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Karen On The Move.....
by Karen Bender

This year I gave one of my daughters a birthday card with the punch line: "Blame your parents." The fact that she is now a parent herself was an added twist.

When it comes to looking at my running career, I say, "Blame my husband." Ed was the first to take an interest in the competitive activity that we both have enjoyed throughout most of our adult lives. Years ago, he informed the family that he was going to run in a race at "Keizer Days", a street festival that the whole family enjoyed for the parade. Because we were planning to ride bikes, Ed was nearly late for the race after strapping all those wheels onto the car. We met him at the finish line, where a group of happy people mingled, complete with "high fives" and big hugs. Did that ever look like fun! I must be missing something in life! Afterwards, Ed drove us around the route, and I was amazed at how far he had run!

I started running a block, then two, until I was up to three miles. Octoberfest was coming up, and Ed told me that I could run the 10-km course and would never come in last. I had my doubts . . . but I ran it and got a blue ribbon. Was I hooked? Oh yes, and—nearly 25 years later —I’m still competing, race-walking these days.

When our children were youngsters, we encouraged them to enjoy the sport and we became a relay team called "The Lean and Means". Good family fun it was, and relived through our running scrapbook.

I was reminded recently at the Bush Park Runs of how self-conscious I was at 40 of saying my age. A woman came in to give her husband support after his race. I was taking the sticks and jotting down placement. I asked for his age, and she replied in a whisper. I could not hear her, of course, but she clearly did not want to broadcast his age. In the running community, we soon learn that moving into a higher age bracket means that we may have a better chance of winning.

Ed has always wanted me to run a marathon, and he said that he would help me to train. Recently, I decided to race-walk "Circle the Bay", a 30-km event, my longest race to date. Normally, half-marathons are my distance. Ed has run the Coos Bay route for many years, and we enjoy the party atmosphere following the race (and visiting Ed’s "Aunt Dorothy").

I began by increasing my miles, and Ed volunteered to ride along on his bike whenever I did a long training run. Thus, starting at the golf course on Dallas Highway, I took off, with Ed following on his bike. In the past, when Ed and Al Oppliger were training, they would collect cans along the way, so Ed was prepared with plastic bags. Along the route, he told me how much he was enjoying the excursion and what fun it was to find so many cans. (Like an Easter egg hunt, I suppose.) By the time I had race-walked 15 miles, I was embarrassed to be with him. He looked like a "bag man" for sure! After our training day out, he mentioned several times that we should do it again, but I decided it was better for my self-esteem to go alone around the hills of West Salem.

The race was a day away. We had planned our stay at the Red Lion Inn and ate at Bedettis — our favorite Italian Restaurant in Coos Bay. Eggplant Parmesan, with Minestrone soup and a great green salad, is the best! We drove the length of the course, checking the mileage and placing bottles about every three miles. I was to provide my own supplies, as I was starting at 6:30 A.M. and the runners started at 8:00 A.M. On the day, the weather was good, and I met two women from Eugene who were friends preparing for the Portland Marathon. They did not know the course and were walking 12:15 mile-pace. They wanted me to stay with them. Ed met me at the three-mile mark outside the Red Lion and surprised us all with three cups of water perched on the hood of the car. What a guy! We were able to leave some of our clothing behind, and then Ed was off for the beginning of his race. The gals were surprised that I remembered all my stashes of water, but declined my offers to share. Earlier, at Sun River, I took water EVERY mile, even if just a sip and the rest over the head, because one does get dehydrated. I was warned to save myself for the bridge —a mile-long stretch at the finish. The other gals came in first, about a minute ahead of me. I figure that I got behind trying to corral a puppy that continued to run with me. Its disabled owner was having difficulty retrieving the dog. At the 20-km mark, a number of high school students, waiting to take off with the relay, finally got the dog! I thought that I might feel emotional when I had finished the race, but I just felt relieved. I had done it! And it was such fun that I may do it again next year.

Mind you, over the years, there have been downers, two in particular. I remember coming off the hills of Portland with a continuous pain in my foot. I had been preparing for a very fine finish at the "Cascade Runoff" and was feeling so competitive at the time that, if the pain hadn’t slowed me down to the point where many runners had already passed me, I would have completed the race. I got some ice immediately upon finishing and was put in a cast for a stress fracture due to my Morton’s toe. The other event occurred when I was preparing for a marathon and planning for Boston in the future. We were out on a fun-run with our two older daughters, but it was a hot day and I came home with the girls, while Ed continued running. When I reached the house, I got a shooting pain in my head, followed by diarrhea and projectile vomiting. As a nurse, I knew something was not right and instructed our oldest daughter to dial 911. For the next three weeks, I was in the hospital with a ruptured aneurysm. I was paralyzed on my right side but, with the miracle of cortisone and many prayers, I was healed. I remember the nurses whispering that I was "the runner" (like this is what happens when you run).

Indeed, I was the runner and I continued running (healthily, happily, and because this is what happens when you run). About five years ago, following arthroscopic surgery on one of my knees, I decided to take up   race-walking. I still run once in awhile but I have been told that race-walking and running do not mix.

By the time you read this, I will have finished my half-marathon in Victoria, B.C. This is an annual event for us. Ed and I love the British atmosphere of the city, with its wonderful variety of food and Antique Row. As some can verify, we brought back a side-table, wrapped in a quilt, on the ferry last year. We could not resist the antique and, with help from friends, we got it home in their hatchback car.

We have had some great trips around the world through our running. We visited our friends the Pughs in Japan, and the guys ran a marathon; we took a mail boat along a waterway in Norway and ran around each little town; and we have seen many cities in the USA on foot. One gets a better view from the pavement. I have no plans to quit.