The Marathoner

I don’t run anymore. I mean, I could, really, I think I could, but it’s just that, well, I don’t need to.  There are a lot of things bad about running. It gets a person bad knees before their time. It gets you all sweaty and smelly and especially if you are wearing a nice shirt and a suit, not that I have worn a suit in a very long time, well a person just shouldn’t run in a suit.  So I could run and I used to run. There was a time when I ran up and down the roads where I lived and I ran marathons and even was up for being chosen to carry the Olympic torch as it came through the area where I lived. But that didn’t happen. They chose someone else someone who wasn’t even much of a runner. It was all political. Okay, well, yes he actually was a very good runner and often beat me in any race we were both in. But that one time in 1983 I passed him coming down a hill and was ahead of him for almost a mile. Okay, take a breath, well it wasn’t that long while he got a tiny cup of water from a bystander along the road. But still, I passed him and I felt good about it and even though he went on to finish ahead of me, the marathon, ok, ok, it was a half-marathon, but still, it was a long way to run. You try running that far and tell me it’s not a real marathon and then we will have this conversation. I ran for a long time. I enjoyed it a lot to be out there just running. I never really liked the actual marathons, yeah, yeah, yeah, half-marathons, but preparing for them, training for them was enjoyable. There was no one to beat it was just me keeping going and dreaming of being in the race someday. I didn’t really ever want to win or expect to win and winning isn’t the point anyway, is it? No, of course not the thing is to finish the race or at least to get as far towards the finish line as possible. I trained for a lot of years. Well, it was a lot if you think 21 and a half years is a lot and I do think that’s a lot. When the weather would turn nicer in the spring I would start putting on my sneakers after work and go for a run. A jog through the park or just a fast hike on a trail. But yes a fast hike on a trail is training because I was going up and down some pretty big hills, well big for around where I lived. I mean the ground did go up and down some, it wasn’t all level so that’s a hill to me. So I would walk and then jog and then go faster and even sprint a bit. Well, I would sprint for maybe one hundred yards but that’s like the length of a football field so that’s a pretty good sprint I think as I imagined those hulking bruisers chasing me and wanting to knock me down.  And then as I finished the sprint I would raise my hands over my head and pump the football and spike it on the ground. Yes, it’s true it was just an imaginary football but the action is the same and I would bend over a moment and catch my breath and take in the cheers that I heard in my head and start slowly walking and then jogging again. I trained every spring and summer and into the fall until the snows started in winter and I would stop running because after all it wasn’t safe to run in the snow and there was a lot of ice, well sometimes there was water that was slushy and could have frozen, so I put away my running shoes and enjoyed quiet nights resting by the fireplace that was on my computer screen. Then the next spring I would start over again and this was my running life for a couple of decades. Wow, decades. That makes me quite the long sprinter. Well, not a long sprinter but a long runner and that made me think of myself as a marathoner and I thought I could compete in a big race. So for a couple of years, I would run longer when I trained and got to six miles or so and that made me think that if I worked harder I could at least do a half-marathon.  I started to do charity runs. You know, the 5K ones where I would donate some money for the cause and feel good about myself for contributing, and then I would run and finish the race. As I did more of those I kept stepping up my game and the distances and one day I decided that I was ready for a real marathon, well half of one at least. So I signed up for one that was in the fall. I figured that way I would have all of that year from spring on to get to my best and after it was over I could put my shoes away until the next year. It was a good plan and I walked more, jogged more, and sprinted more even though I knew that in a marathon sprinting wouldn’t be needed because I was just going to keep a nice slow pace and try to finish. Try to finish? I mean I was just going to finish. I would. Finish. That’s all I wanted to do. There would be no winning in terms of beating someone else. It wasn’t about that. I just would finish and know that I had done it, and of course, get some recognition piece of paper at least that I could hang on my wall somewhere. I trained hard. I did. I got to the point that even if it rained I would put on my shoes and walk to the door and open it, before closing it and saying there is no use to get sick running in the rain. Fortunately, there were a lot of dry days and weekends so I got to run a lot. When I got into the mass of people who were running that day I saw him. The guy who always beat me in those charity races, not that they were actually races. But yes, he always finished before me. Today I was going to beat him. That was my goal. It’s not like he was all that much more in shape than I was. I was in shape. Very good shape. I had a good shape. Fit. Toned. Well, at least I could run and not stumble. The marathon started, okay the half-marathon, and the adrenaline started pumping. There was excitement all around and I joked with the people around me that I hoped they didn’t mind being beaten by a guy as old as me. Then they pulled away and waved back at me. It was all good-natured of course. I think. Yes, I believe that it was. I noticed that one guy over at the side of the road getting a drink of water from someone. He seemed to be standing still or jogging almost in place just a little too long. I thought to myself that if I went faster then I could pass him. Oh, that’s all I needed. We were about halfway through the race and I went faster, not a sprint mind you, but definitely faster than my usual pace, and I passed him. I left him in the dirt so to speak. I was going so fast it was like he was standing still. Of course, he was standing still but I didn’t care. I was winning. Hundreds of people were ahead of me and almost as many behind me, ok not hundreds but a bunch, and I was beating this champion. Me. I was winning. I didn’t look back but at some point down the road he ran by me and smiled and wished me good luck and he just kept running, and running, and running. I saw him for a while and then I didn’t. But then I remembered why I was doing this. I was doing this to finish. Not to beat him or anyone else. Well, I hoped I wouldn’t be the very last person but in any case, this was my first half-marathon and just to finish would be a victory for me.  I got so tired. It got harder and harder to keep going. I felt like every ounce of strength was leaving me and that I just needed to go over to the side of the road and sit down. Sweat was running down my face. I found it harder to breathe. My muscles felt like they had never felt in my life.  I kept going though and I was less than a mile from the finish I thought. But I didn’t know how I could make it. I couldn’t do it. Two decades of training and I couldn’t finish. Then clarity struck me. I hadn’t been training for two decades. I had been running, sometimes, for that long but it was really only this year that I had been actually training. Good grief I told myself it all counts. You must be out of your mind to be quibbling over how long you have been preparing for this and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you aren’t going to make it. It was hard to see with the sweat running down my face and I felt like I was beginning to stumble. I wiped the sweat from my eyes as I was slowing down and ready to move to the side and sit down.

“Hey, buddy. You can do this.” I looked up and saw the guy I wanted to beat beside me running. He must have slowed down and dropped back to run beside me. He looked in a lot better shape at that point than I was.  “You can do this. I’ve seen you keep going in the 5K races and the longer ones and I know you can finish today. I know you can. I believe in you. Just keep going. You are almost there.” Then he was gone. He sprinted to the finish line. I think he knew that I needed to finish this alone. The sweat was still streaming down my face and I still hurt. A lot. But I kept going. It seemed like a long time but I made it to the finish line. The crowd cheered. It was a great crowd there to greet all of us when we made it.  I bent over. Exhausted. Moved to the side. Turned around. And then cheered for each runner that came in after me. A legitimate cheer. I knew what they went through. What we had gone through. I didn’t have to be there much longer because there weren’t a lot of people that finished after me. But that didn’t matter. I had made it. They had made it. I celebrated at the after marathon party. It was a full party so no way can anyone say that it was just a half of a marathon party. It was complete. As was I. When I got home later I put my running shoes in the hall closet. They are still there. I don’t run anymore. I mean, I could, really, I think I could, but it’s just that, well, I don’t need to.