Michael Fontes Memorial Run

June 30, 2012

There is something special about runners. I don’t know what it is – and I know I’m biased and probably sound a bit egotistical saying this – but almost all the runners I know are the among the most kind, giving, funny and accepting people I know. The list of adjectives could go on endlessly, but you get the point.

Today, there was a Memorial Run for Michael Fontes. After his tragic death, the outpouring of support from the Denver running community (and beyond) was remarkable. I heard from a lot of friends who had run with Mike and considered him a friend. But I also heard a lot of stories from people who didn’t know him well. Some knew of him, others saw him cheering them on from the side of the road during a race, and others just saw his smile and wave as they passed on a run. Many of those people seemed to feel almost guilty for the grief they felt. As if they didn’t know him well enough to miss him.

But that was one of the great beauties of Mike. He touched many lives, and even he might not have known how many or how much. Runners have a bond. Most of us will never win a race. And for us, it’s not about beating other people. It’s about doing our best. Steve Prefontaine said, “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” While Prefontaine was one of the finest runners the world has ever known, the beauty of that quote is how well it relates to all of us. It’s not about who you beat. It’s about doing your absolute best.

Mike did that. During many weekly long runs, Mike would put his head down and focus on improving while the rest of us were talking and hamming it up. Certainly, he would have a great conversation with any of us, but I always felt like he didn’t necessarily need to talk. It didn’t matter to me, and I’m pretty sure it didn’t matter to Mike. The bond between all of us was there because we were out there hammering out miles. And Mike showed many times that he respected all of us, regardless of what time we crossed a finish line. Mike was there waiting – he did beat many of us a lot of the time – to congratulate us or pick us up if we were unhappy with our results. Whether we were feeling good or bad, Mike had a way of making us feel better.

When I got to the run this morning, I was delighted to see many faces I hadn’t seen in years. It was a celebration of Mike Fontes, and the entire Denver running community was invited. There were people I ran with five years ago, and haven’t seen since. One of those was Anders Hyde. While running together and catching up, we were discussing how business trips sometimes allow us to see old friends. I actually said, “The best friends are the ones you can go years without seeing and pick up mid-sentence from the last time you were together.” I don’t know if Anders caught my pause after saying it, but something occurred to me at that moment. That’s exactly what happened with Anders and I this morning. I would never claim we are really close – in fact, I’m pretty sure I mispronounced his name at one point – but I don’t think it matters. That bond seems rare in everyday life. But with runners, it happens all the time.

I wondered how I was going to feel during the Memorial Run. Certainly there is still grief, and we will carry Mike’s memory with us on almost every run in the future. What I felt this morning was joy. And camaraderie. And love. I’m not going to pretend to know what Mike would have wanted. But I’m pretty sure he would be happy to know that we felt that way this morning.

All that is not to say that people who don’t run are somehow bad or less worthy. I have many great, close friends who wouldn’t run around the block if you paid them. But I will say that for some reason, most runners get along. Age, race, occupation, income, gender, none of that matters. We are equals out there on the roads and tracks and trails. Want proof? Come out and join us. You’re all welcome.

Losing a Friend

I never thought I would finally put this out there after the tragic loss of a friend. I’d written down my thoughts on the 20-plus marathons I had run, but I kept it within the secure confines of my old school Mac laptop. However, when I came home from a Saturday morning run on June 16, 2012, when my friend and running partner Michael Fontes was hit and killed by a van while crossing a street, shortly after we had parted ways, the words flowed.

What follows in the first entry are those words I wrote that day. I do not think this blog will be all about running, although there is an awful lot about running that corresponds with everyday life. I also feel like I have learned a lot from training and running marathons, and I will recap what I saw and felt during my races. So, I apologize now if there is too much running or too much about sports. I’m writing what I know. I’m writing what I live. Some entries, like the first one, will be somber. Others will, I’d like to think, be comical. Life is a range of emotions, and my goal for this blog is to write the truth. I hope you enjoy it.

Michael Fontes at the 2012 Bear Chase

June 16, 2012

When I hear bad news, I often go numb. It may appear that I have no emotions at all. It just takes time to truly comprehend something that I don’t want to hear.

