As a runner and something of an ultrarunner, I have had several memorable milestones. I will never forget my first marathon (New York), my first ultra (Double Chubb), my first 24-hour (Olander Park), my first 100-mile (Umstead), and reaching Stovepipe Wells at Badwater 135 in 2002 and knowing that I would finish. Over the years, I have managed to entice my wife, children, and friends into running marathons, and I have enjoyed seeing them run, finish, and take pride in their success.

A few years ago, I had a memorable run with Alec, my youngest son. I had entered the Mississippi Trail 50-mile. We were coming back from Alec’s Easter vacation from school, and I had managed to talk my daughter Kari and him into running the 50K. Neither of them had run on a trail before or had run beyond 26 miles. Kari, then 20 years old, had done four marathons, and Alec (16 years old at the time) had seven to his credit.

Kari got sick with the flu before the run, and we agreed that it would be best that she not run. So Alec and I drove to the start in the early morning and met several of my running friends. In preparation for the run, I had given both of my children lots of fatherly advice. I had told them to sip from their handheld bottles at all times, to drink and eat at all food stations, to walk every hill, and to always move forward.

After taking a few pictures, we lined up and started the run. Alec told me that I was in charge of the plan, that he would run and walk on whatever schedule I decided. I decided on a pace that would allow Alec to run steadily without burning up too early. I remembered the 2004 Napa Valley Marathon, where I paced Alec to his PR. In that event, Alec got close to passing out at around 18 miles. He recuperated and finished well, but I remembered that lesson.

As we ran, I talked to him about looking up at the trail to see markers and at the ground to be forewarned of roots and rocks. I explained to him that it is a good idea to be close but not too close to other runners to see where they plant their feet in order to avoid rolling an ankle, to avoid tripping if they fall, and to

Courtesy of Andy Velazco

rest mentally from following the trail and deciding on the pace. I remembered his growing up. It seems like yesterday that he was a little boy. Now, at this race, he was 16, a high school junior. When growing up, Alec used to ask lots of questions of his mother, his siblings, and me. We gave him advice that he accepted and used. As an adolescent, he was more reluctant to accept advice, but in this instance, I talked and he listened.

As I ran, I could hear his breathing and wondered whether I was being too fast a rabbit for him. Alec’s steps were very distinct, and I could feel his effort. He reminded me of taking salt as per our plan, which told me that even though he had told me that his total time for the race was not important, he was keeping an eye on it and looking out for both of us.

The run was on a 12.5-mile loop that the 50-milers would do four times. The 50K runners would do two loops, followed by a 6.1-mile section. After the first 12.5-mile loop, we shed clothes since the temperature was going up. In this second loop, I fell behind at times and let him lead. Watching his effortless stride over roots, rocks, mud holes, and streams, I realized how lucky I was (as his father) to be experiencing this with him.

He was getting tired. I could tell by the way his breathing was changing. He did not complain, however. I modified the plan a bit to allow him to rest more. We ran up the hills in order to use our muscles from different angles, and we drank and ate more. As the second loop came to an end, I realized that running with Alec was a joy. I felt that he, too, was enjoying this experience, running

 One of Alec’s first marathons was Napa Valley, which tours along miles and miles of vineyards.

Courtesy of Andy Velazco

 Alec, back row wearing a reflective hat, poses with me (front right of Alec) and a group of friends from the 50 States Club before the Mississippi 50.

and talking with his old man. At this point in his life, we did not spend nearly enough time together. As we passed the finish line checkpoint, I indicated that I was downgrading to the 50K. On this day, running without Alec another 18 miles would not have been as much fun as it normally would have. Endurance running is a lonely sport, where we accept being alone with our own thoughts for hours on end. I told him that I had enjoyed his company tremendously over the past 25 miles and that we should do a joint run like this every year until I turned 80. I guess I have big plans to keep running a few more years.

As we started the final 10K, I talked to him as much as possible. I knew that he was getting really tired and wanted this time to be over, no matter how much fun it had been to this point. Being selfish about how much I was enjoying our time together, I wanted the experience to go on as many more hours as I could squeeze out of it. He asked me to push the pace, which I reluctantly did. He followed step for step.

As we turned toward the finish, with 200 yards to go, I backed off and walked. As I saw him sprint toward the finish, I realized how lucky I have been to be there as he grows up and matures. He is now a young adult, capable of bouncing between young and adult but leaning toward adulthood more every day. He is also a good runner and now an ultrarunner. I must face the fact that he will increasingly move on and become his own man. I’m proud of him and sad, in a selfish way, to see him move away from me. He will run through life on his own, but we will forever have moments—hours—like this.