Dynamic Duos - Running with Dad

Amy S and Dad

“Did you bring the money for donuts?” I ask.  And thus begins another run with my Dad.  We started this ritual about six years ago, when we decided that the roads in Freehold, NJ – yes, hometown of Bruce Springsteen and “my hometown,” as well as my Dad’s – had gotten too busy, and the local track was just too short.  Instead, we began heading out to the Manasquan Reservoir, a gorgeous five-miler on a sandy, wooded trail.

My favorite part of our Manasquan Running Ritual begins as we hit about mile 4.5, when we start talking in great detail about what kinds of donuts we want to pick up at Dunkin.  And yes, we easily can discuss donuts for the rest of the run, up and until the point of opening the box back at the house and completely negating the past hour’s calorie burn in a matter of minutes.

Like most people who run together, our conversation covers the usual territory – complaining about our pace, our aching body parts, and our next races.  Dad talks about his painting and upcoming art shows (he wins a lot of first places), and I chatter on about work, my next “big outdoor adventure,” and dating.  But our conversations are different, too – different because we often understand each other better than we understand ourselves.  We’re both overly sensitive, we worry too much about what other people think, we live by the credo, “perfect is good enough.”  We think the same silly things are so hysterically funny, we can repeat them time after time after time and still laugh until we cry.  So, while there’s something special about running with a good friend, there’s something uniquely special about running with a good friend who also passed along his genetic code to me.

After he retired from dentistry, my Dad became much more dedicated to running.  He started entering local races, did quite well in his age group, and even spent a good bit of time with the Flyers as the team captain for 60-plus.  He’d join us for races in Central Park, and one day, Tom D and Monika G decided to videotape the finish.  I ran with my Dad that morning, and when we watched the tape of us running side-by-side, I heard Monika’s voice in the background yell: “Look at that! They have EXACTLY the same stride!”  And so you see – those of you who criticize my unique running form – it’s in the Stern DNA.  He and I even have matching knee scars, from tripping as a result of shuffling our feet and falling down in identical ways.

Every year for the past few, the two of us have joined in Lloyd H’s Flyers Vegas Weekend.  (We also love to gamble. My Dad taught me how to play blackjack when I was 13, looked 18, and could get into the casinos in Atlantic City.)  The first year, my Dad decided he wanted to run the half marathon, so I offered to pace him. Although he’d been battling some leg pain in the previous weeks, we were off to a great start.  Until he started slowing down, and then he started limping.  I kept asking him if he wanted to stop.  “No, no, I’m going to get that medal.”  And so he did, running the last five miles or so on what turned out to be a shattered tibia.


Amy 'n Dad - Las Vegas Half 2008

 Our hero, Lloyd, had to drive me around Vegas the next morning to find a pair of crutches.  My Mom (who’s generally been our biggest running supporter) had more than a few choice comments about the craziness of the long distance runner when she greeted us at Newark.

Great Jewish Santa Casino Heist Runners
Dad 'n Amy with Eileen and Gary Z

Another year, we decided to join in on the Las Vegas Great Santa Run, and donned our full suits before leaving the hotel.  As we made our way through the Bellagio casino, two security guys came running up to us, practically with guns drawn. “Stop! Take off those beards!”  The officers didn’t think it was very funny when we started howling with laughter – yeah, here we were, staging the Great Jewish Santa Casino Heist.  Glad we quickly stopped laughing, as those of you “Hangover” fans can understand.  Who wants to reminisce about a vacation with, “Remember the time we got tasered in Vegas?”

Of all my running experiences with my Dad, however, my favorite is still the 2004 NYC Marathon, my Dad’s first at the tender age of 67.  After sending him off on the Flyers bus with Ed A, I waited anxiously with Mom at 72nd St.  We spotted him shuffling up First Avenue, and I ditched my sweats and jumped in beside him. “Holy sh__t, those bridges are really hard – I wasn’t prepared for that!” he swore. “This is tougher than I thought it would be. But I’m not stopping!” And so he soldiered on.

I ached for him when he expressed anger at not being able to make his time goal, but I loved it when the crowds along Central Park South made him pick up his pace.  As we made our way through the streets that day, and I tried to figure out ways to distract him from the pain, to motivate him to achieve his goal, to keep him laughing even though I’m sure he really wanted to punch me, I realized that he’d guided me in the same way my entire life.  And as we rounded the corner at Columbus Circle, and it was time for me to jump out and send him to the finish line, it was my turn to pat him on the shoulder, to tell him I loved him, and that I was really, really proud of him.

Lately, we’ve both been suffering from leg issues, most likely the result of our identical over-pronation and an inability to listen to the smarter inner voices telling us to take more rest days. With the arrival of spring, however, I know we’re both looking forward to catching up during a leisurely Sunday morning at the Manasquan Reservoir.  And we’re most definitely looking forward to sharing another box of donuts.

Amy S