By now, running was a distant memory, a thing I did in my past “when I was a kid”. I thought about running a lot, but realized I would never again be fast or skinny, or even healthy. When people spoke on running, I would at first enjoy surprising them with how fast I used to be. Soon that feeling would turn shameful as I read the expression on their face that seemed to say, “What happened to you? What a washed up loser.” I was not comfortable or happy being a has-been, but it was the way it was. My lifestyle was catching up with me.
The summer before my last semester at Clemson, I signed up to study abroad in Europe, taking classes at the University of Bristol, England. The group from Clemson was comprised of students from all of the different engineering majors, the eight of us meeting only once before the trip. On June 30th, we met at Clemson, said our goodbyes to family, and boarded a van bound for Atlanta, our point of departure. We all made introductions on the bus, though most of us kept to ourselves on the ride down.
We were dumped at the airport with luggage and tickets in hand, off to board a plane to England. Our tickets were apparently arranged in pairs of two, I assume to give us someone to talk to on the way over. Alphabetically, I was paired with Ashley, the “hot girl” I had noticed at our informational meeting. We had a pair of seats by the window together, and had plenty of things to talk about, which was great because we had plenty of time. Not only were our seats together on this connection to Charlotte, but also we sat together on the entire flight from there to London. What a wonderful situation! We talked and joked, and told stories, and watched movies through the night. We had a great time. I figured I would see more of her over the summer; hopefully we would be in some of the same classes. I knew, though, I would want to see more of her over the next six weeks.
Upon arrival in Bristol, we were dispersed to our host families. These families typically chose 2-3 students to feed and house over the summer, and most often it is all boys or all girls. My host family was Juliet and Dennis Harkness, and my housemates were Alex, an electrical engineering major, and Ashley. We were surprised to have a girl in our group, and our host family was equally surprised when we showed up. They had chosen three boys, all with the letter A. The mix-up was in the name: in England, Ashley is a boy’s name. They did not think to check to make sure it was really a boy. The funny thing is that apparently they were sent our height and weight as well (I have no idea why) and they were remarking that the Ashley fellow was quite shrimpy! It was too late to change the mistake, so the three of us would be staying with them that summer.
Because of the confusion, we hung out with each other all summer long. We ate together, walked to school together, traveled together, and stayed across the hall from each other. Over our 4 weeks of studying, we made countless memories with each other and became good friends. We found out we had a lot of similarities. She was from Columbia, SC and also ran track for her high school, although she was a middle distance runner. There was a slight possibility we had crossed paths in the past: our high schools raced each other a few times in cross country, but unfortunately not often in track.
Before coming to Europe, Ashley was in the middle of training for a triathlon in the fall. It would be her first one. However, the Europe trip put a kink in her plans, with no place to swim and no bike to ride. She could only continue to run. She would go out for runs in her spare time in Bristol, I would not. I would never join her in this endeavor, considering my weight and the fact I had nothing to run in (I had outgrown my running gear a few years ago). She gave a good effort squeezing in running during our busy weeks.
On the weekends, we made trips to Scotland, London, and Ireland. We really enjoyed traveling with each other and the discovery of new places. We grew closer as we traveled and soon decided that for our two weeks of independent travel, we would travel together. I was immensely thrilled at the prospect; it’s a big commitment to someone you’ve only known four weeks to know you must rely on them for the next 14 days and know that you can’t simply quit and go home. But there was a connection there, a good feeling, a feeling that the adventure would be amazing. This was something not to miss out on.
Our itinerary was full, and our plans were made. We were ready to begin this adventure. After a quick ride to London, six of us left on a $9 plane to Brussels, Belgium (Why else would we start with Brussels?) After a day and night touring the city and sampling the food, we all climbed aboard a train bound for Paris. The historical part of the city and the structures were right out of a movie, these sights I had seen so many times before, but never in real life. I wouldn’t say that Paris is exceptionally romantic by any means, and you better speak French! Our timing was impeccable, though, as we awoke on Sunday and discussed what to see for the day, I thought “Isn’t the Tour de France going on right now? I wonder where they are in the race.” We checked, and to our good fortune, the race was finishing that day in Paris!! We were about to stake out a nice spot on a bridge and watch the race pass over 9 laps through city. It was a special feeling to see Lance Armstrong with his 3rd tour victory.
