The Long View

I decided to run a marathon almost three years ago. I was 39. I got on the treadmill at my in-laws house one snowy evening in New Hampshire. I hadn't run regularly in a number of years, and it was a little painful, but a marathon seemed the perfect answer to turning 40.

In April we found out we were pregnant. Marathon training would have to wait. I kept running until the end of my first trimester. In fact, Tucker ran the Brooklyn Half-Marathon with me on Memorial Day, then we decided to down-shift to brisk walking. A month after the 2009 NYC marathon I went into labor, which was not unlike a marathon but with a far better trophy.

So again, come winter 2010, I put my running shoes back on. My first race was the Run for Haiti in Central Park. 4 miles. That year I completed the 9 races required to qualify for the NYC 2011 Marathon. Come winter 2011 I started extending my runs. Ran the Brooklyn Half-Marathon again at the end of May. Deja vu, but better. The delay had stretched out my training, deepened the endurance, made it more habitual than an act of will.

Three weeks ago I made my last long training run, 23 miles all in Brooklyn. It was a glorious, if exceedingly windy, day. The mile along Coney Island's boardwalk had to be re-routed inland for the blasting sand kicked up by 20 mph winds, and I got splashed numerous times by waves breaking along the coast under the Verrazano Bridge. The highlight was passing Duncan's soccer game at mile 22 and waving to my four guys. I felt great. I felt ready. My mantra was: "Now, if I can just avoid getting sick..."

Now here I am, it is Friday, Marathon day is Sunday. And I have a fever. This is day 2 of 100+ temps, aches, shakes, the usual seasonal misery. I pumped myself up with Advil and went into the city to pick up my race bib anyway. It's been 3 years - how can I give up now? I ask myself what Jimmy would do. (Jimmy Moore, my running friend and guru, now 90, from Mississippi.) He would tell me to listen to my body. That I can always give it a shot, and if I'm not up to it, there's no shame in going home and trying again another time. I hope I will have the courage to make such a call if need be. This strikes me as the wisdom of the marathon-view of life. Even the marathon is not the marathon. It's the finish line past the horizon that keeps us reaching farther than the one we can see.