks on you. My dads death had my mind all over the place. It has been much more difficult this time. Escape hasn’t been as easy. I have found myself distracted by pains, and then focusing on them. Periodically, there would be moments of pure escape. Work, long arithmetic problems in my head usually involving money or time. And once in a while something like the time I ran my first timed race with Dylan in 2007. Or that time that my dad and I were yelling at each other and my grandpa broke us up by saying, “Now, now boys. Let’s calm down” in such a gentle way that we could do nothing but concede. It made me laugh in the middle of a long run. Three generations of Zimmermans standing at the back of an old torn apart VW bug. Two of them frustrated not necessarily at each other as much as the situation. That fit of rage has given me quite a chuckle over the years. One of the regrets that I have in my life was not taking Dylan with me one year and going to see my grandfather in Indiana. I wished I had done that. Grandpa would have liked that. The three of us should have gone. He would liked that even more. I miss each of you, especially you today, Dad.
Happy Birthday, Dad.