After our stay in Paris, two of our group members departed our company to see other regions of France, while the remaining group headed south, with a stop over in Montpelier, France. It was not as advertised, and Ash and I split from the remaining two and took a night train bound for Rome, Italy. We spent two unbelievable days there, taking in the ancient history, as well as meeting other travelers. It was hot, very hot, and we were thankful for the ceiling fan in our hotel room (which we could only afford after going in with another traveler we met). Another night train (we had plenty of space to stretch out on the last one, but this one was a little more crammed) and we were in Cinque Terra, a series of five fishing villages on the Italian Riviera. Gorgeous, quaint, something out of a painting, we would spent three days and two nights there. We could have spent a week there, exploring every shop and café tucked away in these sleepy villages.
To save money, we slept in a tent both nights, once in a farmer’s lemon orchard, and the other night on the cliffs by the Mediterranean Sea. It was not the most convenient thing in the world, but a lack of hostels and cash made it a great option. Plus, what’s better than sleeping under the stars on the Italian Riviera. The biggest drawback, though, was lack of bathroom facilities. During our stay there, we toured all five cities and walked the trails between most of them. On the trails, we would rise high above the villages on the mountain side and have a panoramic view of the coast. I felt like I could have taken pictures to be used as postcards, it was that breathtaking. On one of our hikes between the villages, we met up by chance with some friendly faces: the two group members who left us in Paris, plus some other classmates from school. We were amazed that with an entire continent to explore, we would run into people we knew. We stopped for a quick group photo, and then hiked on.
In Cinque Terra, we did manage to get in a little running, although it was not recreational. At the end of the day, we found ourselves in the last of the five towns, and now needed to catch a train to go back and pick up our stored packs and then catch our night train to Switzerland. Upon checking the train schedule, we saw that it would be hours before the next train would stop here to take us to where we needed to go. But, in the next town down, the train would stop there shortly. We were separated from that town by a mountain, and we had little energy left to hike up and over it. So, our options were either to wait there for a few hours for the next train or to hike up and over the mountain that separated us from the next town. Both options were not appealing, there must have been something else we could do.
As we pondered our situation, we both glanced in the direction of the next town. Although the mountain separated us, we were able to barely see the next town through the dark train tunnel in front of us. Straight through the mountain would be the fastest way, either on a train or not. What if we just went on foot, it looked like we could possibly just make a dash for it. In our tired state of mind, this seemed like the best option. So, we gathered our things, and slowly sauntered over to the opening of the tunnel. Before us was a narrow strip of concrete next to the tracks, the width of a small sidewalk, which disappeared into the darkness. It was crazy, but it just may work. We crept closer to the opening, and with one quick glance around, we vanished into the darkness.
We were running, sprinting, fearing an approaching train! What were we doing? It was black like night, we absolutely could not see what our feet were running on or running through. We prayed that we would make it, that there would suddenly not be a gaping hole in the ground. After what seemed like 10 miles (but was probably really only a half mile) we emerged on the other side of the tunnel, breathless, terrified, unharmed, and exhilarated. We had made an insane decision, but we made it together. We caught our train, picked up our stored packs, hopped another train, and headed toward a perfect little mountain get away, what would become our vacation from our vacation.
Switzerland was the next stop. Originally, we thought maybe Geneva or the Lake Lucerne area. A traveler in Rome, whom we shared a hotel room with, had persuaded us to check out the mountain town of Gryon. He told us we could not go wrong with the Chalet Martin either. For some reason, we trusted him and did minimal research to visit this town, as if we just knew he was right. We took his advice and booked a night train to the Swiss Alps. This would make the fourth night in a row that we would not be sleeping in a bed nor having a shower. We were tired and ripe smelling (bathing in an irrigation canal and the Mediterranean did not do much for the scent) and just needed a soft place to lie. The night train proved to be awful, we sat board stiff upright in our seats on this full train. Plus, upon boarding this train, even though we had rail passes, we also had to have a “reservation” fee to ride. Essentially, we had to bribe the conductor to let us on. I guarantee he pocketed the money I gave him, and fortunately, we had exactly enough Lira to pacify him; God was watching over us!!
