Boogie Visits The Marathon

It's been said by better men than me that the mind of a marathon runner defies comprehension. Practical logic simply cannot exist with people who are compelled to run nowhere while being chased by nothing. Chastise me all you want, that's basically all a marathon is. Going against the human instinct by running without ever actually acquiring food, shelter, or safety . It's weird, impractical, causes unnecessary damage to heart and body, and accomplishes nothing in the end. These lunatics pay for the privilege to be this weird too.

This is something I would never do. Running for the sheer experience of moving in a way that your body doesn't like to do for very long seems like a waste of resources to me. If some day the wolves do come down the mountainsides, I'd like to think that the years of slow and steady movement will have left me with an untapped reserve to make my escape with. And if that reserve isn't enough, then I die knowing that the wolves were far superior all along. They deserve my calorie-riddled carcass for the feasting. Marathoning, is simply something I won't do.

But, today I find myself at a marathon. Not to test my skills in short shorts of course. I was mostly there to show support, but I was also there to observe. These are interesting people, in the pursuit of interesting goals. I felt they needed to be documented.

I arrive at eight in the morning for the events at hand, running on about two hours of sleep. More than enough I figure to fully understand what's about to go down. I wander through this crowd of strange and unusual folk. Tight clingy shorts, exposed midriffs, and bodies contorting into weird shapes to promote flexibility and endurance. All surrounding me and making my usual attire of Levi's, boots, and leather seem that much more out of place. The crowd was fairly substantial, several hundreds at least. These maniacs are not in short supply. One could form a decent-sized cult and move to Waco with what was available.

The runners lined up to the sound of bagpipes and muffled megaphones. The sense of excitement was......was.....well let's face it, there was no excitement. Determination and resolve to be sure, but no one seemed very excited to be here. This wasn't a concert or a sports event or even a blind date. This was going to be painful, and everyone knew it.

The marathon begins and I look towards the crowd of supporters and cheerleaders who stand on the sidelines of the action, only to see nothing. Aside from a handful of husbands/wives, live in partners, and acquaintances, these marathoners are alone in this quest. The few who remain seem to be using this event as much as an excuse to walk the dog than to support the people doing the running.

It's seems like a sad thing. While this all seems ridiculous to me, it cannot be argued that it is also difficult and takes some degree of passion to do it. And passionate people should be supported in their endeavors, no matter how insane they may be.

And yet, these weirdos are not alone. As I watch the participants rush past me, completing their first lap, I can hear words of support and encouragement uttered amongst each other. "Come on you can do it," and "keep up the pace, you're doing great," can be heard, spoken to the complete strangers sharing this bit of asphalt with them. The group collective is strong. They tend to their own, the encouraging words spoken in hushed tones are almost a language unto themselves. As if almost to say "Welcome to the flock, you are one of us now, and we are not like the others." Perhaps these strange people need no legions of people who cheer for them. They have each other. And the company of those who would run appears to be more than enough.

I watch the finish line as the sweaty come around the bend. There is none of the fevered intensity present in other types of sports. No countdowns or photo finishes here. There are no signs of Marathoners pumping everything they have into those last few yards. The few who do kick it up a notch are usually engaged in friendly competition with the person next to them, and even they aren't running full bore. Entire families cross the finish line together, a better sense of familial bonding I have never seen.

Most Marathoners cross the finish line, hear their time, and nod quietly as they catch their breath. This is no spectacular feat for most. Just an idea of ability, a simple acknowledgment of what they're capable of.

And I suppose in the end, that's what defines these people. This isn't an athletic event that puts participants in an adversarial setting, like most sports fare. No these folks actually support and protect each other, encouraging one another to push harder and stick with it. Even if that encouragement means getting passed up by the very people they were trying to encourage. It matters not, the true victory is in finishing the race. Your claim to fame is not in where you finished in this monumental task, but the fact that you could finish it. And when feasting on oranges, water, and granola, they look at their peers they've shared these few miles with, and smile happy to share the victory with them. It's a thing of beauty, one that can be appreciated by even the most jaded and cynical of us.

You still won't get me to do it though.