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Bassoon, Blogging, Community, Coronavirus, Environment, Faith, Gratitude, Humanity, Living in Hawaii, Marathon training and running, Marriage, Middle Age, Poetry, Writing, YMCA
Aloha Dear Readers of Tennis, Trisomy 21 and Taking in Life Together,
Yesterday I finished a long run of 8 miles for a marathon I hope to complete at the end of July — a real, nationally certified marathon, 26.2 miles, but with a much smaller field, at the most 70 entrants with staggered starting times that makes me hopeful social distancing and safety will be possible.
Living through this pandemic has been like going through stages of grief, especially for a marathoner. At first, I was disappointed that the YMCA I used to visit three or four times a week closed down. I got over it, knowing everyone would be better off in the long run once the pandemic passes. Then I found myself scared to venture off for a long run of 10 miles or so — too many unknowns and uncertainties. What if I were stopped by someone for not wearing a face mask? What if I encountered other runners who did not respect social distancing? What if I were distracted and fell? Now is really not the time to go to a hospital unless it is an emergency.
So for about 5 of the 8 miles I took the hamster in a cage route. I found an empty, grassy field at my daughter’s school that is now closed for the rest of the academic year. I ran around and around and around, slowly gaining distance and building endurance while feeling safe. The only other two people I saw for those 5 miles were elderly gentlemen who were wearing track suits (but no masks). From a distance, we waived briefly to each other. We each had our own space with few distractions.
And plenty of time to think.
Sometimes too much!
I realized how running around in large circles does not burn up the miles as quickly as moving on long streets or paths from one part of the city to another. I began yesterday to think how slow I was, how my best marathon was many years ago, a 3:40, and that I had never come close to qualifying for Boston.
For all the thousands of miles I’ve run, other than finishers medals (including 28 for marathons), I’ve actually won only three “real” medals for 5Ks as an adult!
Then my mind took me other places, how I won a dozen national writing awards in high school, but many were honorable mentions. (For the one that counted most, though, for the best poem written by a high school senior, I tied for first place. I still can’t believe it!)
And my mind kept going along with my tired legs: how competing in my other two great loves, tennis and playing in orchestras, brought nice but not great achievements. If I were lucky, I was second or third chair in orchestras I was part of, rarely first chair. I always made the tennis team, but I rarely played above 3rd singles in high school or college, and, when I was older, made only a few finals in small club tournaments.
Then I fell to the ground, the nice, soft grassy surface, laughing!
Since no one was around, I said out loud, “I guess I’m Mr. Honorable Mention. What a tough spot to have in life!!”
The fact is, it’s been a privilege to be a runner, a tennis player, a bassoonist, a poet. To have won any awards is beyond what I ever dreamed. After all, I didn’t fall in love with poetry, tennis, music, and running to win prizes!
And I’m still engaged with all the above while having a full-time job and a wonderful, healthy family in the middle of a pandemic.
After I stopped laughing, I stood up, and continued to run in more circles, grateful for looking at the blue sky, for breathing in safe air, for moving.