It was a sleepless night, and we looked haggard as we exited the train. Making the ride even more stressful, the conductor had seized our passports when we boarded, and we had not seen him since. We were beginning to worry as the train was nearing our stop. What would we do, we couldn’t get off without the passports, but who exactly had them? Minutes before arrival, the conductor showed up, handed us our documents, and we stepped off the train, into a long security line. Now I am not exaggerating when I say we looked and smelled terrible. It was so bad we were actually yanked out of the passport line and pulled into a small interrogation room. The agents questioned us and rifled through all of our possessions, even looking at Ashley’s prescription bottles to make sure her name matched her passport. I feel they were genuinely disappointed to not find anything to report. I laughed to myself as they searched our packs full of week’s old foul smelling clothes. Search as much as you want, even I don’t want to search in there!
After the interrogation, we still had a few more local trains to catch and then a cog-rail, which was a train that drove straight up the side of the mountain! The country side and snow covered mountains of Switzerland were gorgeous, but almost hard to take in with the extreme sleep deprivation and overall griminess of travel. But we made it to the Chalet Martin, which was just as our traveling friend had told us, and we promptly checked in. Our first order of business – showers!! I think we each took three showers that day.
We instantly fell in love with Switzerland, with Gryon, and we grew closer with one another. Our travel plans to this point were open ended abut the remainder of the trip, with the possibility of spending a few nights here and then maybe heading to Spain. We promptly cancelled those ideas and solidified our plans by booking for four days! It was our vacation from our vacation. It’s not a Goodwin vacation unless you need a vacation from it! In our time spent in Gryon, we explored local villages, cooked meals with each other, sat around the campfire listening to guitar, went paragliding, went skiing under the Matterhorn (in August!), relaxed, and enjoyed being with each other. It was a magical get away from the rigors of travel. We would have stayed longer if it was possible, but of course, all good things must come to an end!
We were sad the day we had to leave Chalet Martin, we only did so to meet friends in Amsterdam the following day. We hopped yet another night train of little sleep but unfortunately it was heading to a place that we really did not feel like being. When we arrived, although I know that there are cool things about Amsterdam, we were not impressed. It was dirty and scummy and druggy. Not really our scene. We passed our time in the halls of the Heineken Museum, acting really silly and definitely looking like tourists! We eventually met our friends and caught the next morning’s train to Brussels, our ending point for this magical European tour. A quick evening flight across the English Channel and we were in London, waiting on a morning flight to the States. Our summer dream was closing and we would be heading back to the reality we left six weeks prior, one in which held uncertainty and was hard to predict. Were we simply attracted to each other because of the situation we were in? Romance in a foreign land? Or was this something that would have a lasting impact? We both could not foresee what would happen as we headed back to Clemson for our last semester of college. It was the end of a storybook adventure, but where would it lead?
A few weeks later back at Clemson, we answered those mysterious questions that were lingering; we were officially dating. Being apart from each other was just not an option, and we had been inseparable since we met. We immersed ourselves back into collegiate mode, making plenty of time for each other. We started running together, a few miles here and there. I had successfully converted Ashley to long distance running, and we enjoyed running all over Clemson.
Yes, I was indeed running again, after an extended time away and an incredible weight gain. One bonus of the Europe trip was the weight loss. Europeans eat far less and walk far more than Americans do. Many days we would cover 10-12 miles on foot while eating meager portions. On our independent two weeks, we tried to stretch every dollar, meaning some days we would eat only two hazelnut butter and honey sandwiches a day, nothing else! Although I left for Europe pushing 200 pounds, I returned weighing in at 177 pounds, shedding almost 25 pounds in six weeks! For the first time in while, running was now possible and enjoyable.
