Running dads: The father who ran in secret

Katherine Starr, a CBC politics journalist, shared her story about her running dad with us:

We’ve all got those little things we do in secret, but they’re usually guilty pleasures like dipping into the ice cream with a spoon or watching trashy reality television, not sneaking out for early morning runs. What’s so fun about that?

But that’s exactly what my dad was doing, and none of us had any idea until a neighbour mentioned it to my mother one day.

“That’s so great about Rick, getting out there every day to run. It’s so inspiring,” the neighbour said.

Um, what? Was this neighbour talking about the same man we all knew, the man who was famous for his (oft-repeated) quip: “I only run if I’m being chased”?

It turns out our neighbour was right. My dad was slipping out of the house every morning to run a three kilometre loop around our neighbourhood while we all blissfully slept on unaware. Who was this man?

My dad has never been a runner, although he was always there melting at the track or freezing on the cross-country field, cheering me on at meets. And when I started racing half-marathons and marathons a few years ago, he was waiting at the finish line.

He didn’t always understand what was going on, or the running lingo we runners tend to use — when I qualified for Boston at my first marathon in April 2013, I broke down crying when I saw him. “I BQ’ed!” I managed to get out. “DQ? You want DQ? OK, we can find you a Dairy Queen!” he assured me. “No, Dad, BQ!” (although let’s be real; I wouldn’t have turned down a Blizzard at that point!)

I’m not sure what initially motivated him to start waking up early to lace up his New Balance shoes from 1992, but I like to think it had something to do with spectating my races. It’s almost impossible to watch a race, whether it’s a local 5K or the Boston Marathon, and seeing that emotion, energy, and pride on runners’ faces, without getting bitten by the bug yourself.

My dad has definitely been bitten. Gone are the cotton golf shirts tucked into shorts — they’ve been replaced by sweat-wicking Under Armour (I haven’t gotten him into compression socks yet). He has an iPod Shuffle now so he can rock out to Bruce Springsteen while he pounds the pavement in the 2015 version of his old shoes.

And in the little square of space in our basement my dad has claimed for his tool box and hockey bag, he’s carefully pinned his race bibs from the three races he’s done to the wall — a symbol of the quiet pride and enjoyment he’s taken from running.

No one’s chasing him at 5:30 in the morning and yet he’s still out there, getting his run in. I’m not sure where running will take my dad, but that’s one of the best things about running. You have no idea just how far your own two feet can take you.