In April 2010 I ran my first marathon,
in Paris. The build up to it was a long and well trodden path of dark
early mornings and wets evenings. It is often called the distance of
truth because it is the perfect measure to pitch oneself against and
define ones perceived boundaries. 26.2 miles. The dreaded number that
instills equal parts fear, fascination and excitement. It is a long
distance to travel on foot, whether you're a lithe Kenyan from the
running-mecca Eldoret or an average Joe (or Josephine) who runs to
permit themselves that extra scoop of ice cream on the weekend,
twenty six miles is twenty six miles. The hardest distance to conquer
though is a mere six inches, that's the distance between your ears,
your own brain. It will tell you that you are insane, it cannot be
done, walk a little, you've run far enough. As loud as that voice
gets we have a fighter within us that quiets its sometimes thunderous
roar. We are runners, and we are stronger than we, or anyone else
realises.
Marathons unite people in a way that no
other sporting event in the world can. Age, race, sex, creed, sexual
orientation, none of it counts on the road. We are family. We are not
just united on the day of the event, no, we have been united through
all the training and the injuries along the way. When we get to the
start line we see ourselves in the faces of everyone lined up, and we
are genuinely happy. Our hearts are full with love. We have spent
time away from our families to get to this starting line and most of
our loved ones will be lining the course to cheer us on when it
gets really tough, we love them for believing in us and supporting
our crazy dreams. We feel the nerves in the air and talk amongst
ourselves, we laugh and pat each other on the backs at the beginning,
we pick each other up when we fall and we hug and cry together when
we finish as we have run in the footsteps of the fastest men on
earth. Where else does that happen? Where do elites and the likes of
me get to play on the same pitch? Not the Tour de France, Wimbledon,
Football, Swimming, Track, Golf. We run the same distance of truth
and there is no difference between a 2:05 run and a 7:05 run, twenty
six miles is twenty six miles. We do not want any of the fifty
thousand runners to fail or lose out either, we are all one mass
plodding through the city like a colourful parade of pain.
Runners are often said to be running
away from something or toward something, I have a theory on why we
run that is not that common. We like to
run. Why? Who cares why. If it's fun and not harming anyone then get
out there. Some don't get it of course which is fine, all the more
room for me on the trails. I think to try and describe why we do it
is like trying to quantify what being in love feels like. I run for
the meditative
time it allows me.
Just last week I had a crazy busy day and managed an hour in between
work appointments to get out on the road. It gave me everything I
needed spiritually and
created space where I had
none. It's ironic but the faster I run, the slower life feels.
Spectators
love to cheer us too. They do not rise early to catch a glimpse of
the studs blazing through at incomprehensible speeds. No, they stand
at the side of the road for hours cheering people they do not know.
Because some of them will never run a marathon (and may secretly want
to someday) we are carrying their dreams too. Just as we see
ourselves in other runners, spectators see themselves in us. On April
7th
I went to the 30km point of the Paris marathon and cheered
the people sometimes called “The Street Sweepers” They
are the back of the pack and sweep up all the crap that has
accumulated from the people before them. In their
faces I saw both agony
and discovery.
Every bead of sweat a testament to every foot-fall they had made,
their eyes full of doubt as to whether they had 17km left in the
tank. Heroes, every single one
of them, most
of them made
it to the finish line.
Yesterday
our world and community took a monumental hit. As I was texting
messages of congratulations to my friend Tim in Boston after his
incredible run, he replied shortly after to say there had been a
massive explosion at the finish of the race. I jumped on the Internet
immediately, the rest is a blur. The past 24 hours has seen an
overload of twitter, facebook, news media and source after source of
stories, photos and videos. I have avoided
it
all because I cannot think about it without breaking down completely.
I cannot measure how I feel
about an eight year old boy being murdered as he waits to cheer his
father over the line, as my own eight year old son has done for me in
the past. I do
not know who
bombed those innocent people killing three and injuring hundreds, or
why they did it. But I will say this. You cowards have no idea who
you are up against. WE ARE RUNNERS. We do not stop, EVER. When one
falls we rush to pick them up, when you hurt members of our family we
lock arms of a different kind. Our solidarity will be stronger than
ever before and our light will shine brightly upon your hatred for
all the world to see. We will not stop running, we will run faster,
further, stronger, longer. We will not get tired and for us there is
no finish line, when you are caught and brought to justice we will
still be
running
through the streets
at dawn,
hiking
up mountains freely, sprinting around a track on dusky nights, we
will break world records and personal records. But
most of all we will remember, with haunting pain, our fallen brothers
and sisters, time will not dim that memory. Our marathons may have
more security in the future but our love and camaraderie will triumph
over fear and scepticism. We will move forward deliberately and
purposefully with sincerity in hearts for the ones we have lost. God bless you all.
