In the pre-dawn moments before the start, my wife Brenda, daughters Stephanie and Melissa and I searched for a warm place out of the frigid wind to stretch and wait. We found a safe haven next to a couple of buildings and also found fellow Space Coast Runners Dave and Lisa Farrall. The temperature was in the low 30's but the strong winds made it feel like 20 something. Stephanie and Melissa, draped in cameras and spare clothing, watched as Mom and Dad nervously awaited the start of the race. This race would define their lives for the next 4 hours.
The sun had not yet risen over the city of Clearwater when the gun sounded the start. With numb fingers and toes, Stephanie, Melissa and I cheered and filmed as the field of 1000 runners passed before us, crossing the Clearwater Causeway. As Brenda crested the top of the causeway, I knew that my race was now under way.
My daughters and I ran from the starting area to our van at a hectic 9-minute pace. After stashing our coats and cameras into the van, we chased the runners across the Clearwater Causeway. Upon reaching Clearwater Beach, we were slowed to a snail's pace. I had envisioned racing down a side street to catch Brenda at the 5-mile and 10-mile marks. After spending 45 aggravating, bumper-to-bumper minutes to reach the 2-mile mark, I decided to change the game plan. We did a wheel spinning U-turn and raced back past the starting line to our hotel, six miles away. We were going to pick up my son Phillip and other daughter Allyson, who we had left sleeping 2 hours earlier.
Meanwhile, out on the marathon course, Brenda was cruising along at an 8:30 to 8:35 mile pace. She was running very comfortably and taking in the sights. The course is monotonously straight and "pancake" flat, following the condos and communities that line the Gulf of Mexico. The wind was at her back as the sun began to rise over Clearwater Harbor. It was a wonderful day and life was great!
Back at the hotel I burst in the room like a "storm trooper". "Get out of bed and pack up the van, we've gotta get moving!" I shouted. "Why do we have to check out so early?" the kids were whining. "Check out is at 11:00, and Mom will be finishing around 10:00 and she will want to eat, drink and get a massage, we won't have time to come back", I screamed. In a matter of minutes we cleared all of our possessions from the beds, floor and bathroom, and threw them all into the van. As I turned in our keys and checked out, the kids grabbed handfuls of bagels, pastries and juice from the complimentary continental breakfast area. Minutes later we were all in our positions back in the van. With a Clearwater map draped over my lap and half of the steering wheel, we sped off for the 17-mile mark.
Back out on the course, Brenda was starting to suffer a bit. After about 14 miles, the course turned back northward and things started to get ugly--and I'm not talking about the pit stop in the woods along the Pinellas Trail. The wind that was at her back for the first 13 miles was now in her face. The temperature an hour and a half into the race was still just 40 degrees. With the north winds hitting her in the face, the clothes that had become soaked with sweat for the last 2 hours were now chilling her to the bone. Along with this misery came a slower pace. At mile 15 she saw her first 9:00 mile split. From then on she fluctuated between 9:00 and 9:10 per mile. It was becoming a not-so-wonderful day and life was rough!
Things were looking good for me, though! I managed to get the "Jones support crew" to the 17.5 mile cheering spot well ahead of our "hero".
Phillip and I set up our cameras while Stephanie and Melissa selected their cheering locations. Six-year-old Allyson wandered around picking weeds--I mean flowers. After 20 minutes of watching and cheering for other runners, our favorite athlete arrived. In a matter of seconds, hands were slapped, encouraging words were shouted, pictures were snapped and then she was gone. Like a ghost into a fog she vanished into the distance. With the authority of a battlefield sergeant I shouted the command, "Everyone to the van". All around me bodies dived into their seats and doors slammed. 
I took one last look at the map to verify the route to our next stop, then checked the mirrors for traffic, and off we went. Out of the corner of my eye, something caught my attention. Quickly, I hit the breaks. Standing next to the van was Allyson, with a big grin and a handful of weeds--I mean flowers. After yelling at the kids for not keeping track of their little sister, we were on our way again.
At the next stop I could tell Brenda was having a rough time. I could see the familiar "head tilt" which says, "I'm tired and not having fun any more". I also noticed that one of the gels that she was carrying behind her in a net pouch had become punctured and was leaking. In the cold air it formed a crystallized cream-colored glob on the back of her right hamstring. I can only imagine what the other runners thought. Like a machine, she was still plugging away at a 9:10 mile pace, though. And, after slapping hands, receiving words of encouragement and having her picture taken, she was again on her way. Next stop, the finish line. This time I made sure everyone was in the van before we left--especially Allyson.
We arrived at the finish line with 10 minutes to spare. While selecting my filming location, I got into a shouting match with a police officer that was ready to pull his gun and shoot me for standing too close to a traffic cone. After a few choice words and hand gestures, we moved on to a secondary location and prepared to cheer Mom home. Right on schedule, like a train arriving at the station she appeared. 
Running down the final downhill stretch to the finish, it was to be another 3:50 marathon. Just about all of her marathons are 3:50's. I have more variations in my 5K times than she has in her marathon times. I snapped a picture as she passed underneath the clock, to preserve the moment. A very unique starfish-shaped marathon finisher medal was placed around her neck symbolizing the end of the race, and a job well done. During that 3 hour and 50 minute span of time in between the start and finish lines, we added another chapter to our book of running--or is it our book of life?