Coach Frankie

Our beloved yellow lab mix, Frankie, died in 2019. A picture of him hangs above our treadmill – his big brown eyes seemingly looking into mine each time I step on for a run, reminding me to run hard and appreciate every mile.

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When Frankie first joined our family, he was a work in progress. We were his fourth home, not counting his return visits to the shelter. He was all nerves and fear and reactivity. We worked hard to build his confidence and trust. Running was a way for Frankie to calm himself and bond with me, and we shared many glorious runs together. It was a shared passion.

 One of my favorite memories is when Frankie and I finished a 5k race together a few months after we adopted him. I had completed most of the race when I saw Bryan and Frankie cheering for me. Frankie looked at me eagerly, and Bryan handed me his leash. Frankie and I flew down the home stretch together as I struggled to keep up with him. The crowd noticed his enthusiasm and began cheering him on. Energized by his new fans, he picked up the pace even more. My legs and lungs were burning but I did not want to let him down. When we crossed the finish line he had a great big smile on his face. I did too.

As the years went on Frankie’s body began to betray him. He could no longer run, so he took on the role of Coach. He was always waiting by the door when I came in from a run, looking at me as if asking “how was it out there today?” He was a reminder that I might not always be able to run, so I should enjoy every step.

In 2016 I set a goal of qualifying for the Boston Marathon. It had been a dream of mine since I was in high school. I had run a few marathons in my early twenties, but then encountered a health problem that kept me from running much for many years. When I became fully healthy again I intended to make the most of it, but I really didn’t know what was possible for me anymore.

Somehow, Frankie knew. As I began running races again, the same thing happened every time: Whether it was Bryan or our dogsitter taking care of our dogs, each reported that Frankie went to his quiet spot in our house at the time I stepped up to the starting line, and refused to move until I crossed the finish line. It didn’t matter what our other dogs were doing – Frankie was locked in. I know he was helping me in a way I will never be able to understand.

With Frankie’s help, I achieved a qualifying time and earned a spot in the 2018 Boston Marathon.

The race was in April, which meant training over the winter months. It was a particularly icy winter, so I ran a lot of miles on the treadmill in our basement. Frankie stayed by my side during every treadmill run, often postponing his much-loved breakfast. If Bryan and the other dogs went out for a walk, Frankie refused. He was busy coaching and supporting me.

One day while training for Boston, I had 8-10 treadmill hill repeats on my schedule. I finished eight and felt fatigued, so I called it a day and began to cool down. But then I felt Frankie’s soulful eyes looking at me in disappointment, seemingly telling me I was capable of more. I turned up the incline and got back to work. We were a team, and Frankie brought out the best in me.

Having Frankie by my side made the miles so much easier and motivated me to do my best. If Frankie was willing to navigate the basement steps on his arthritic legs and skip meals, I did not want to let him down.

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Race day in Boston came, and the weather was grueling. As we lined up on the starting line, temperatures were in the 30s, heavy rain was pouring down, and winds were gusting over 30 mph. It was considered one of the worst weather days since the race’s inception in 1897, and my fellow runners and I had 26.2 miles and a lot of hills ahead of us.

I’d never done anything harder. But there was no way was I going to let Frankie down. I gritted through each mile and finished a few hours later, shivering, legs cramping, and hypothermic. A shiny medal was placed around my neck, but I knew it did not belong to me. I returned home the next day and gave it to its rightful owner – Coach Frankie.

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Next week, I’ll toe the line in Boston again. I’ve trained hard in preparation, often thinking of Frankie as the miles passed along the river. I ache to have him with me for one more run – my best friend by my side, looking up at me with a smile.

Whether I run fast or slow, no matter how hard it gets, I will enjoy the race. Frankie would want that. And when I turn right on Hereford and left onto Boylston for that famous home stretch, crowds ten-deep and that glorious finish line beaconing ahead, I will imagine Frankie by my side, his beautiful stride stretched out ahead of me, leading the way.