I went through my day yesterday (Monday) reminding myself that I needed to sit down later that night and write my blog. I thought about the week I had pertaining to my training and eating. It was a difficult week, having sustained a minor injury and a miniscule weight loss. As I got into my car to begin my 35-minute commute home, I turned on the radio. I usually listen to Dr. Laura on Sirius XM just for kicks (I don't always agree with her, but it's fun to listen to anyway.) Sometimes to change it up and have a good laugh, I might switch it over to Playboy Radio or Opie & Anthony for a few minutes.
I turned on the radio and it was still set to the CNN station that I tuned into the night before when I ran out to the supermarket. I left it on as I drove along not really paying attention. My ears and brain started to click into the words being spoken by Wolf Blitzer. "...explosions...city...finish line...onlookers...Boston..." I remembered that the Boston Marathon was happening that day and I immediately zeroed in and paid more attention as the report went on and I was able to piece together that there had been two explosions at the Boston Marathon yards away from the finish. Scarce details came forth and I immediately texted my buddy Thom who I'm doing Chicago with, to ask if he knew anyone running in Boston. He wrote back to say he knew some people running and they were all ok. As details began to materialize and the nature of the explosions became clear, I tried to think if we knew anyone in Boston. At times like this, social media is a godsend. I checked in with Becky's cousin at BU. All ok. Checked in with a friend from high school. All ok. Good. But still...
I am just starting this journey to becoming a marathon runner, but in my short time in that world (and just barely touching the tip of that world,) one thing has become clear. For me right now yes, all roads lead to Chicago. But for the hardcore, avid marathoner, all roads lead to Boston. It's the grand-daddy of all races. The oldest distance race in America. Not to diminish the scale or significance of running Chicago, but the hardcore marathoners run a race like Chicago, or Philly, or Atlanta, in order to qualify for Boston. there are only 23,000 runners (compared to 45,000 in Chicago.) Every one of them meeting a specified criteria of speed and time in order to be allowed to run in Boston. For the true marathoner, it's the pinnacle. A crown jewel. Like climbing Mt. Everest. I've heard people talk about it like a pilgrimage. The way a Muslim aspires to visit Mecca, a Jew to Jerusalem, or a Catholic to the Vatican. It's a race that many admire and glorify, and comparatively few ever get to run. I know I never will, but I'm developing that reverence just the same.
I had a rough week training and weight-wise. Last Tuesday I did 3.1 miles in 00:43:51. My best time yet. Then the week got away from me. I couldn't get to the rec center until Friday after work. I felt good though. I wanted to push myself so after my initial warm-up walk, I set the treadmill at a 4.7 pace. I was going along nicely, feeling good when all of a sudden at the 2.1 mile mark I felt a searing pain in my left calf. I cried out and almost fell off the treadmill. I got what I thought was the worst cramp I have ever gotten. So, I went over to the blocks and stretched it out. I walked around the rec center a bit. Tried to take in some fluids. I massaged it. It was really tight but I got back on the treadmill and tried to continue. Within a minute of starting again, the pain was back. That was it. I was shot for the day. I left pissed and defeated. Saturday should have been a long walk, but by that morning, the tightness and pain were still present. Even if I went out on Sunday, I was losing a day no matter what. Clearly, it was more than a cramp. I definitely pulled the muscle. I was so frustrated. I have come so far, but I still have such a long way to go. I have no time to lose a day or two or three. Add to it that at my Sunday morning weigh-in I was only down .3 lbs from the prior week. So, Sunday morning I begrudgingly went out for the long walk. My father in-law came along (he has been a distance runner in the past and is trying to get going again as well.) We did a good paced walk of about 4.3 miles. Felt good to be out, albeit my leg was still tight and sore. But the walk did it good.
That was the end of the week. Only 3 days of exercise and a small weight loss. Call it a "meh" week. And then Monday comes. I get up Monday morning to go out on a walk/run before work. It's a new week, leg is feeling ok. Try to rev the engine up again. Get back in the saddle, ya know? Can't slip into a funk. Can't back off. As I go out, I can tell that my legs feel like lead weights trying to run through water. FUCK!! I think. It feels like 4 weeks ago. No matter what I do, I can't seem to get them going. So, about half a mile in, I decide to walk the whole thing. I did 3.1 miles, but came off it frustrated.
And then Boston happened. Of course I feel so bad for all the people injured and the families of those who died. And I can't even begin to make sense of the senseless violence and evil in the world and why someone would be compelled to do such a thing. But what keeps coming back to my mind is the runners. My heart breaks for them. They who have worked their whole life for this moment. This chance for personal greatness. I'm only beginning to understand the personal significance of that moment. Whether you've been running since you were a child, or you're 41 and only started 5 weeks ago, you've been preparing your whole life for this moment. Everything you've done has led you to this event. This moment. This purpose. And to have that all taken away from you because of some evil person or persons. To come so close to the grail, the ring, Nirvana, whatever, and to have it be taken away. And not because you failed. Not because you gave up. But because some evil bastard wanted to hurt people, destroy life. It just makes no sense to me. And all afternoon, I felt some strange connection to everyone who ran. The ones who finished, the ones who did not. I guess it was that sense of brotherhood again. So Monday night, I went out with my daughter and I ran. I ran a mile without stopping. I willed my legs into a state of lightness. It was my personal protest to the evil in the world. It was my way of saying to whoever did this thing that they cannot stop us. They can't stop us from running. They can't stop people from living their lives and doing the things that give them joy. It was my reminder to myself that I can't be stopped by a hurt leg, or disappointing weight, or fear of disaster, or the thousand other things that can happen and get us down.
With that said, I think I'll close this post with what comedian Patton Oswalt said on his Facebook page last night: "When you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, ‘The good outnumber you, and we always will.’”
So, why run a marathon?
Because no matter who or what tries to stop you, you must continue to do that which is important to you.
All roads lead to Chicago.
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