Let Go Daddy - Letting Go at the Boston Marathon

My son had made a sign at school to encourage me in English, just as they were going to do in Boston for the 128th marathon. He wanted to write: “Let's go Daddy!”, but he realized too late that he had forgotten to leave space for the “S”. “Let go Daddy!” We were thinking it was pretty good as we headed down to New England. Explicitly, consciously, I told him that I needed Let go more than Let's go . As events turned out, we were right.

My third Boston in a row. My tenth marathon in 15 years. The experience promised to be very different from those of previous years, which I had shared with 50 other runners on a bus where everything revolved around the race. This year, it was a trip with my lover, Nadine, and my children, Charles and Laurence. I was very happy to live this experience with them, my fans, the die-hard fans! I think back on these four days. There is the race and everything else. If you put them together, you get the overall human experience. The one that resonates with me now. There was a time when everything would have revolved around the race, an experience highly defined by the result.

To be good, you have to be well. This is the positioning of the support that CANU has offered its clients since 2016, the year I wrote a column of the same name in La Presse during the Rio Games. In this text, I return to Boston with the hindsight of a week to study my experience. I come from high-level sport. Business leaders identify well with athletes. The quest for the best result can have consequences on mental and physical health. The way we connect with our goals impacts the quality of presence and the quality of the relationships we have. Relationships with our loved ones and relationships with our colleagues. Imagine the suffering of someone who defines themselves by the results they achieve when we know that the results are always largely a function of the external environment they do not control! As I told Nadine, each marathon has been for me an intimate study of the evolution of my relationship with running and with life, because running can be a metaphor for life.

On marathon morning, I have a few missions in mind with my fans. They'll be posted at mile 41, at the corner of Charles' Gate and Commonwealth Ave. I'm pretty confident I'll remember them to find them along the course. Got it? They said they had a surprise for me. I'll have to find them during the race to find out.

Also, the kids asked me over the weekend if it was possible to cross the finish line by imitating a chicken trying to fly. We do that sometimes when we're playing hockey in the street in front of the house and we have to stop to let cars pass. It's definitely on my mind. We're also here to have fun, right? At the same time, I don't want to disrespect the institution that the finish line represents in Boston. There's the memorial to the 2013 attacks a few meters away. In short, this thing is sacred. So I mentioned the possibility of doing it when there are photographers upstream of the finish line.

The morning preparation is always revealing. I have one ear plugged this time. On the hour-long bus ride to the starting line from 6:30 to 7:30, I'm having an intimate conversation with a friend who needs a listening ear. I listen even though it sounds strange and ask him to repeat himself a few times. We're together and connected, as we've been in dozens of training races over the years. I feel useful.

Once there, as a Boston veteran (it's my third! hahaha! - I'm laughing because three Bostons is not many in the world of running), I hand out advice to those who are at their first. It's time to go to the starting line. We leave the bus on foot and it takes an hour because there are so many people to seat. All this part with my ear plugged, I feel like I'm in a dream with 30,000 people whispering around. The sun already present announces a hot race.

I can't seem to take a moment for myself to center myself. It's as if I'm not really waking up from this dream. I'm here in body, but not in mind. I'm experiencing a kind of split. In an athlete's posture focused on the marathon, I would have needed to invest a lot of time in mental preparation in the days leading up to the race. But my heart wasn't in it. My heart was more focused on the trip with my children and Nadine.

Mental preparation is basically trying to answer 3 essential questions:

• What is possible today given today's conditions (form and weather)?

• What experience do I want?

• What are plans A and B to get there?

Looking back, I realize that these same three questions had been explored with the children and Nadine for the trip. However, I hadn't done so for the marathon.

The race begins and I'm setting off at a speed that's too fast. I realize it 10 km later... Too late! Then the hip pain sets in; the main problem for several years. It's already difficult at the half, even before the hills to climb. It looks bad. I'm incapable of hydrating. As soon as I take a Gatorade, I feel like throwing up. I try a gel and cramps arise. Doubt sets in. And it takes root.

Then I remember I have a challenge to take on in chicken mode... See photo on the left! I'm happy to remember that the kids and I have an agreement. If I'm not delivering the marathon result in hours, minutes, and seconds, I'm keeping my commitments in another way. Joking is important. Let's play it down, torieux! Check!

I start walking at 26 km on the first hills. The asphalt is really hot on the viaduct overlooking the highway. Then, on Heartbreak Hill, where I've experienced some great sensations in recent years, I ask for the phone number of a kind supporter. I call Nadine. “I won't be at the 41st km on time. Please wait for me. It'll take all my small change to get there.”

I'm running again. It's starting to go downhill. Moments of hope that ultimately don't last. I'm walking again. I'm running again. I'm sad. I'm grieving. Grief for what? Partly, grief for the ending I was hoping for that won't happen. I won't be rushing toward my fans with a smile before heading toward the finish line. And partly, grief for knowing I'm not requalifying for Boston. I'm not in the gang anymore? What gang? It's paradoxical because I've been wanting to take a break from marathons for months. The motivation is gone...

It's happening fast and slow at the same time. Then I feel a drop in pressure, so I stop. I wonder what to do. I think about the example I'm setting for the kids. Is it okay to stop? Do you absolutely have to give it your all? When is enough enough?

I resume the race. The attempts are getting shorter and shorter. I stop to hold myself together again. And then I arrive at the 40th km. A medical tent is there. I have 1 short km left to arrive in front of my fans. A rather important question crosses my mind: How do we handle it if I surrender and collapse in front of them? I decide to take a break at the medical tent. First I sit down. It won't settle. I lie down. A mixture of wanting to vomit and fear of passing out. They take care of me. I call Nadine. “Would you come join me instead of me joining you at the 41st, please?” They're on their way.

Susan, an 85-year-old volunteer, is taking care of me. She asks me if I want to talk or if I want peace. Come on, let's talk. She asks me what I do for a living. I work with corporate management teams to help them define how they want to feel together. She shows me her badge, which says she's a psychologist. She tells me that management teams are a psychological job. I tell her that running is too. Now, it's time to see if I can stand. Susan asks me: Do you want to hold on to me or do you prefer I hold you? I'm spoiling myself. Hold me, Susan! Then I sit back down because I'm not ready yet.

My fans are coming! Their costume plan was really awesome. They were the ones who looked for Where's Daddy, after all. Daddy the "superhero" who's spending a rather frail time on a military cot. I'm being taken care of. My fans already knew something was wrong since my initials had been frozen for a long time at the 40th km in the marathon app. Daddy was letting go, my loves!

The initial plan The adjusted plan

Looking at these photos, I realize how lucky I am. The people who love me are there when I achieve results and when I don't. You could also say it was a small adjustment in the end... The reunion was moved a mile and delayed by an hour.

With the marathon rushing past in the background and medics cooling down distressed runners in makeshift ice baths, the four of us spend another 30 minutes motionless on the park bench before coordinating our departure by Uber, with police authorization. My sense of humor returns. Okay, the worst is over. On to the hotel.

On the scoreboard: DNF. As in Did Not Finish.

Looking back on the experience, after a few days of hindsight and discussions with Nadine: I realize that the disappointing result is completely consistent and fair with my choices and actions over the past year. That's why I accept it with gratitude. My break from marathons had probably already begun a few months ago.

I'm proud to note that I remained pleasant company after the marathon. I also understand that by revealing my fragility, I open the door to the strength of those around me. Finally, I am filled with gratitude to have shared so many beautiful moments with my loving trio.