Most mornings between the hours of 8-10 AM you can find me running through the streets of Boston. Sometimes I get adventurous and decide to explore, but the majority of the time I stick with a few key routes. My favorite, hands down, is running along the Charles River. Because that path was made for the sole purpose of allowing Bostonians to exercise with a stellar view, even at 8 AM it is sprinkled with (dog)walkers/joggers/runners. I also love watching the old men try to fish (are there really fish in there?).
As per most of your knowledge: I LOATHE exercising indoors. Therefore I have stayed true to this river path through rain, sleet, hail, snow, and extreme winds. We've been through a lot, that path and me. I can't escape the feeling I've created a relationship with not only the actual route, but also my fellow morning runners. Some decked out in the latest Nike Dri-fit gear, others reppin' old school gray sweatsuits (complete with those sweatbands made from towel material). There's a certain amount of arrogance that comes with the knowledge that you are out watching the city wake up while 95% of your acquaintances are in that sleepy state of limbo between snooze alarms. We all know it. And as we run past each other, we'll give a slight nod of the head or closed-mouth grin or even a split-second of eye contact as silent reinforcements of how good we feel about ourselves; and if other noble souls are out doing what we're doing, then they should be proud too, gosh darnit. These constant reciprocal affirmations create an indelible cycle of ego inflation. Sometimes our heads get so big it's hard to run past one another on such a narrow stretch of pavement. And when we find ourselves off the path and on the street, you know, having to share our way with other laymen say, on their way to work or something, the pompousness continues. We'll run by you or your car and examine that look on your face as you watch us stride past. You're really thinking, "Why on earth is this lunatic out running so early?" but we interpret it as, "Maaan, I really wish I could get up early and work out like this fine citizen." Like it or not, it's the inescapable truth about earlybird exercisers. We have our own little unspoken We-Run-First-Thing-In-The-Morning-So-We-Have-Mad-Swag Club.
I loved being a part of this club. Yes, past tense: "loveD." I loved it until the morning of April 19th, 2011.
April 19th, 2011 was the day after the 115th Boston Marathon. I initially set out that morning feeling inspired by the agonizing, personal feats I witnessed over and over standing 1.2 miles from the finish line. This feeling of inspiration quickly transitioned to shame as I realized that my whole life as a long-distance runner (now 2 months old) has been a sham. A lie. Deceit. A farce. Nothing but smoke...and...mirrors.
That morning, the subtle yet smug gestures we swag club members usually give one another were replaced with heads bowed in ignominy. No one made eye contact or gave the tooth-pressed grin. Not one head-nod took place. Every runner out that morning had to come to terms with the fact that perhaps they are not deserving of their self-awarded status of the Archetype of Admirability. No one who went running on April 19th had taken part in the city's most heralded athletic event the day prior, and as a heretofore self-proclaimed "runner" in Boston: that was humbling.
The result of this running revelation? I've decided I will be a registered participant in the 116th Boston Marathon on 4/16/12. 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Copley Square. I'm in.
