Camera Running
Captured On Film: A Local Marathoner's Unlikely Quest For Boston
By Michael T. Dolan
In the pre-dawn hours of a frigid mid-February morning, the film crew squeezed into a black pickup truck. The cinematographer battled the open air of the cab, fingers too numb to handle the camera.
It was the dark before dawn, and the truck trailed a lone man navigating the rolling hills of West Chester. The streets were quiet this Sunday morning, save for the truck's struggling engine. And fast-paced footsteps.
The crew followed the footsteps for seven miles, and they expected to follow for seven more. Something, however, was awry. The truck was no longer trailing the runner; he came to a halt and walked slowly toward them. No one in the crew could blame him for quitting. It was just too damn cold.
But as he came closer, the crew realized it wasn't the cold that stopped him - the look on his face told them as much. His goatee covered in ice, eyes sunken, he looked broken and tired.
"it's my knees," he said.
Mike Zolomij was never a long-distance runner, which makes his story all the more compelling. In March 2004, he ran in Brian's Run, an annual race through the streets of West Chester benefiting the disabled. He ran the 10K race in a respectable 50:02, placing 165th. He was hooked.
Thinking he had longer races in him, Zolomij began contemplating greater goals, and soon enough his mind turned to the marathon. A 10K was one thing, but 26.2 miles is quiet another.
Two years later, Zolomij, 39, has successfully run four marathons and is training to run another in Chicago this October - all in hopes of qualifying for the Boston Marathon. 3:15 (three hours and 15 minutes) is both the qualifying time for male runners between the ages of 35 and 40 and the title of the documentary chronicling Zolomij's journey to make it to Boston.
A videographer for QVC and founder of his own production company, Big Dumb Monkey Productions, Zolomij has always been the man behind the camera. In 3:15, however, all the equipment is focused on him.
"I never saw myself being in front of the camera," says Zolomij. "I am much more comfortable on the other end - out of sight."
He has his wife, Carol, to thank for the change in view. Zolomij and Carol live on a tree-lined street in the heart of the West Chester borough. With four children ages 5 and under - and two dogs to boot - their household is a busy one.
On this day, Jake, 5, and Cole, 4, discuss the merits of Batman's superhero abilities practicing the ways of "the Force" from Star Wars. Two-year-old Ashe wanders from toy to toy in the lawn while 1-year-old Skye sits perched in her father's arms. How, one wonders, does a father of four with a full-time job and his own production company find the time to train for marathon after marathon, all while making a documentary?
"Carol," Zolomij is quick to say. "Without her, none of this would be possible. We make a good team."
And indeed they are. The couple's relationship is built on supporting each other's pursuits. For Zolomij, it's the Boston Marathon; for Carol, a doctorate in industrial psychology.
"We tag-team with the kids, and somehow we're able to do it. Our support system for one another has always been great - we're very lucky that way."
And it's that support system that planted the seed for 3:15. After running in three marathons in 2004/2005, shaving his time from 3:56:25 to 3:33:41, Zolomij told Carol he was thinking of trying to qualify for Boston. He knew it would be difficult and mean more hours of the streets of West Chester and away from home. He was uncertain.
Carol, however, was certain - and she upped the ante, challenging him not only to train for Boston, but also to make a documentary for the effort.
"You're always saying you want an exciting project to work on," Carol said. "Well, this is it. I'll give you whatever time you need to make this happen, but you need to do this."
The challenge made, Zolomij grabbed hold and ran with it, pulling together a film crew of industry friends.
"I wanted people who believed in this project - people who would put their heart and soul into it," he says. "I'm lucky - that's exactly who I have. This crew believes in me, and each one of them has sacrificed time away from their own families, their own pursuits. They're incredible people."
Nancy Glass Productions' Michele Loschiavo, producer and director of 3:15, recalls her response to Zolomij's pitch: "I'm in. When do we begin?" It's short and it's sweet, but it is exactly the attitude Zolomij has roused from the eight-member, all-volunteer crew.
Filming began a year ago when Zolomij was training for his second try at the Marine Corps Marathon. He had to clips a daunting 41 minutes off of his first time (3:56:25) to qualify for Boston. It's not an impossible task, but damn near to it.
In June 2005, Zolomij and two friends traveled to upstate New York for the Lake Placid Marathon. He placed 48th at the race with a time of 3:51:28 - just five minutes shaved off the needed 41. Running the Marine Corps Marathon again in Ocotber 2005, Zolomij was able to cut his best time by 18 minutes, down to 3:33:41. Suddenly, 3:15 didn't seem all that far out of reach.
