I found community alone on a running trail.
This paradoxical statement is, perhaps, why running is so
life-changing.
Maybe I forgot what drove me to run before, or maybe this
time was just so much more intense it’s gone deeper than before.
I first noticed it on Tomahawk Parkway, the place I have
logged many miles over the past few months. It’s a top spot for runners in the
south KC metro area, paved trails, wide, beautiful, safe. They even plowed
these trails immediately after blizzards, giving us addicts a place to run when
sidewalks stopped existing.
I’d run there almost every day, and I would notice something
exceptional. Plodding along at a million minutes a mile—especially the first
couple months—even the speeding guys who probably have run 50 marathons and
placed top in their age division, even they would wave, and often would say
stuff like “you’re doing great!” Just random encouragement. To be honest, it’s
rare I would hear as many compliments in daily life as I do from random
runners.
Running is a unique sport because even though there are
races for winners and prizes, everyone who finishes is a winner. It’s not some
lame “well you tried” philosophy that says even if you wrote three words when
the essay was supposed to be 4 pages you got an A for effort. It really just
means you wrote 4 great pages but took longer than the people who finished the
essay first.
Running is, first and foremost, about beating ourselves. We
beat our beliefs, our expectations, our limits. We find out we could do more—better,
faster, stronger than we believed had we not put on our running shoes.
Runners don’t know what excuses are. Runners run anyway. If
the weather stinks, they modify, they don’t quit. If they get sick, they’re
often on the trail anyway (especially if it’s upper body). I got a pretty lousy cold right
in the peak of training. Hacking up some lungs and not being able to breathe
out of my nose, I ran. And the runs each day I was sick were the healthiest
part of my day. I grew amazed. I didn’t miss a day of running from that.
Life without a run is like cake made without sweetener.
And so I run. I run anyway, for all sorts of reasons that
some people get and most don’t.
And I found the beauty of running is acceptance and
community. Sure there are the old sour faced cranks, just like there are
anywhere, but they are the exception.
In February through our blizzards, I would go run right
before the snow would hit, changing in my car, where I had worn leggings under
my dress pants, doing my SuperGirl act and hitting the trail. That snow wasn’t
the boss of me. I’d pass some of the same people. They wave like when you see
and old friend. It feels welcoming. It also makes you feel safe, like if a bomb
hit, they would run for you.
And on Monday that’s what happened to many in Boston.
Boston is regarded (however unfairly) for being a snobby New
England city. But stereotypes died as countless stories came out—random
Bostonians who unquestioningly opened their home to runners displaced from
their hotels. Cold, shivering, and traumatized, total strangers brought them
in. A lot of them. A Google page was set up to show them where to go. People
ran across the finish line and kept running two more miles to give blood at the
closest hospital. People ran to the center of the despair to help other people.
Much talk has been uttered about the running community, how
the crowds, the spectators, the volunteers make it what it is. They aren’t
“fans” like in some sport where the action centers around 20 “important
people.” They are part of it—and they could be on the path too. See, running
is open to anyone who wants to try. We don’t say you are too: slow, fat, ugly, unpersonable,
etc. We say, “here’s the registration form.” And lest you think that is all
about money, countless running clubs across this nation host absolutely free
weekly runs and even races for anyone at any pace. Slow runners are cheered and
encouraged as the rule.
The (I will not use a bad word, I will not use a bad word, I
will not use a bad word) “person” (or “people”) who planted bombs in Boston chose
the 4 hour mark of the marathon. Four hours is the time the average, but skilled
runner would come in. Elite runners hit at 2:30-3. In Boston everyone has had
to qualify with a very strict time. 4 hours won’t even qualify most people, so whoever
did it may have targeted the time to it when all the average runners would be
headed in. That makes it even more despicable.
Trying to stop runners is like trying to clip the wings off
a bird.
But we (from elite to slow) will have none of that.
I have been a part of movements and churches and ministries
and groups all my life. Never in that time have I seen anything like I have
seen this week with the running community. Never. Not even close.
I’m more proud than ever I have made the choice to run
again. To me it was always “the one that got away.” I was never content not
running and would often talk of it but never did it. But runners run, so I had
to find my feet. My feet are my wings.
I run alone, and I like it. May runners do, though some
prefer groups. But the point is that runners are knit together. There is a
heart connect that doesn’t matter if you are alone or not; you are connected.
Maybe that’s why I never got over not running the years I was off. My heart had
never spread from the awesome joy if it.
I have lost a decent amount of weight primarily through
running, though not enough yet, but I could be a size zero and the only effect
it would have on my running is to run more because I would be carrying less
weight. I don’t run because of weight loss, or needing less sleep, or improved
health—though all of those have happened. I run because I love to run and never
once since I dropped was I ever okay with the fact I wasn’t running.
What happened this week was horrific, to say the least, and
yet it has shown us what we have.
I have cried every day, at every story, it seems. This feels
personal because I imagine the agony of destruction. If anything tried to take
my running, I can’t imagine how I would feel, but to have such an evil and
violent thing on such a perfect day—evil is the most appropriate word.
Rarely do I feel personal connections to tragedy. I think
it’s one way I protect myself, by not engaging too deeply since I feel
everything so much. As a result I don’t wrestle a lot with anger or bitterness
for things that are far away. But I do with this. I have to work not to feel
wrath against that person/those people. It’s an effort because I don’t like
people who clip wings off birds.
I pray for the ones who endured pain that makes them
hesitant to run. I pray for people I have never met. Because I love them.
I always thought community had to be found in a convent or
church. I think it can when it’s done right. And make no mistake, my faith is
strong, or perhaps stronger in some ways, through running. But the social center
of church isn’t my community. Real faith can be transferred across domains in
life. Too often faith becomes a bubble.
What I like about running is that it crosses all lines. One thing matters: Do
you run? If you do, you are a runner. It’s just so simple. Faith is simple too.
And so is community. There is no room for an exclusive club. Instead, it looks
like Boston. Even with elite divisions, with qualifying runners, everyone was an integral
part.
And today, two days later, an internet movement from my
little college town (where I will spend my summer running) managed to mobilize thousands of people to run in the
Boston colors to support the community. I ran alone because apparently our KC
running groups hadn’t joined in. Expecting storms, I found a park close to my
job site and made Siri get me there so I wouldn't miss it. I did my SuperGirl clothes change and was
off for 2.62 miles, a short run, but a 10th of a marathon. A
passerby would have thought I was alone in Antioch Park, but I knew I was part
of thousands.
In politics, two days later, we’d be deciding which party organized
it.
In churches, two days later, we’d be deciding which church
started it and got to recruit members.
In school, two days later, we’d be writing an assessment for
it.
But in the running world, two days later, we ran.