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Defining Moments - Part 2

  • Published
  • By Senior Airman Nathan Allen
  • 19th Airlift Wing Public Affairs
LITTLE ROCK AFB, Ark. --  The week before the race, we ran 10 miles - a number Sergeant Ball said would be a good test of our readiness at that point in time. It did indeed prove to be a test as most of us came limping toward the end, unsure of what the future would hold for us come race day.

"I ran about five miles and I was pooped, thinking there was no way I'd be able to finish the half marathon." Airman 1st Class Rochelle Clace said. "Heck, the morning of the half marathon I didn't think I'd be able to finish it. Being from Canada, I thought maybe if I pictured a polar bear chasing me or something that I might have a better chance."

Then, seemingly sooner than anyone expected, March 15 arrived. Race day. My wife was kind enough to roll me out of bed at 6 a.m. and dress me in an outfit she had pre-approved for me (ankle socks do not look good with low cut sneakers...I'm glad I know this). The entire way from our house on base to downtown Little Rock, my mind was trying to convince my body to no avail that I was ill and there was no way I should be doing this race. My destiny, however, would not be denied.

After parking our car and finding our starting "corral" amongst the thousands of other racers, we met up with the other members of our flight, none of us still quite sure what we had gotten ourselves into. Bystanders stood on the sidelines watching the huddled mass run by, and I couldn't help but speculate as to what their thoughts were. Most of my speculation, however, centered around the humor of being able to come and watch all these idiots who actually paid money put themselves through such a thing.

My wife and I casually jogged with the crowd at a pace that was considerably slower than the pace we'd trained at. Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as I thought. At our surprisingly comfortable pace, the miles started to gradually pass by, though still not as quickly as Sergeant Ball promised they would. Every two miles portions of what must have added up to an army of volunteers distributed water and Gatorade for runners as they passed. By about mile eight, these stations became encouraging checkpoints to push myself to reach as the comfort of the slower pace was no longer a help. By this time, my body had already gotten past the point of pain. The throbbing in my ankles had moved to my feet (after a brief stay in my knees) but had now converted into numbness. Did I want to go on? Absolutely not. Could I go on? Yes.

My wife, however, wasn't doing as well. Being a civilian, she hadn't had the same advantages of training as a group with our flight. As a result, she had trained about one quarter the amount we had, so at this point, her efforts to keep going despite her anguish were threatening to injure her. Being a newlywed, I was faced with the decision of finishing the race at a runner's pace (though admittedly that pace was only slightly faster than speed-walking at this point) or stick with her and likely be not only the last person to finish in my flight, but one of the last people to finish the entire half marathon.

Opting not to abandon my wife, we slowed down and casually walked the remaining five miles. With pride, we finished in the bottom 10 percent of all the racers and I finished last amongst my flight. Somewhere in the time it took me to decide whether to leave my wife and earn a faster time or stay behind and finish the experience together, Sergeant Ball's vicious scheme became clear to me. During the past two months I had run more, pushed myself more, ate better, and felt better than I had in a long time. Long before race day came I'd reached the point in running where I felt like I couldn't go any longer, but I did. Then when I'd run a bit father, I'd again reach that same point, and again I'd persevere. Finishing this race wasn't the defining moment I'd been facing; it was all the defining moments that had already passed and the changes in my lifestyle I'd experienced along the way.

Why, Sergeant Ball, would you challenge us to do this? Why would you put us, along with all your ALS classes, through excruciating training that exerts us to the very brink of fainting? Training that far exceeds the minimum standard required to simply pass an Air Force PT test?

"Because I can."

Because WE can.