Five years ago – August 2001 – I ran my first Falmouth Road Race.  I finished in just under 63:00, and it was the most fun I’ve ever had in a race. I’m lining up for my fourth one on Sunday, August 13.

The Falmouth Road Race is tough … 8000 people slogging over rolling hills and through humid August air … 7 jam-packed miles … a 10am start.  I’ve seen people throw up.  I’ve seen a runner pass out.  Each time I’ve reached the finish line, I say “never again,” then April comes and I’m sending in my application hoping to get a number.

I can remember nearly every detail of my 3 previous FRRs.  From the intense butterflies I felt in my stomach as a first-timer sitting alone on the bus to the taste of the strawberry-banana popsicle after the race last year, I treasure all of my Falmouth memories.
In 2002 I cried at the starting line.  I was standing next to two guys wearing matching shirts.   These guys had never run Falmouth.  They had been at a party the night before.  They admitted to drinking too much and weren’t sure how they were going to do.  The party was in honor of a friend – the friend was pictured on the front of their shirts.  They told me their friend loved running Falmouth.  He was killed on 9/11.  They were running for him.

That year, I was running for myself.

I had surgery the preceding January.  At the time, I considered it a routine process.  My doctor had removed a mole from my ankle that turned out to be melanoma. This follow-up surgery was to remove a larger patch of skin as well as lymph nodes for further tests. The surgery was painful, inconvenient and has left me with a nasty scar – the nerve endings still tingle.  The surgery was successful.  The cancer had not spread to my lymph nodes.  The rest of the skin was clean.

I took a few months off from running while my leg healed, but I was determined to run Falmouth that year.  I didn’t train as hard as I should have.  Work was starting to consume me.  I couldn’t leave my troubles at the office.  I was coming home stressed out.  I was getting sick to my stomach driving in each morning.    I was traveling too much, and I was gaining weight.  In order to relax, I was drinking 1-3 beers each night.  I didn’t like the person that I was becoming, but I didn’t know what to do about it.

Then I lined up at the Falmouth Road Race, and I listened to the story the friends shared with me.  That’s when the tears came.  I did my best to control them, but I knew that things needed to change for me.  I had a wake up call that morning.

I’d love to report that miracles happened during the next few weeks and my life became perfect, but it didn’t work out that way.  Some good things happened, though.  Within a month,  I had a new, less-stressful job.  I was still traveling, but for the most part, I was doing what I wanted to do. Six months later, we found out that Michelle was pregnant.   I missed the 2003 Falmouth Road Race, but later that Fall, we welcomed Colin Glenn Fravel into our world.   That winter, Michelle and I decided to get back in shape (it’s amazing what a pregnancy can do to a husband).  We both went on diets and lost over 100 pounds combined.

I skipped the 2004 race – I was still getting back in shape – but lined up last year.  All the memories of my first two Falmouth’s came rushing back.  The Nobska Lighthouse hill was a lot steeper than I remembered, but the Rocky theme song sounded better than ever. I didn’t see any running lobsters last year, but I did run with a frog for a little while.

Today, I’m counting down the days until this year’s race.  I don’t care about a PR, as a matter of fact, I plan to run the course twice – from the finish to the starting line, and then the actual race.   My goal is to enjoy the morning.  I’ll be high-fiving the kids along the course.  I’ll be looking for friends through the hills.  I’ll be hugging Caitlin and Keely at the six-mile mark.  I’ll be thinking about that morning in 2002 when reality slapped me on the side of my head.