I'm happy to report that this weekend I did not crap myself while running. And if you're wondering why I didn't say that last weekend...well.
The lowest 'knuckle' on both my big toes hurt, and my quads are stiff, and some toes on my left foot are a bit raw on the ends, and I've still got a bit of that post-race narcolepsy. But, I'll go to work tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, now that I won't be required to read and write I'll be doing more running and writing.
You know, as I run these things I realize, in the grand scheme of things, my own epic struggles are ridiculously and completely self-imposed. I wonder what the onlookers think, as we run through their town, especially the ones who didn't come out to watch but were just going about their lives and there's this marathon in the way. I imagine that guy, the one leaning against the fence as he might sit all day, staring, and I wonder what his life is like. I wonder if he wonders what my life is like. Does he imagine that it is easy? is he right?
I've passed lots of people with Vibram five-finger shoes, or just barefoot, who are clearly suffering. My first instinct is to mock them: Did Born to Run convince him that running barefoot is natural? Well, it is. 26 miles of cement and asphalt, however, is not. Personally, it's weird, to me, to create that kind of suffering, to give one's life meaning, but that's their journey, their need to do something extraordinary. As my mother might have pointed out to me, You ran 62 miles when you could have taken a car.
Towards the end of road marathons especially, I pass a lot of men who are healthy and athletic-looking. (Sweet Baboo thinks maybe most men do not pace themselves as well as women do.) Their slumped shoulders and shuffling feet speak their fatigue, and they are tired, suffering, and determined. Perhaps if it was easy, it wouldn't mean as much. It means more to overcome it on your own. It is uniquely personal.
It's not to be imposed, however. The woman at the Kalamazoo marathon who pulled a small boy along by the hand, a small boy of about eight, who was wearing a Tee-shirt that proclaimed: CHOOSE LIFE. CHOOSE ADOPTION, didn't know this. As I passed, he asked mommy if he could rest for a moment, and she urged him on. If you want to make your children walking advertisements for your beliefs, fine, but don't drag them 26 miles. The journey, THEIR journey, means more if they push THEMselves. You can't give the meaning of the journey to someone. They have to find it on their own. Otherwise, they'll hate you for it. When they think of your beliefs, they'll think of suffering.
There are the stories, and the journeys. Take none of them for granted. They are uniquely those that belong to the people who created them. The sign at mile 12 that says "Jeanette you are a 13.1 rockstar!" made me smile because my guess is that there is a story behind that sign and the people who wrote it. Jeanette, wherever she is, is a rockstar. We all are.