putting it into perspective

XX.
I underestimated the marathon. What can I say? I'd never been to Cape Cod, despite living in the Boston area for six years, and so I had no way of knowing that "a few gently rolling hills" really meant hills that were low-grade but continuing for miles.

Mile 12 was all uphill. And after that, the rest of the race was downhill figuratively but unfortunately not literally. Only sheer stubbornness kept me going. And going. And.

By mile 21, the race around me had dwindled to about a half-dozen people alternating painful jogging with walking, passing and falling behind each other. The distance between mile markers seemed to be increasing. We were the end pack, which meant that the first aid van was circling us like a vulture, enticing: give in now, and you can sit down.

Right around mile 25 I was jogging -- in the barest sense of the word, as I was moving slower than most people crawl -- and a cheerful little old man pulled up beside me. Hanging in there? he gasped. Barely, I said. We talked -- as it were -- for a moment, and then he said, Did you know I'm the oldest person in the race? 74.

Well. This is where I stop mentally congratulating myself for running a marathon. You may finish this marathon, kid, but you're 22 and barely keeping pace with a 74-year-old man.

Maybe he knew what I was thinking, because he then added, Don't worry, I've probably been running for longer than you've been alive! Renewed, he jogged off, leaving me in the dust.

But let me tell you: when we turned a corner and saw the finish line off in the distance, I found some more energy and I started jogging faster, and I beat that 74-year-old. Ha!

Wednesday 13 February, 07:03 PM