April 18, 2022
Greetings from the peacemaker,
There are many traditions I have adopted in my Boston Marathon experiences. Some are universal to all marathons, including the training and the things I eat, what I read, the music I listen to. Of course, there is the taper madness that is present in every dance of this sort.
In Boston, whose marathon began traditions that didn’t include me 126 years ago, I have a few that are unique to this place. There is the T, there is South Street Diner, there is Boston Commons, there is the Expo, and Athlete’s Village. There are the myriad exchanges with runners from all over the world, most wearing the ubiquitous unicorn somewhere on their clothes.
And there is the blessing of the athletes at the Old South Church. Old South began 350 years ago never imagining that one day it would become a home for runners who wander into this town to put down all they have in exchange for twenty-six miles and change. Each time I’ve been here I’ve been moved to tears by the music and the words, but mostly by the loving way they care for us as we prepare to make our first steps.
My favorite tradition though is another moment, not quite one of worship, but it is contemplative and, in a sense, holy. Before I lead you there, allow me to share this.
Many years ago, I wrote to you about the challenges of running any marathon, and I made reference to a caution I was once given about climbing in the Rockies. The rangers there gave us a flyer about the risks of being in the wild, which concluded with this dire warning: “The mountain doesn’t care.” And so, I adopted that phrase, still true today: “The marathon doesn’t care.”
We runners have a relationship with the distances we run, but of course the miles we measure them by are heartless, indifferent. We overlay the place and the time with this concept, and so the marathon is our construct, and we made it without a soul.
Never misunderstand, the experience of the marathon is filled with emotions, with connections to our very essence. It attracts others with similar curiosities and desires, and we build deep friendships with these pilgrims, some of which last for moments, and others for lifetimes.
The Boston Marathon and its cousins around the world are ripe with victory and celebration and while in their company you can make beautiful milestones that you will plot your life by.
But the marathon does not care. This message is to anyone who would approach without preparing physically and mentally, and likely spiritually as well. It is a caution to anyone who would listen that there are some challenges that will crack what you believed about yourself. No amount of good intentions or sincere pleading will shorten a mile by a fraction.
And so there is this other tradition I have. On the morning before the race, it is the custom of many Boston athletes to do a shake out run around the down area. Running along the Charles, through the Commons, up and down the wind-whistled streets that are lined with signs cheering us all on, tell us we are Boston Strong.
On Boyleston Street, there is a line painted down the middle of the pavement that leads to where victory will be for those who take all of the steps. At the end there are unicorns painted there, in brilliant gold and blue, along with the words that tell us we have accomplished what we set out to do.
Here is where I make peace with the finish line.
There are dozens, sometimes hundreds, of other runners moving through this space, but somehow the sounds are subdued, serene. People are taking pictures, stretching, thinking, trying to memorize this last portion of a mile so they know when they are close.
I speak to the marathon here, tell it that I respect it. I say that I honor its traditions, and the legions of the runners who have come before me. I say that I will be a good companion to my fellow runners, make the promise to give back to the people who cheer from the side of the road from Hopkinton to Boston.
I tell the finish line that I will respect it as well. I know its rules and I come prepared. I ask nothing from it other than what it promises everyone.
And so, we have a pact. I will give all that I have and so will the marathon. When I cross the finish line, we will have each been a partner in the creation of something powerful. When I walk away from that exchange, I will have been made better, in some way.
I make peace with the finish line. We say our truths out loud, respect each other, and we know what to expect. As cold as it sounds, in some ways it’s as intimate as some of my strongest friendships.
In a few hours I will line up with my companions and we will begin the journey east, each of us on the exact same course, each of us getting there in our own way. All of us, every one who laces up and begins, will come to some agreement with the finish line. How that looks on Boyleston Street will be something beautiful to see.
I carry with me the strength of thousands of miles of training, and the love of those waiting for me to finish, along with the promise I made to the finish line.
Hope this finds you living up to it,
David
Copyright © 2022 David Smith
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