Meeting Dean

“Being a champion meant not quitting, no matter how tough the situation became and no matter how badly the odds seemed stacked against you. If you had the courage, stamina and persistence to cross the finish line, you were a champion.” - Dean Karnazes, in UltraMarathon Man: Confessions of an all-night runner

To me, Dean Karnazes, ultra-runner, is a hero. Certainly he is an extraordinary athlete – and for that alone I am in deep awe, but I admire him for more than that. Dean made a conscious decision in his early thirties to listen to what the sound of his own footsteps pounding on the pavement was saying to him. He bucked the corporate system, turned his back on simple definitions of success and embraced a lifestyle of personal authenticity.

That’s the kind of person I want to be. All my life I’ve wanted to be a writer and I’ve wanted to see all the continents of the earth. I’ve known this since I was eight years old. One weekend, my family took a trip to Ocean Shores, a town right on Washington’s coast. I’ll never forget my first time seeing the Pacific Ocean. I’d grown up on the Puget Sound, which is the Ocean’s water flowing into a large inlet, passed the San Juan Islands, all the way down to the inverted elbow that curves around to make the fist of the Olympic Peninsula. I’d looked across this water toward the Olympic Peninsula and its snow-capped mountain range every day that I could remember, but I wasn’t prepared for what was on the other side of those mountains.

There I sat, a tiny girl on a large driftwood log, looking at a body of water that had no end. I was frightened by it. The roar of it was thunderous to my tender ears. Where did it go? Why couldn’t I see any land out there? The wild, untamable enormity of it made me cry.

That night, by the luminescence of a flashlight, I wrote my first poem about the largeness of the earth and the formidable vastness of the Ocean, which defied my understanding. I’ve lost the original poem by now (probably in a house fire we had when I was eleven), but I remember that it was eight lines and it had an a/b/a/b rhyme scheme – as most first poems do.

When we returned from our camping trip, I started announcing that I was going to travel the world and become a writer. As you might expect, even though I was a very young child and nowhere near the point of having to choose a college major, some of the adults in my life hastened to enlighten me that writing was no way to make a living and that I’d eventually have to dream up other options for myself. “Cowgirl” and “movie star” came to mind, but fortunately I never shared these career ambitions out loud.

A few grown-ups in my life got on board. My great Aunt Margaret bought me a journal and my dad’s brother, Uncle Bruce, got me a subscription to The Writer Magazine. It was over my head, of course, but I knew it meant that he took me seriously, and I loved when it arrived in the mailbox each month as a reminder that someone had believed me when I said I wanted to be a writer.

As life marched on, I was indeed called upon to make some career choices and “writer” did indeed appear to be a rather less than practical option. I contented myself with becoming an English teacher and encouraging my students to write. Later, when that no longer hit the mark for me, I became a therapist who listens to my clients’ stories and helps them articulate and have the courage to follow their own hopes and dreams.

But this year, as I have been reading Dean Karnazes’ brave leaps of faith into living out his impractical passions, I simultaneously began writing about my life which, at the moment, is a lot about training for and running long distance races all around the world.

Dean’s story of moving from stuckness to adventure and personal risk have resonated with me. More than that, his story has shouted at me to seize each day and be alive. Just as there came a moment for him when he stepped out the door in his boxers and old sneakers to go for his first long run in more than a decade, this year I’ve made a commitment to myself to run and write and travel. I’ve decided to take the first steps to write about the relationship between the marathon life for a back-of-the-pack, non-athletic, trudging-along-and-finishing-by-the-skin-of-my-teeth runner and life in general. And as I go, I believe what Dean says is true: If you do it, hard as it is, and cross the line at the end, you’re a champion.

Feeling this connection with his story as I do, you can imagine my elation when Bill forwarded me a message from the Ultramarathon Man himself. I’ve never been one to chase after meeting celebrities, but I knew Dean Karnazes would be at the finish line of the Whidbey Island Marathon, and I hoped to shake his hand and thank him for writing his story. I missed him, of course, due to my late arrival at the finish line (see below). But unbeknownst to me, Bill had communicated by email with Dean, telling him of my disappointment at missing out on the chance to meet him on Whidbey Island. Dean graciously responded with the following note:

Dear Cami,
I am so sorry to have missed you at the Whidbey Island Marathon. When I heard about your endeavor to run a marathon on every continent, I am sure we are kindred spirits! Cami, you are a tremendous inspiration. Please, never stop! I look forward to the time that our paths meet. Until then, keep going strong!!
Warmest regards,
Dean Karnazes

I was delighted. Dean had taken the time to read my blog and then said we were kindred spirits! Naturally, during my run later that day, I floated easy on my feet, with the idea that I might be kindred spirits with a running legend like Dean. But as I think about it, it’s certainly not only the running that makes me feel connected to him. In fact, as is well documented, I don’t find running that easy. I’m not always in love with it, not often eager to get outside in the elements and work my body hard. It is in the desire to live life with guts and personal truth that makes me feel like a kindred spirit with him and with others who live out their crazy ideas of happiness.

Later that week, after getting Dean’s note, Bill informed me that Dean would be in our town for a new ultra-marathon. We decided to take a trip to the finish line and see if we could catch him and thank him for his kindness. We waited after the awards’ presentation for a long while, finally decided we’d missed him again and started to make our way toward our car. On the way out we saw him. I felt shy, but I introduced myself and thanked him for his message to me and for his book. Dean was gracious and encouraging to both of us.

As I’ve reflected on these encounters, one thought keeps arising. We all have opportunity to share our gifts with others, but only if we embrace them ourselves. Only if I follow what calls to me – running, writing, traveling – will the gift of my life be a gift I can offer others. Dean, I hope you know the gift you are to your readers and fellow runners. Thank you!