He wouldn't have it. Instead of lowering his head, he lifted his son's off the teal padding of his wheelchair. The volunteer maneuvered the yellow ribbon around Chris Nelson's neck instead.
Leaning over his son, John straightened the medal, smoothed the ribbon and smiled.
Perfect.
Chris has worn home dozens of medals like the one he received Sunday at the Memorial Marathon. Yet for the past three decades, he has been unable to stand on his own, much less run. An accident when he was 3 years old caused cerebral palsy, leaving him unable to speak or care for himself.
But for the past decade, father and son have done about a dozen races a year.
John is Chris' legs.
"He enjoys it," John said after doing the half marathon Sunday. "He likes to be around where things are happening. He likes the noise and the yellin'."
There's always plenty of that. Folks are forever shouting encouragement. Running long distances, after all, is difficult enough. Doing it while pushing more than a hundred pounds is downright awesome.
John began running in the late '80s after bumping into an old buddy. They started training together and competed in all sorts of races, including marathons.
Then John heard about the Hoyts. Dick Hoyt and his son Rick are the father-son tandem from Massachusetts that has completed not only dozens of marathons but also triathlons. Born a quadriplegic with cerebral palsy, Rick has been pushed or pulled across hundreds of finish lines by his father.
John wondered if Chris might like to run with him.
"We'll give it a try," John decided.
John and Chris did their first race together at the Redbud Classic. John pushed Chris in his regular wheelchair, and both had a blast.
John started work on a racing buggy, something that would be easier to push and more comfortable for Chris. He even contacted the Hoyts. He eventually hit on a design that would work.
During the past decade, it's undergone a few changes. The original frame had to be cut in half, then widened to accommodate Chris' growth. The padded cushion is the handiwork of John's mother.
"It's a contraption, isn't it?" John mused, then laughed. "A wheel hasn't flown off of it or anything like that. It hasn't fallen apart yet, so we're good with it."
He glanced at wife, Patti, and daughter, Nicole.
"We had to pull him home one time, though, and he thought that was funny."
Same with passing other runners. John and Chris start toward the back to lower the risk of clipping a runner amid a pack, but because John runs better than an eight-minute mile, they often catch lots of runners.
Being Oklahoma State fans, they enjoy passing one kind in particular.
"Let's see if we can pass that Sooner up there," John will say to Chris.
Then, they will.
Then, Chris will laugh.
And really, that's the only validation the Nelsons need. John might have to exert extra effort to push Chris, and Patti might have to station herself at different points along the course and check on Chris, but they do it because of those grunts of laughter.
"You know how it is with kids," John said. "You always want them to be able to do all that they can."
Patti said, "The more he gets to participate in, the more we like it."
So the scene when John and Chris came to the finish line near Sixth and Broadway seemed fitting. Before they did, a small cluster of folks would cheer when someone it knew finished, then a few moments later another group would cheer for its runner. But as the Nelsons approached the finish, everyone cheered.
For John. For Chris. For a spirit that can inspire all of us.
"To him, he's running," Patti said of Chris. "Even though his dad's pushing him, he's running." Jenni Carlson: 475-4125, jcarlson@oklahoman.com
