Together We Run

I had always liked the idea of being a runner but it wasn’t until I returned from the Peace Corps that I really got into it. I began to run regularly because, having just returned from a 26 month sojourn in Togo, I was jobless, bored and needed concrete goals to keep me focused on something. Tracking my weekly miles and training for local 5ks gave me that. Also, I was used to the long hours of solitude that came with being a Peace Corps volunteer. Running in the U.S. became a meditative act for me, a time to collect my thoughts and plan for my future, but mostly to reflect on the past, how much I missed my friends abroad.

On and on I continued to run, for over two years now. It has evolved into something more serious now. As I got better I began running longer and longer distances, buying new athletic gear, and keeping a more precise log of my weekly miles. But my philosophy remained the same: Running is an insular activity, to be done alone, to recharge myself mentally and challenge myself physically. I laughed at the suggestion of joining a running club. Why would I want to talk to someone while running? This WAS my philosophy, until the bombings this week at the Boston Marathon.

There has been some wonderful and uplifting pieces written about the goodness in people and the camaraderie of the running community that emerged in the aftermath of the explosions. I like this one by Roger Robinson at Runnersworld.com:

“...marathon running is a sport of goodwill. It's the only sport in the world where if a competitor falls, the others around will pick him or her up. It's the only sport in the world open to absolutely everyone, regardless of gender, age, ethnicity or any other division you can think of. It's the only occasion when thousands of people assemble, often in a major city, for a reason that is totally peaceful, healthy and well-meaning. It's the only sport in the world where no one ever boos anybody. 

If you're losing your faith in human nature, look at marathon crowds, standing for hours with no seating, no cover, no bathrooms, to cheer thousands of strangers. Or look at our sport's volunteers, on whose shoulders the whole sport rests.”

Much of his article was on my mind tonight as I ran laps around a local park. I have been training for my first marathon for about three months now. It is about one month away so I have almost reached the peak of my training. These runs have become pretty routine for me now. There was a blizzard yesterday so there were fewer people in the park than usual, but as we passed each other we seemed to lock eyes a split second longer than usual, a subtle acknowledgement of our collective thinking: Some asshole with a bomb isn’t going to keep me home. Of course, this may have all been in my imagination, but it still made me feel good.

Running back to my apartment, I reminisced about the other times I experienced a sense of community while running. They occurred with thousands of other people running across Portland’s bridges and through Denver’s parks. Our motivations for running all varied, but our goals remained similar: peace, health and well-being cultivated through a sense of togetherness. This is something I plan on acknowledging and enjoying more in the future.

As my run came to an end tonight and I climbed the steps of my building. I thought specifically about a run I did two years ago. The Starlight Run in Portland takes place during the city’s Rose Festival. The run follows the same route as the Starlight Parade which begins immediately afterward. I hadn’t planned on running the race. I was hung over, dehydrated and sun-burned that day, but a friend convinced me to sign up at the last minute. The crowds for the parade, mostly families with small children, show up early to cheer on the runners. As I wound through downtown Portland, kids leaned out into the edges of the street to high five runners. Hundreds must have been lined up with eager hands stretched to the limit. Many runners veered over to the curb for a hand slap. I did not. My stomach hurt and I just couldn’t be bothered. I ignored the best part of running.

In one month I will run my first marathon. I am beyond excited for the opportunity. I’m still taking my training seriously, and worrying about my knees holding up, and achieving the time I want. Only now I’ll remember that if I make it across the finish line in one piece, what’s the point if I don't high five kids along the way?