Ashley had been training for a triathlon before and during our Europe excursion, but due to lack of swimming facilities, she was unable to train for that portion of the race. She decided to forego that race and instead we would both enter a duathlon in Asheville that October. A duathlon was a two part race consisting of a bike ride (20K) and a footrace (5K). We ran together in preparation and biked a little bit (we both only had mountain bikes, which are tough on the road). Also, in preparation for our race, we both decided to try and live a little healthier, quit some bad habits, and try to get ready to have a good race. A strange memorable race was about to unfold.
We spent the night before the race with friends in Ashville, NC, so we could have a short drive to the start. We woke up hours before the race to give ourselves time to get completely woken up and started one of our pre-race rituals: making fun of early morning infomercial products. It’s quite funny at that hour and unbelievable at what ridiculous things people will actually buy. What else are we to do at that hour, plus it keeps your mind off the upcoming race.
I was nervous this morning. I had not run a race in a year, and had not run a short race in a few years. To add to that, I was still not in great running shape and this would be my first race in front of Ashley. She had a small idea of how good I used to be, and I would have wanted her to see the Andy of old, not this overweight slower version. I was much more worked up than normal plus I had never raced a bike race. Little did I know this race would be one that is still talked about to this day!
Due to equipment issues and the lack of a suitable road bike (I borrowed my brothers but we could not find one small enough for her), Ash would only be competing in the running section. She helped me prepare my gear in the transition area and mentally get ready to race. With bike set up and cleats on, I was set for the biking section that would be coming first. We heard a call to the stage over the PA to go over last minute instructions and then we would go to the start to get going. I left my bike in the transition area to hear the details, then would go hop on and get ready to go.
The instructions were quickly given, and then the mass of people moved toward the starting line to get a few more instructions. A bad feeling was developing in my gut as I was noticing us move away from the transition area and closer to the start. When would we get our bikes? It seems this was not planned out well, because now, after instructions, we would have to walk all the way up to the bike area, grab our gear, and go all the way back down to the start, where we just were. Why didn’t he tell us to grab our bikes first………BANG!!!
The gun sounds and I’m in a panic. For the first time, I look around and see everyone had their running shoes on. How had I missed the detail of the order? I assumed that since a traditional triathlon is Swim, bike, run, then naturally we would omit the swim and it would be bike then run. We reluctantly moved with the mass and began to run. I was worried about making a fool of myself by running a sub par race and here I was running a race in biking cleats!! Could it be any worse?
I scream out to no one in particular “When do we get our bikes?” Someone called out “After we run!” I was dead wrong and ill equipped to run the race. Biking cleats are impossible to run in for more than a transition area, so my day was done. I looked at Ash with a look of defeat and fury. This was my first race in a while, and my first race with Ash, and it looked like I would have to sit it out. Before my body could even acknowledge my own thoughts of quitting and walking off the course, my instinct took over. I reached down and ripped off my cleats, cradled them like two footballs, kissed Ash and took off, clad only in socks (Unfortunately I took off before wishing Ash good luck on her race, sorry babe!)
I was running before I knew I was running, unsure of what was going to happen. Could I actually run a race in socks? Would I make it? What if there was glass or nails or lots of gravel? Should I just quit now? My mind was a flurry of thoughts now, processing what I was actually doing and seeing if it was worth the cost of running the race. I couldn’t quit, my legs certainly wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to. I just had to make it to the bike.
We had started in the back; originally we didn’t know we were lining up for a race. I pushed my sock feet as fast as they would go, passing people left and right. Barefoot running is vastly different than shoed-foot running, in that you are forced on to your toes to absorb the impact. Continuous heel striking will destroy an unshod heel. By mile one, my feet were stinging; I could tell my socks had worn through under each toe and the ball of my foot. I was running on just skin, with two miles to go. What made it more of a shame is that this was a brand new pair of socks that I saved for this day, and now they were already garbage. Amazingly, I was still passing people.
By mile two, my feet had the feeling of a bad sunburn but I was still going. I had made it this far, I was not going to quit. The bike portion would be a breeze; I just had to go one more mile. At that time, I took note of where I was in the race. We had started in the back, but by now, to my surprise, I had passed almost every runner in the field! I had put myself into 2nd place so far. I held my own the last mile as my legs wore out, and there was no sweeter sight than my little bike sitting in the transition area, alongside an unused pair of racing flats!
