The last American to win the Boston Marathon once remarked that running is a personal experience. It is not one of fan(atic)s, nor is it an endeavor of associative happiness. Amby Burfoot reclaimed "It is a revival of the spirit, a private oasis for the thirsty mind."
I would submit it can also become a public utopia. But it is not ubiquitous.
In the unyielding agony of the last 10,000 meters of the marathon, within every unforgiving minute, lies an absolute truth; No one wants company. They don't want luxury. They don't want fame. They don't want a picture. They only want to finish.
The same, I believe, applies to suffering. It begins as a personal struggle. Then one begins to observe similar struggles, to gain confirmation biases, that fortify their own conceptions of ineptitude. They research, and loathe, and crawl over those who have done less than they. They scrape for edges that surmount those less well off. When in the end, they are merely inches away from complete destruction.
Injury is no exception. As a distance runner; As a student of Lydiard; As a philosopher of Sheehan; and a disciple of Zatopek, I believe physical pain is finite. On the starting line of the Olympic Marathon in 1952, Zatopek reclaimed to his countrymen, "Today we all die a little." I suppose Bowerman had a similar immortal quote, but I was never a miler. - A track to the distance runner is an egregious waste of human effort.
I've nearly exited the recovery stages of my second round of compartment syndrome on my right leg, the third round in my career. It is a horrific symptom; Muscles inflame the nerves and arteries around the infected area, so as to pinch off the blood and nutrient supply to the damaged area. Though not as lethal, running with compartment syndrome is like snorkeling with a rubber plug on the top; You can only go so long before its unbearable.
This bastard to which I am slave has robbed me of nearly one whole month of good, A-race training. I've all but forefeited the triathlon season. Yet somehow I've ran over 121 hours, ridden over 51 hours, swam over 41 hours, cross trained over 7 hours, and walked and kayaked almost 4 hours. These numbers say nothing.
For at the end of each session, was a broken being. Someone who knew something worse lurked the next day. It's apex lie in a 2.5 hour elliptical workout, followed by a 10 mile run less than 12 hours later. If running could brew perfect storms, this was it.
When society claims that running is bad for you, or that it will destroy your knees, or the community mourns (and continues to mourn) Ryan Shay, Jim Fixx, and others, the Aristotle's of and behind the sport are summed to give testimony to their loyalty.
Their answers are their own, and not mine.
Often times people ask "When will I know when I'm a 'Runner'?" I simply respond "When you no longer ask."
As I sit now, no discomfort resides in me. Icing, a heavy stock purchase in saran wrap, some ibuprofen, and days of insanity have assured me a sense of healing and piece of mind.
Sometime between now and Thursday when I run in Narnia, I can take solace in what the Greeks said so many years ago.
In Our Sleep
Pain Which Cannot Forget
Falls Drop By Drop Upon The Heart
Until In Our Own Despair
Against Our Will
Comes Wisdom,
Through The Awful Grace of God.
