Every Road...A Lesson

A brief observation on a long run...

 

The first Saturday in December I ran my fifteenth or so marathon—the St. Jude Marathon in Memphis.  It was my second go at that race in that frantic town.  I think I have run fifteen marathons; but I lose count.  After a few of these runs the starting lines, finishes, water and aid stations begin to blur in the memory.  Plus, your physical state of being contributes to the blur—anxiety at the start line, dizziness at the finish, pain preoccupation in between.  This was number, um, fifteen.  I will remember my second go at Memphis.

 

It was awful.  By mile 13.1 I thought seriously about following the half-marathoners to their finish line.  I looked for someone official-like to talk to about this impulsive course adjustment.  But since I signed on as a marathoner not a half-marathoner, I wondered what confusion this might create; how would the finish-line software react to an early and unexpected guest, me—#1308 in a marathon bib?  Seeing no one “official looking” I just went on.

 

Something else made me go on.  It was an accountant in my head.  He was tallying up the price of my hotel, race fee, gasoline and drive to and from Memphis, the cost of time away from my family, and the pricey months of preparation since July.  “Larry,” the accountant demanded, “you didn’t pay this much to not finish.”  Odd motivation, maybe.  I trudged on.  By mile 16 the insults from the accountant stopped and it was too late not to go on.  More trudging, only ten miles more.  Memphis 2009 would be my first-ever 5-hour (f-i-v-e) marathon.  There, I said it: five hours!  Five hours…

 

So, from mile 16 on I was grasping for real reasons why I keep on with this marathon business.  On the drive home, “why?”  The voice of my gentle father-in-law echoed in my head, “Why?”  He has often asked me.  In a previous life he used to run.  But I instinctively suspect and deflect questions like that from former runners, because I detect (or think I detect) a suggestion rather than a question.  I think the suggestion goes something like, “Maybe it’s time for you to be a former runner too.”  I may be wrong, still I deflect.

  

Pride and reputation have something to do with running marathons.  How could I not run?  That’s a reason why.  Conversations with friends, acquaintances, and fellow Jesus followers usually come round to my running.  People always feel free to ask me about my running.  “Are you still running?”  “How’s the running?”  I’m also a pastor.  But people never ask me about my praying or believing.  “Do you still believe that resurrection business?”  “How's the prayer life?”  "Keeping up with Greek, Hebrew, and theology?"

 

Miles in the exercise “account” keeps me going.  That’s another reason why.  I started distance running about 18 years ago at the advice of an internist friend who became a constant running companion for seven years.  Ever since, a week does not go by without running.  A year has not passed without training for a marathon even if the flu in October messed up my training and I had to bail out.  Marathons keep me moving and moving is good for you.  So, I’ve got too much in my training bank to let it all go to waste.  I’d rather flame out moving than rust out sitting.  How could I become a former runner? 

 

And this is the lesson those five hours on the ragged streets of Memphis taught me: every road has a lesson; every race gives up wisdom.  I have remembered roads in Charlotte, Columbia, Charleston, Boston, Atlanta, and Huntsville.  Now this five-hour road in Memphis.  The marathon puts you in a place where you get to spend a lot of time, during the weeks of training and then race day, with yourself at the limit of yourself.  Maybe some people get to this place via a near-death experience or base jumping.  It’s in that borderland between “Will I last or not?” “Will I quit or will I finish?” that you can make discoveries about yourself, what you value, where the rest of your life is going, and who’s important to you.  I guess this time it took me about five hours to sort some of that out.  Every road has a lesson.  Thanks Memphis. 

 --Larry

Comments

[Michele and Alex]

Yes, every road comes with its own set of lessons willing to teach for those willing to listen. We are humbly proud of you for finishing. Now on the 10 x 1 mile on descending intervals (3 x 9, 3 x 8:30, 3 x 8, 1 x FAST) for the New Year! Rest, recover, rejoice!