This morning, as a few of us were on the return portion of our 14-mile run with Runner’s Edge of the Rockies, we saw cops redirecting traffic at the intersection of Speer and Downing. At first, we didn’t think much of it, figuring it was some sort of fender bender.

But then I saw a group of runners talking to the police. I turned and saw a lone running shoe in the middle of the road. My heart sank. I knew it had to be a friend. Within minutes, that fear was verified when we discovered it was Michael Fontes, who I had spent countless hours running countless miles with over the past two years.

The run started like any other, as I sprinted the first half mile or so to catch up to the 3:30 pace group. When I finally reached them, I interrupted a conversation between the two guys at the back, Jay Coon and Mike. They both looked back over their shoulders, laughed and said something like, “We knew we’d see you at some point.”

That’s the thing about this pace group. We love to spend time together, and we spend most of it laughing. Although he was sometimes quiet, Mike always fit right in. The conversation I joined was about him doing a cardio test a few days ago and deciding to run this particular run by heart rate instead of pace. Being the ass I am, I asked if he still had a heart rate. “I think so, although the watch won’t tell me until after the first mile,” he said with his ever-present smile. At the first aid station, Runner’s Edge coach David Manthey was taking some photos. “Oh great. I’m sure that’s going to be a great one of me stuffing a Fig Newton into my mouth,” Mike said. Not long after that, I was sort of veering into the traffic lane and someone made a comment about not wanting to deal with me if I was hit by a car. It was one of those jokes that runners say from time to time. You just don’t think it will happen. You think that drivers will obey traffic laws, pedestrians will remain safe in crosswalks and everybody will get where they’re going.

Erin Brumleve (from left), Ted Dunst, Jay Coon,

Michael Fontes, Jim Lynch, Wayne Cousineau, me

and Nicole Mattson after a Satrday morning run.

Later, Mike said something about how he doesn’t recover quite as well from his races as he used to. I had forgotten what he had run most recently, and he said it was the Eugene Marathon, adding quickly and emphatically that it was his PR. He didn’t say his time. He didn’t need to because we always celebrate anyone reaching a goal. Running is mostly about testing your own limits. But after falling early in that particular race and scraping himself up pretty badly, he got back up and ran a 3:38, more than an hour better than he had been running just 18 months earlier. I love stories like that.

We started talking about Eugene, and I mentioned Kenny Moore’s “The Men of Bowerman.” He said he would read it right after he finished the new book by Scott Jurek, who he planned to go meet at Runner’s Roost during a book signing in a few weeks. We were talking about the movies about Steve Prefontaine. Mike said he watched both of them right before he left for Eugene. That was the thing. Mike always lit up when he found out something new about running. My guess is that Mike was the kind of person who lit up when he learned anything new, which is an absolutely wonderful trait.

With these Saturday runs, everybody starts together, but the group gets smaller as runners going shorter distances start turning around. Conversations, many in midsentence, end abruptly. Nobody really cares. Conversations on the run have unwritten rules. One of them is that you can start it back up days, weeks or months later. Or, you can have the entire conversation over again on another run. When you go long miles, even repeat conversations are appreciated, as long as they ease the pain of the distance. At the southwest corner of Denver Country Club, Mike said goodbye. I told him, “Have a good run back. We’ll see you at the finish.” His reply: “I’m not done yet. My heart rate is too high, so I’m going to take it a little slower.” That’s how our conversation about Eugene, Prefontaine and Oregon running ended.

I wish Mike had stuck with us. I wish he would have turned around instead of just slowing down. I wish that he would have stopped to tie his shoe instead of crossing at that moment. Anything to keep him away from that intersection for just a few seconds. Instead, it ended in tragedy and with a lot of people grieving.

Though I am sad and brokenhearted, I realize how lucky I was to run with Michael Fontes for the past few years. Over the many miles, we shared our dreams and frustrations. Sometimes we talked about nothing, speaking just to pass the time on a difficult run. Almost always, we laughed. This morning, I had a fun conversation with a friend. A friend I was fortunate to know.