here does the power come from, to see the race to its end?"
Eric Liddell, Missionary and Olympic Champion
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Who is Claudia Berryman-Shafer, and why we honor her today

By Gordon Cherr
I met her somewhere at an ultra, a long ago. I just don't remember where or when. She was a pleasant enough lady, who ran and climbed mountains with her husband, Jim. She didn't boast of those accomplishments, but she did brag plenty on her kids. By that I mean she taught school, in Nevada, I think she said, fifth grade, maybe it was seventh. I don't know, it was a chance encounter at the end of long day and a lot of miles. And a great many more miles have passed since that day.

I later heard that she had breast cancer. I don't know how I learned of that either. But it really didn't register, she was a person far away. Besides, right now I know three people who are living with "end stage" cancer. Liver, stomach, brain, lungs....why, why, why? Last week I went to "Art in the Park", downtown on Park Avenue, and walked up on a man wearing a Superman outfit. Corey was visiting for the weekend with wife and grand-daughter, he and I were walking together and talking quietly, and suddenly both of our hearts did an unexpected flip-flop. I immediately expected to see Tim, he was Superman, remember? And Spiderman and Batman and Popeye. No one else should be allowed to wear that costume. Ever.

I thought long and hard about it that night and revisited the "Remembrances of Tim Simpkins", which many people contributed to on the club's web site. I reread them all. I found this one to speak the most truth to me:

"For me, thinking about Tim reminds me about every day I ever ran. The memory of Tim reminds me of every day I went down to Mike Long track in the blistering sun to run intervals and hear Tim's over-enthusiasm. It reminds me of every race I ever ran with or without Tim, who was there and what happened . . . . Tim reminds me of what each day smelled like, felt like and tasted like. Tim makes me remember how good it felt to get to run, to run fast or to run easy. Tim reminds me of every trail, street and dirt road I ever ran down. He reminds me of all the possibilities I used to dream of, of how good I wanted to be.

Tim reminds me of everything I ever did each day before I ran. What it was like to get ready to run: by myself in my apartment, with teammates in the locker-rooms, with my father. Tim reminds me what it was like to be in school, to have friends, to go to work in the mornings, to wake up with my family, to be a college student in a cheap apartment during a Tallahassee summer. He makes me remember what it was like to look forward on all those days to going for a run. Even if I didn't look forward to the runs on those days, Tim reminds me that I just didn't know I was looking forward to them. He makes me look forward to them retroactively.

All of this that Tim has made me remember also makes realize how limited this time is, how few times I will get to go run. Tim makes me appreciate every opportunity I ever got to run or to race. He makes me appreciate every dump I ever lived in that was jogging distance to the track. Because of Tim, I now can never really think back on any of that running with regret. Even in spite of my failures, Tim makes me love every minute I ever ran or did anything remotely related to running. Not surprisingly, I am also beginning to appreciate just about everything I ever got to do in life.

I do not know entirely what death, or life, is. Nor (I think) does anyone. Certainly we have faith, hope, speculation and assumption. But, in part because of Tim, I can't wait to wake up tomorrow... and I can't wait to run again."

(I would be remiss if I did not tell you that this tribute to Tim was written by Corey Cherr).