My old running goal used to be to qualify for the Boston Marathon, and this been ruminated upon at an exceptional length lately, mostly because I'm running my 10th marathon on Sunday. Burlington was unplanned and was the result of making a decision to not attend a friend's wedding post-break-up, and I'm viewing that as A-OK. It means that I'm running it more to feel good about myself and enjoy a solo vacation, and that's even better; life is breathing again more or less which feels fabulous. What is even better still, is that I've made it to number 10 - most people struggle to make it past one or two, never mind 10. This is a big deal of which I'm still digesting.
However, all big deals aside, I suddenly have been finding myself having the same conversation lately with different people:
person: So....you're a marathon runner? How many have you done?
me: I'm doing my 10th marathon on Sunday. It will be my third one this year so far. I'm doing seven in 2011, among other things.
person: Wow, that's great. So have you done Boston?
me: Nope. I'll only do it when I qualify.
person: Oh. Ok. So how far are the other ones that you've done?
...and so on.
Although I haven't been saying anything, why does this make me feel like the fact that I haven't run Boston cheapens the fact that I'm doing my 10th marathon? Hrm.
I used to feel a bit sheepish at having to explain that while I'd love to do Boston eventually, it's no longer the Holy Grail of races for me. It's really not. The Holy Grail of races for me is the marathon that I will run on my 80th birthday. In the meantime, there's so many other wonderful marathons, and even much more challenging marathons out there, and I'm realizing that one of the problems with the Boston Marathon is that I live in Boston. For non-runners, Boston is really the only marathon of which they have had exposure. Sure, Boston is one of the oldest and quite famous, but after this year's crazy registration debacle, it's caused me to pause and reconsider my goals; the registration debacle even repulsed me from wanting to do the race. I'd love to qualify, and it's on the list, but I'm not going to go crazy to get there because I know I will eventually. I have decades of running to focus on, so why not enjoy the journey?
Part of the reason why I enjoy marathons that are smaller in size is due to their spirit. People actually talk to one another and there's friendly banter. I always walk off a race course having made a few friends along the way, having exhanged random stories when the race gets tough. It's all about the run, running, and the love of running. The day is dedicated to pursuing the distance, not a giant fanfare. My first marathon was New York City in 2007, and ever since then I've shied away from the megathons on purpose. The megathons that I've done served their purpose: they exist in my arsenal of races as symbols that I was capable of simply completing the distance at the time. Now, it's more about quality and efficiency, and the megathon environment is not conducive to that type of running at all. They are simply too claustrophobic, crowded and overblown, and now when I'm hammering through a sub-four hour 26.2, I like to be able to slip in and out of my own head and enjoy the scenery in between without the weaving, without dealing with headphones, and be able to say thank you to spectators than be crushed by the screaming of a crowd, and be able to dig into myself if I need my own motivation to go up a hill or go a little faster.
The rejection of Boston as my main running goal makes me more of an oddity to people I'm realizing, because this means that because I'm also not in pursuit of the 50-states, that I don't have a clearly defined goal. As with anything, this concept of an absent goal terrifies people, which I'll never understand. To me, unlike work or other aspects of my life, not having a clearly defined goal for running is strangely acceptable; I know I run the marathon because it's my favorite race. Each race unfolds as it's own novel and takes considerable time and effort to even get to the start line; no faking allowed. I run marathons because I love them, purely and simply and they are honest. I think a lot of people don't understand this. To make things worse, the concept of sweat equity damages the quest of something like a marathon, especially in the States, where people constantly "get something" as a reward for doing whatever. People want -something- for all of the time and effort that they've put into training, and maybe crossing the finish line isn't enough of a -something- for them; if they can't put in the time and effort with anything else, then that anything else is faked. Therefore, this makes sense why they would want some attainable check-box, like a Boston qualifying time or to say they've done a marathon in every state. However, I've resigned long ago that I run with my heart rather than for a goal, and I run to experience that fleeting moment that I've found myself having to describe to different people a lot lately - that brief moment where the world opens up and I'm no longer running: I'm dancing, floating, smiling,..living...and breathing. Moving. That's enough for me.
...Loving?
There's no price on that, and that feeling only comes out of one underlying concept and that is true love. Those who don't love running, can't understand it; even marathoners. Not everyone is meant to love it, just like not everyone is meant to love certain things or certain people at all, and that's ok. Broadly speaking, I've realized lately that when two entities are paired that are meant for one another, then...well, then there's an explosion of some sort. The concept of true love may seem fictitious to some, but this explosive feeling is what makes me know it exists. Even though true love is not gracing my life in the sense that I would like for it to, it is gracing my life through these feelings when I'm running. If I can experience true love in one arena, then I surely can in another, but just maybe not right now. Running and I go together and it's meant to be. I can't explain it any other way, but it gives me hope that I'll find true love in other areas in my life, eventually. Someday.
...I'll see you all on the other side of the double digits in the meantime.
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