There’s an empathy of the heart that runners can share, born of the challenge of running long distances together. I suspect the strongest bonds are formed during the hardest events. Yet ultimately, the only unfailing solace is within. We find love, we feel it, to the extent that we allow it to pass through us, by our encouraging words and actions and prayers and blessings for others. For me, that’s been the only lasting reward of my races.
Many people have described the experience of “hitting the wall” in the marathon. It happened to me at the California International Marathon in Sacramento. My symptoms were the usual – after 18 miles, every step became a torture. With each step, I felt an overwhelming desire to quit, to sit on the curb and rest – at the very least, to ease up and walk.
I thought, “A thousand times, I’ve realized that release from pain comes by inner expansion. I will expand my awareness to include others. I will make the brave experiment, even though every last one of my cells fights me. And I will win; I will not end the race other than in victory.”
I began to pray for the other runners, grinding out prayers at first – rote prayers recalled from other times: “Bless them! Bless them! Help them find the strength they need to win, to be victorious. Give them health! Love! Strength! Wisdom! Joy!” I refused to walk. My body, untouched by my prayers, continued to stagger forward in agony, but my mind, my heart, my soul – slowly, gradually began to perceive a tiny crack in my inward skies opening to a place of sudden sunny freedom, a current of trickling blue joy. It was a tiny, narrow opening, the least possible fissure in a wall of pain, small but inexpressibly precious.
By God’s grace, I finished the marathon feeling exhausted but expanded in my heart. I ran the last three miles with a fellow who pulled alongside and started talking. He was having a rough time, too, and I engaged him in upbeat conversation, hoping to forget my own pain, telling him how well he was doing while inwardly sending him blessings. I let him finish ahead of me, and I was feeling so good that my positive mood overflowed to embrace the finish-line crew. A cheerful nurse hugged me and wrapped me in a Mylar blanket. I told her, “You are very kind,” and toddled off to find the bus to the hotel.
The bus was packed with runners, chattering excitedly about the race, but I was withdrawn. I stared out the window at the rain, feeling pleasantly beat and drained of emotion. Too tired, in fact, for bubbling chatter. I had recently recovered from two weeks of flu, and the marathon had taken a lot out of me. One does have one’s limits. Never mind, I had won.
