Last Saturday I ran a 10k road race through the streets of the center of Florence. There was a kicker- the race started at 9pm. It was called "Notturna di San Giovanni" (the night of San Giovanni). It was the 70th annual event! This had to have been one of the oldest races I've participated in. Besides being a beautiful experience racing through the streets as the sun set over the Arno, I was given the gift of a little man I wanted to briefly write about here. About 3K into the race, I came up on a man who was slightly shorter than I and about 20 years older. When I first came up on him, he sped up just a little bit. I was used to this in racing- men speeding up once I gain on them (ego) but usually they let me go once I keep the pace (wanting to return to their own comfortable race pace). But within minutes I could tell that this man was running along with me, comfortably, simply to run with me (or to see if I could keep up the pace that I was maintaining! (about 6:40 min/miles)). We ended up running/racing the majority of the course together. There were times when he would start to slip and I would surge in front of him, silently looking back over my shoulder to encourage him to come back up besides me. At various points, he would do the same for me. With about 1/2 a mile left, I started to feel the race and was dragging. The lactic acid was building in my legs and my feet felt like little bricks I was dragging along with me (the end of the race had come! OUCH!). I didn't know the course so I wasn't sure of how much race I had left! We turned what seemed like a final straight away and you could tell the little man had steam left. But he wouldn't go without me. For the first time, he looked back and me and we made eye contact and he waved me on to keep up with him. He yelled "Andiamo!" (let's go!) and vigorously gave me a thumbs up encouraging me to stay at his side. As we crossed the finish line, he purposely slowed his final steps to allow me to finish before him. A perfect gentleman.
When we finished, and tried to exchange words, it was clear he didn't speak English. I was so exhausted that my Italian efforts were futile. Instead, we relented and gave one another hug and double cheek kiss. He said something to me in Italian with his hand on my shoulder, looking at me proudly. In English I said, "Thank you. Thank you so much. In 20 years I also hope to be as impressive as you are. And always as kind."
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