All day, I have wrestled with how I feel about finishing the 100 miles. People have often asked whether I would be happy not to have to walk 15 miles a day anymore. The truth is that I am already missing that part of the adventure. Today was a "light day" at ten miles, and I found the workout easier than I anticipated. That means that I am either approaching something close to fitness or that my brain has finally gone numb. I started fast from Clay Terrace, knowing I had to reach St. Vincent's Hospital on a schedule and beat the approaching storms. For the first three miles, I held a pace that I had not been able to achieve on any other day (cooler temperature and no blister pain--as in NONE, thanks to the magnificent duct tape tip from hiking guru Becky Jones--plus ongoing prayer). Then it occurred to me that I was nearly a third done with the day, 93% done with the 100 miles, and I had been on the Monon for only about an hour. In about two hours more (or a bit less), I would complete what has been for me an incredible opportunity to find positive, meaningful, appropriately focused ways to work through the helplessness I felt in losing Julian.
At Mile 4, I began to cry. Mixed emotions. Thank goodness there were a lot of people out running, cycling, walking their dogs, and hoverboarding (really) to keep me in check. I think significant moments in our lives are built on complicated pairings of joy and poignancy, delight and struggle. I give thanks every day for my relatively good health. But I have doubted that good health once or twice or probably six dozen times during the past week, when I could hear myself grunting like an old person struggling to get up a hill in Miami County or when I could not will my sixty-year-old legs to churn faster or when Mile 12.5 came on six of those days. There was no doubt today, which means I'm probably gaining some proficiency. Why quit now?
But practicality dictates that I have to return to real life. For a week, the focus in our world has been on the walking and, by default, on me. School work, household chores, and correspondence beyond the texts to my support team (bless you all!) have all been left undone. There were a couple of 4:30 AM risings, then sleeping late until 5:30 AM as the routes got closer to home. Jeff (always my hero) rearranged his schedule and work to accommodate dropping me off in the mornings, monitoring my progress via phone and in person, driving to get me when hops to new destinations were needed, and fetching me at 15 miles. He has been breakfast chef, pit crew, water carrier, photographer, chauffeur, and ultra cheerleader. He has demonstrated his love with numerous selfless acts of service this week, never doubting the purpose or the significance of the walking. There are not enough thanks for all of that.
At Mile 6.5, just before the turn onto 86th Street, the skies opened up--the first serious rain I encountered all week. I hustled to the nearest covered area, where I met a cyclist intrigued by my vest and the story of why I was walking. He told me he has already registered with the Indiana Donor Network, and his children know his decision. I don't think that meeting was a coincidence. It reminded me of the blessings piled on blessings I have received during the past week, the messages or signs of encouragement arriving exactly when needed. I was preparing to walk the last 3.5 miles in pouring rain, even though I opted at 8 AM to leave my poncho in the car. And then, the downpour stopped. The real world sometimes dulls our awareness, and I will miss the clarity of seeing those daily gifts as they are given.
At Mile 9, I was met by Chelsi Day and her month-old very adorable daughter Cecilia (thank you both!). Chelsi and the other text support team members have bolstered me all week, and I felt as though they were walking with me (you ROCK!). And then here came Jeff to walk the last mile with me as well. Perfect. And mixed emotions because I wished that last mile would take a very long time.
We didn't quite get it finished before the security detail arranged by St. Vincent's Manager of Public Relations Gene Ford joined our merry band to escort us into their campus. Members of the transplant team and administration (Tami, Kristen, Bre, Cara, Beth, Sidni, Tina, Sara, and so many other wonderful folks--and Amy was there in spirit--many thanks to you all) took time out of their day to meet us outside and escort us inside to a lovely gathering with lots of conversation, photos, and an interview. Kevin from WISH-TV Channel 8 recorded it all and was very kind. And more mixed emotions as the last time I was interviewed at St. Vincent's, Sue and Julian were there being interviewed as well.
And now, my walking is done... at least for the immediate future. But nothing has to stop just because the 100-mile walk is done. I would prefer to be out of the spotlight and let you have a chance. It's your turn to take some action. What will you choose to do? Please keep building Julian's legacy by donating (even just a little) to one or more of the not-for-profits in Julian's name (please remember to mention him). Get a couple of your friends to join in as well. Share with your social media networks and spread the word. Consider registering as an organ donor with the Indiana Donor Network, as Kathy in the Administration Office did today ("It only takes a minute," she said--and she's right). Get a couple of your friends to join in as well. And help me track how close we are to our goal of 50 registrants by sending me an email at kfstouse@iuk.edu . I'll update you as I get more information.
I want you to remember Julian as a man who inspired positive action and who continues to do so. His presence blessed me throughout the 100 miles. Sue, Jeff, and I were blessed again today by one of those serendipitous, perfect-timing gifts--a video made from the interviews we did a year ago:
Mixed emotions, but mostly joy. Thank you all for your support.