Each step of the way, Zolomij is followed by his film crew, from 5am training runs up and down the hills of West Chester to the Washington, D.C. landmarks along the Marine Corps Marathon course.
For Zolomij and the crew, though, 3:15 is about much more than running. It's about the sacrifices people make in pursuit of their dreams. More than that, it's about the sacrifices made by those whose support them. Filming the documentary has captured these sacrifices - the minor family crises, the early-morning crew calls, the bitter-cold shoots, the injuries.
"It's my knees."
When Zolomij came to a stop halfway through that February morning training run, it was evident something was wrong. "I was over-training," Zolomij recalls now, "not giving my body a chance to recover between runs."
Zolomij was doing sub-eight-minute miles on his training runs - pushing himself too hard. And it was beginning to take a toll on his knees.
Hot and cold compresses - and a lot of Motrin - helped Zolomij nurse his knees back to health. Over the next few months, though, the pain occasionally crept back. Training runs were rife with apprehension and anxiety. Would his knees give out? Would this run mean the end of Boston? Would the next?
Zolomij needed another marathon to find out what he - and his knees - were made of.
Fast forward to May 21. It's 4am on a Sunday morning, and anyone in his or her right mind would be sound asleep. Accompanied by his dog, Lobo, Zolomij enters the dark kitchen and flicks on the light. He's tired. He's nervous. He feels alone. Hell, it's 4am.
Sitting on the counter is a flyer that reads: "3rd Annual Delaware Marathon." Zolomij knows the flyer well. The next chance to test himself has arrived, and the starting gun is just hours away. Looking closer, Zolomij sees that the flyer is autographed in elementary-school print: "JAKE. COLE. ASHE. SKYE."
"We love you, Dad,," Carol wrote. "Good luck!"
Zolomij may be alone in his kitchen, but he's not alone - and his eyes begin to well with tears. Then he glances at his cell phone next to the flyer; there's a new message.
Zolomij's first reaction is one of panic. Someone in his crew can't make it. someone is sick. something is wrong! His heart pounding, he dials to retrieve the message. "Hi Daddy, it's Jake. Good luck today. Daddy, it's me - Cole Bear! I miss you. Daddy, love you!" The tears begin to flow, but Zolomij isn't anxious anymore. He's ready to run.
"The message and that flyer meant the world to me," he says. "This has been a stressful time on all of us, and their voices made all that go away. It was their way of letting me know that they're OK, that I'm not spending too much time away from them, that the sacrifices are worth it."
Then, soon enough, his work begins.
5am: The crew begins to arrive. Michele. Paul. Eric. Wes. Derby. Mike. Mark. They greet one another in whispers, careful not to wake the sleeping souls above them.
5.30am: Car doors slam shut in the pre-dawn morning, engines come to life, and four cars begin their trek through the empty streets of West Chester en route to the Wilmington riverfront.
6.25am: The crew arrives at the riverfront and unpacks cameras, tripods, backpacks, digital cassette tapes and bikes. Zolomij, joined by friend and fellow marathoner Mark Goodwin of Exton, rushes to register and pick up a race packet.
6:50am: 10 minutes before the start gun, Zolomij rushes through his pre-race routine and stretches. The crew races to get it all on tape.
7am: To the "pow!" of the starting gun, Zolomij crosses over the line. After capturing the opening sequence, the crew splits up into two groups. Hopping on a laughable assortment of new, used and borrowed bikes, they race ahead of the pack to stage the next shot. Some have backpacks full of tapes and batteries; others have digital film cameras precariously in tow. Still another has a tripod slung over his back. Zolomij spends the next few hours running. The crew spends that time on bikes - tracking and filming him.
10:36am: Zolomij crosses the finish line at 3:36:39, 21 minutes shy of 3:15. He feels good, though. He made it through with his knees intact, and that in itself provides a life. Maybe 3:15 is doable.
Zolomij's next and last attempt at 3:15 comes Ocotber 22 at the Chicago Marathon. Can he do it? With the support of his family, his crew and friends, he believes so.
"I call it the Mike Mulligan effect," Zolomij says, referring to the children's picture book by Virginia Lee Burton, Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. In the book, Mike Mulligan and Mary Anne, his steam shovel, dig the town hall cellar in one day because a crowd gathered to cheer them on. The larger the crowd, the fast they worked. It's the same with Zolomij. He sees himself blessed to be where he is, and credits everyone but himself for what he hopes to accomplish - 3:15.
"Hurry, Mike Mulligan! Hurry! Hurry!" shouted the little boy. "There's not much more time!"
No comments:
Post a Comment