I had covered the 5K in socks in a little less than 20 minutes and now had to conquer the bike. I shoved my now swollen feet into my biking cleats that I had been lugging for three miles and mounted my bike. As I pedaled out of the transition area, I cast a sideways glance at my unused racing flats, those of which I had unearthed from the depths of my closet. As much as I was irked at the predicament, I was still leaving the run portion clinging to second place. I had just proven to myself I could conquer, nothing could stop me now.
I now had one goal: pedal with all my might, real in the first place competitor, and take this race. What a story that would be! This race consisted of one large loop around Ashville, with the majority of the first half a steep climb and the second half a steep descent. To get to the first climb, though, we had to travel down Main Street first. With adversity behind me, I hammered the pedals and began to pick up the pace. Nothing could stop me now…or could it?
I pedaled faster and shifted my gears, expecting the clanging echo of chain on gear teeth. Instead, I was met by silence of a smooth wheel coasting on asphalt. Again I slammed the gears, but no response. How could this be? Apparently I was stuck in first gear, looking like a hamster on a wheel. My legs were spinning rapidly, but my bike was hardly moving. Over and over I squeezed the shifter but my bike refused to respond. I was now screaming at my bike. My amazing effort on the run portion was slowly being erased by the failure of my equipment. After all I had over come, why on earth was this happening too? In the midst of my struggles, bikers began to fly past me on their perfectly functioning bikes. I stopped on the road, hopped off, and quickly tried to see if I could find the problem. I saw nothing that looked amiss. From what I saw, there was no reason that this was happening. I kicked the bike, screamed at it, and threw it to the ground. I was furious, and now it was time to quit.
Later my brother would tell me “Oh yeah, it gets stuck sometimes in first gear, I’m not sure why.” What a horrible time for it to happen. But the competitor in me would not allow me to quit. Because of the course design, the first half of the race would be contested on a steep uphill, utilizing the lowest gear anyway. As long as I could get to the hill, I could at least be competitive in that regard, and then let momentum carry me down the descent. At least I could finish.
I carried on as riders passed me by as if I were sitting on a bench. It seemed as if I had bonked, as if I had worn myself out on the run part. I struggled on and on and was thrilled to see the turn into the hill section. Finally, I would be able to keep pace. I pushed and pushed and pushed, and finally the onslaught of cyclists had abated, and in fact, I was able to pass one of them back. On we raced, and I was dreading reaching the top, where my bike would again become useless. I would be left I the dust….again. As we cleared the top of the mountain, I heard something odd.
Clang clang!! My gears shifted! I had squeezed on them out of habit, although I knew they would not work, but they did. Quickly I dropped through my gear set and increased my speed. I could finally race, although I had very little time left to do so. I hammered my pedals once again, and tried to make up as much ground as possible. In the end, I only caught one more person, but it felt great to come across the finish line at full speed. It was a disastrous race, one I had no business starting or even finishing, but I managed to have a 14th place finish and win an age group award. Ash also won an age group award in the 5K, her first attempt at that distance.
After the race, other competitors approached me in disbelief, thinking I always raced like this. One said “As soon as you ran by me, I was thinking ‘Ah, man, I’m getting passed by a guy in socks. I should just quit now!’” Amazingly, throughout the 5K, I did not step on any broken glass, metal shards or nails, nor did I break the skin at all. My feet were bruised and my skin chapped, but now I had a great story to tell. And I still have those socks to this day!
Our first race together, the start of a new relationship, a commitment to a healthier lifestyle; things were going great. But we both could see that this life together was approaching a fork in the road. Graduation was in the next few months and our paths would be splitting. Ashley was already committed to attending Utah State University in Logan, Utah to study for her master’s degree in Civil and Environmental Engineering. I, on the other hand, would be searching for an engineering job, most likely in the Southern states, and would follow where that path led. Our short relationship had been amazing, but just as suddenly as it began, it would soon be over, just another memory. It just was not meant to be. Maybe, once she was done with school, we would meet up again. But for now, being together was just not in our future.