Off to NYC
About to board the plane for LaGuardia. Thence to the Expo at the Javits Center, then to dinner with my running friends, then to a play directed by a friend, then to bed, then to run. I wanted to thank everybody who sent me good wishes for the race, and those who told me how much our podcasts or broadcasts help them through runs. One of the great things about running (or, I would imagine, any endurance sport) is that it is a great leveler. We shed our clothes and other signifiers of wealth, career, fame or privilege; we put on the same silly looking shorts and singlets and arm-socks, we wait for the gun and everybody goes.
Every year, it seems, around fall marathon season, there’s another article about Good Runners complaining about Bad Runners: “It used to be that running a marathon was worth something — there used to be a pride saying that you ran a marathon, but not anymore.” Oh, shut up. If you’re not taking pride in running a marathon, go run an ultra and leave the rest of us alone. Everybody runs their own marathon, against their own demons, over their own obstacles, and for their own reasons. I’m running because I’m not quite done seeing how well I can do this thing, and I want to qualify for Boston once more before my knees give out, and I want to wave hello to the pudgy kid who is watching the race thirty years ago next to his dad and grandfather on 1st Ave near the Queensboro Bridge off-ramp, never dreaming — never believing, if I could go back in time and tell him — that he’d someday run this race.
To my fellow runners, my brothers and sisters in technical fabric and Body Glide — go out strong, end stronger, and I’ll see you on the streets.
October 31st, 2009 at 6:05 pm
Abso-freakin-lutely. It aggravates me to no end to hear that sort of elitist whinging about “slow” marathoners like. I run my own business, I’ve got three young kids … my hands are freaking full, if you know what I mean. So I roll my fat ass out of bed at 5:00 a.m. and trundle through the streets of Oak Park four times a week; I get up early on Saturdays to reel off a long one, if I can manage to drag my 47-year-old carcass over the miles; and yeah, when I make it to race day without injury on occasion, I run a 5 hour marathon. That’s the best I can freaking do, and I’m not going to freaking apologize for it. Not until all those “elite” runners manage to run a mile in my shoes.
I don’t begrudge anybody their sub-three-hour marathon; but I damn sure won’t apologize for my five-hour (or five-plus-hour) marathon, dammit.
On a lighter note, my brother-in-law used to say, “Anybody can run for 2-and-a-half or three hours; it’s really hard to run for four-and-a-half of five.” Indeed it is.