Settling

Athletes' Village, Hopkinton MA

A number of times along the Boston Marathon course yesterday, Matt and I remarked to one another that the full sense of the experience– cheering crowds, different towns, challenging hills, long final miles– would slowly sink in after the fact. Speaking for myself, as I've relived and reflected upon the race over the past 24 hours, I'd have to agree.

I'm impressed by and grateful for the way that Matt and I worked together through each of the towns from Hopkinton to Boston. Whether I was telling him to slow down in the early downhill miles, helping him run the inside tangents, or sharing memories from last year, there was something wonderful about keeping pace with a friend who has helped and accompanied me through countless miles in St. Louis winters and a Washington DC summer. Entering the Newton Hills, I was led up them by his strong climbing as much as by all of my training on the wicked inclines scattered around my Saturday morning routes south of Worcester. In the final miles along Beacon Street, when he offered to let me go ahead and chase something– a faster time, a stronger finish, whatever– I declined, and did my best to balance a steady rhythm with a pace that wouldn't leave him behind. We finished together, tired yet fulfilled and jubilant.

I've been finding links between my running and my teaching through the course of my training, and today I discovered another one. At the end of the Haunted Mile, when Matt offered to cut me loose, I gave that idea more than passing consideration. At that point, with four miles to go, I still had a long shot of finishing just under three hours. It would have required significant speed, gritty perseverance, and a lonely surge through considerable pain and fatigue. It would also have meant leaving Matt to his own devices, and while I knew he could finish, I knew he was struggling no less than I was. And I realized that I had no personal goal that could offer as much fulfillment of staying with Matt until the (hopefully not too bitter) end of the course. There was also the distinct possibility that each of us could collapse if we chose to work individually after striving together for two and a half hours. Today it hit me: in my worst and most selfish moments, I've wanted to escape the confines and disappointments of a situation in which I feel I'm not doing my best or actualizing my full potential, and moving on to some other position that would be "easier," more "glamorous," or less messy. Why be a mediocre middle school teacher when I could be an outstanding campus minister? Why ease off the throttle and roll to three hours and some extra minutes when I could fire up the afterburners and chase down another sub-three hour performance? Amid the roar of the crowd, the gently searing pain of lactic acid seeping through my quadriceps, my friendship and company with Matt gave me my answer. Those things I dream of... there's no guarantee that they'd come to pass. The gifts in the present moment... I may not realize in the moment how precious they are, but I'd later regret giving them up if I did. Reaching the end of Boylston would have been a lesser celebration without Matt at my side; any "success" I might have had in a different ministry would have been lessened by the notion that I chose, as various social and economic structures have done with varying degrees of collective intentionality, to leave behind some wonderful boys in the humble city that I now call home.

God willing, plenty of other races and marathons remain in my future, just as my course of Jesuit formation offers many exciting opportunities for personal, professional, pastoral, and intellectual growth in the coming years. But I was blessed by a memorable reminder of the importance and joy of staying the course, of running the race set out for me– on the roads, in the classroom, wherever life asks and invites me to keep putting one foot in front of the other, helping others and myself to make progress.

Putting my feet up!