Good, Tough Miles

Start/finish line
2012 Providence Marathon

Early yesterday morning, standing in the street under a layer of fog in downtown Providence, I found myself grateful for the opportunity to be just behind the starting line, ready to embark upon my seventh marathon in as many years. Mentally reviewing the long path that brought me here– an oddly mild and snowless winter that made training far less treacherous than in years past, an absurdly sudden and severe spike in warmth that led me to defer a Boston Marathon entry until next spring, a well-exercised body and mind that showed some new signs of fickle and inconsistent strength (my Jesuit brethren assure me that I'm merely "getting older," and it's nothing to be worried about)– I felt anew the gift and privilege of being able to travel such an intense and circuitous route, and the gentle reminder to enjoy the journey, rather than fret over the pace at which I make it.

I largely forgot that advice as soon as the starting gun fired, sending more than 1,500 runners hurtling into the streets of Providence, navigating quiet neighborhoods largely devoid of residents or spectators on a quiet Sunday morning. My fellow runners and I quickly found that some of the mile markers– upon which the more serious folks rely for feedback on their fine-tuned race plans– were placed rather inaccurately. Nobody was running an eight-minute mile followed by a five-minute mile; I'd likely be fielding sponsorship offers from Mizuno if that were the case. Delightfully scenic stretches of the course– several scattered miles along a wooded bicycle path, a swing around a golf course overlooking Narragansett Bay– alternated with comparatively mundane suburban enclaves and impersonal warehouse districts. I all too easily found things to critique, and despite the exchanges of humor and sarcasm among those of us with the same gripes (mostly about those mile markers), I knew that such negativity was detracting from my race.

I can admit to some disappointment that I wasn't able to achieve the final time that seemed within reasonable reach until the 17-mile mark. I can admit to some frustration over the quirky weather that forced me into a prudential decision that I'm still quite happy to have made, swapping Boston for Providence, in order to sustain my ongoing tradition of training for and completing a spring marathon. I can now, in hindsight, recognize that this wandering course and my inconsistent transit through it proved to be an uncannily apt metaphor for an academic year that has seen a fair share of those themes alongside steady progress and slowly emerging strength in certain areas of my life.

Despite all this, as my community and friends remind me, there's so much to appreciate. I met a Chilean Jesuit at mile 4 who, like me, was running Providence for the first time. One of his housemates, with whom I lived in St. Louis, was at mile 25, having completed a half-marathon while we were legging the middle miles of the full. He and I were perhaps equally surprised to encounter one another, yet the high five we shared as I lumbered by was the best one of the day. Though my mile-to-mile pace was hardly smooth and steady, I still notched my second-fastest marathon time ever, which also preserves a hallowed space for the 2010 Boston Marathon, in virtually all criteria of personal and objective judgment, as the best race of my life. A few other friends came out to cheer, and one treated me to an amazing brunch (post-marathon hunger didn't overly skew my opinion– this little storefront eatery stacks up to the best diners in Worcester), a favor I'll repay before too long. And although I won't be exercising heavily for a while, I'm able to walk and manage stairs without too much soreness, instilling gratitude for locomotion itself as well as the body's ability to recover from stress and injury in remarkable fashion.

I'm aware that just over three hours of running have given me material for reflection, prayer, and discussion that could fill three months. Why do I run? Why am I so self-critical? What is a given stretch of my life's journey, or the entire span of my existence, all about? Where is there weakness to be accepted, potential to be strengthened, talent to be applied? What sustains joy as I keep the odometer rolling? I'm increasingly counting on my community and my friends to help me tease out some answers, whether we do so around an altar or a dinner table, amidst a busy campus or a quiet forest, during a gentle stroll or a swift cycling expedition (yes, I'm preparing my mechanical steed for a new season). In any case, I'm grateful that, once again, a marathon finish line has been not only an achievement in itself to celebrate, but also a welcome start to a new cycle of exploration, training, and growth.

My finisher's medal– note the Rhode Island State House and the state motto, "Hope."