Today is Marathon Monday in Boston.
Once upon a time, in 2005, a dear friend endeavored to run the marathon. It was my first exposure to this 26.5 miles exciting adventure, up close and personal.
He was just over 60 years young at the time, having already endured a heart attack some 15 years prior. It was a huge undertaking for him.
If you’ve ever trained for a marathon, the following sentence will make sense.
It isn’t really about the marathon. It’s about the training.
And the rest of you are now asking, “huh?”
Training for a marathon, in my experience, for someone not already an accomplished runner, involves about 18-20 weeks of consistent three to four times a week running on an ever increasing compilation of mileage (depending on the training program you decide to follow how long it is and how many training runs.)
For the Boston Marathon, mid-April, this means starting in winter. Cold. Ice. Snow. Wind. Not necessarily perfect running weather in New England. But you do it, because you committed to it.
After watching him do his, I decided I should do one also, so began my training in much better weather in late June for the Cape Cod Marathon, at that time late October.
And I can tell you that while crossing the finish line was most certainly a high moment of my life, the day when I cried tears of amazement and gratitude was the day I crossed off the last training run on my schedule. Four times a week, for 18 weeks, I was out there. Amazed by what my body could do. Grateful for a body that endured. I was not given a runner’s body. It was not something I loved. But I did it.
I don’t have any running paintings to share, so this is not the usual Monday post in #ArtistsRealLife. I simply have the memories, and the experience, and still, awe and gratitude. And this post is certainly not meant to be about me, or my marathon. It is about those out there doing it right now.
And one embarrassing moment to share.
My most important job when Gary ran, beyond carrying his backpack, and meeting him at various points on the route to cheer him on, was to be at the finish line to get his picture as he crossed the line. Please remember, this was 2005. No I-phones. No Ubers. I made my way to a location on the route a couple miles from the finish, and jogged and talked with him for about half a mile. Then hopped a cab, winding our way through and around closed off streets (when I say us, I mean the cab driver and myself - Gary was still running) to get me into place as quickly as possible with camera in hand, ready for his approach.
It was one of those little disposable cameras (remember - this is pre-digital.) I had it set up and ready to go. Yes, there he is… he’s come around the corner… here he comes… ready, set, push… and no click. The camera stuck. I missed the moment.
So we had to go back and re-enact it after clearing the jammed camera. I think he and I were the only ones who knew it wasn’t the real finish. And I think eventually he forgave me.
We went our separate ways several years later. He remarried. Passed away in 2022. I’ve often wondered what became of his Boston Marathon finisher’s medal. At the time, it seemed super important, as did mine several months later. Eventually, though, I think the medals lose their meaning, and become rather simply a visual reminder of a time, and a place, and yes, a personal goal set and achieved.
To all those running today - my prayer for you is joy, safety, health, and a finish worthy of your training endeavors. My personal goal for my marathon was simply “to finish standing and smiling.”
And I did.
As always, thank you for reading.
Love to each of you,
Mimi
Great picture, Mimi! You are exactly correct…running a marathon is all about the training. Crossing the finish line is worth every minute of training. 🏃♀️♥️🙏