this'll be on my videotape

Having some time and distance from the race (well over a month now, yikes), it's probably worth looking back and sharing some reflections on my marathon summer.

Even though not that much time has passed, I am finding that my memories have already started to acquire the typical rosy hue of the past. My weekly Saturday runs used to leave me aching and exhausted, but I now remember them wistfully. I know intellectually that there were times of pain, but it is difficult for me to think of these workouts as anything but steady, assured jaunts along the streets of Greater Cleveland.

And if the painful parts have been mentally de-fanged, how much more the pleasant ones...

I had a good chat with Tom recently about music and its ability to transport one to an earlier time. Music is definitely woven into the fabric of this summer. I will retain a particular fondness for many of the songs on my running playlist, with special places of honor reserved for Death and All His Friends and Welcome to the Black Parade (for their ability to conjure specific moments of my summer training).

Did I learn anything?

Well, I think I can chalk up trust and dependence as good lessons. As I consider the story of the Exodus, I get the sense that if I were among the Israelites, I would have definitely been one of the ones attempting to collect enough manna for several days, only to have the balance spoil overnight. I like to prepare for things, maybe too much sometimes. So it was a beneficial exercise (oh yes, I can rock a bad pun) for me to engage in an endeavor like this, where the progress was continuous yet almost imperceptible. I couldn't train enough to ready myself for the race in a single day, a week, or even a month. I had to go step by step, taking each day and each run for what it was, trusting that over the course of the summer my body would be made into a marathon-ready machine. I think life is like this.

What did I gain from the experience?

I remember during the Olympics watching a feature on Michael Phelps. The swimmer. After winning his first gold medal in Athens, he found his mom and sisters in the crowd and showed them his prize, saying, "look what I did!" That story and quote have stuck with me since then because, in a sense, I felt like that was my summer's exclamation to the God who gave me a runner's frame. If running provides me an opportunity to truly be myself, then I spent lot of time in a good place this summer. I almost look at my workouts as prayers of joy and thanksgiving to a Father who took pleasure in my efforts. I think that is part of why the race (and even some of my longer runs) ended up leaving me emotionally overwhelmed after the finish, and why I may continue to run for as long as this earthsuit allows me to. And if my race was unsightly and uneven at times, well, I think our parents all loved those lumpy ceramic ashtrays we made in our 3rd grade art classes.

Why did I do this?

I am still fuzzy as to my exact reasons. I'd like to think that the marathon was more than just 'something to do' and that it went beyond mere pride, though those were both probably factors. I suppose for now I will just revert to the answer I hinted at in the second post of this blog. I think that for a lot of runners, at some point a marathon just seems like destiny. That sounds hokey, but it seems like once the question is out there, you're always going to wonder if you could travel 26.2. So I decided to find out.

That's all I can come up with at this point. I feel that this blog is on its last legs, but if I think of anything else important in the coming days I'll post it.

And I'm sorry if the use of 'last legs' pushed this entry past the point of pun saturation.