Maybe I'm the only one who thinks I'll enjoy a race based on the director's pre-race email message signed, "See ya on the backroads of Marlborough in God's blessing!" That, and the fact that the price of registration was 10 canned goods for the local food pantry...oh yeah, and it's the Sunday after Thanksgiving, so I have what we might diplomatically refer to as a "calorie surplus".
The past three days of holiday eating, celebrating and reunion-ing might have been partly responsible for making me sleep right through my alarm, so I was awakened at 7:20 when my friend from work buzzed at my door. Fortunately, my running clothes were laid out the night before (old habits die hard...or not at all), and because fashion takes a back seat to climate control, I look like a homeless urchin when I run anyhow. I threw on my clothes, put on a pot of coffee, and answered the door. We were ahead of schedule anyhow, so we had time for a little bit of chit-chat over toast and coffee. Then we hit the road for the drive out to Marlboro.
Once we arrived, I found my friend Diane and her cousin. Diane and I know each other from our last job, and she unabashedly refers to herself as “the 50 year old cheerleader”. She has more energy than most people half her age, and she churns out 8 - 10 milers like a walk around the block. Diane encouraged me to do this race (and many others), reminding me that it would be the first Sunday of Advent, and what better way to prepare for this season than by donating food to a community food pantry. Running 10 miles through hilly Marlboro was just the bonus...
This race was defintely what we might call "no frills", and that is perhaps one of the things I liked most about it. Our race numbers were handwritten sticky labels with our name, age, and hometown. "Registration" consisted of pinning on our labels and loading our canned goods onto the back of a pickup truck. The crowd was small, friendly, and relatively quiet; some volunteers headed out to staff waterstops, while others prepped plates of homemade coffee cake, doughnuts, caramel popcorn and cookies to be enjoyed post-race.
We shivered in the sunless morning, waiting for the race to begin. The race director led us to the start, reviewed the course, and offered a blessing and moment of silence for those who go hungry and those who serve our country. He shared with us that the food pantry to which our canned goods would be donated has already experienced a dramatic depletion of resources; we are indeed in difficult times, and it’s really a blessing in itself that we can go out and enjoy this run and the munchkins and hot cocoa that await us at the finish line. The national Anthem was sung (chokes me up every time) and off we went.
Marlboro is quiet and suburban. We ran through sleepy neighborhoods with firewood piled next to the houses and smoke curling out of the chimneys. My friend from work and Diane’s cousin were way ahead of us, and Diane and I settled into a comfortable pace. After a little chit chat, we drifted into silence, each running our own race and offering the other quiet support. I knew that as long as I could see Diane’s flourescent yellow jacket near me, I was doing okay. The course was hilly and, to be honest, unremarkable. We plodded along, mile by mile. Eventually I turned on my ipod and my faithful running buddies - Jimi Hendrix, George Michael, Herbie Hancock, and Erasure - kept me company. Mile 8 - 9.5 was a brutal hill that forced me to walk. Even a few gummi bears didn’t help much.
The timing of this race - right after Thanksgiving and on the first day of Advent - held a quiet serendipity. It felt like a meaningful time to reflect on the preceding days of giving thanks, and to look ahead to the coming weeks of waiting and preparation. I have always loved Thanksgiving because, despite its historical baggage, it seems like such a universal and simple concept. Giving thanks - what an idea! I am thankful for so many things I can barely begin to list them - my family and friends, my health, my job, my community, the food on my table, the clothes in my closet, the roof over my head, the car I drive, the warmth, happiness, and plentitude of the life I am so priveleged and blessed to live. I'm grateful for the friends I run with - they encourage me, make me laugh, and more often than not are willing to indulge in massive amounts of coffee with me after a race. Despite my occasional whining about aches, pains, and strains, I am grateful that I can run. It wasn't long ago that I couldn't, and I'm reminded every single day that my ability to run could just as quickly and easily disappear. Food, friends, warm clothes, health, freedom - running honors all of these gifts at once and feels like a celebration of these many blessings.
The solitude and grey skies of this race prompt a lot of contemplation on my part. Thinking about Advent, I meditate on what it means. In its simplest form, "advent" means "coming" or "arrival", and the season of Advent is a time of expectation, anticipation and preparation, as Christians prepare for the birth of Jesus. Thinking about these concepts and how they might relate to my own life, one word keeps coming back to me: patience. There is a distinct parallel between this season of anticipation and my own striving for patience. It is a challenge - anyone who knows me knows that patience is not my forte. I pray for it and try to cultivate it, but am continually given a run for my money. But just as Advent comes every year and gives us the chance to wait and experience that act of waiting and that feeling of waiting, so too does the opportunity for patience present itself to me over and over again. Just as Christians can experience the season of Advent as the season of anticipation and preparation, so too can I think of this as a time to be mindful and patient, to think about how and when my patience is tested, and to remind myself to just wait. Because just as Christmas will eventually and undoubtedly arrive, so will all that I am waiting for.
The last half-mile or so I ran with a woman who told me about her daughter, a fiesty 5-year old named Tory who suffered from “Failure to Thrive” since she was just a few months old. As she recounted her young daughter’s treatments and medical interventions, I could barely imagine enduring so much at such a young age, and I was reminded once more what a blessing it is to get up and run ten miles. Despite my aching hamstrings, this made the last half-mile pass pretty quickly, and before I knew it we were running up a final hill and into the parking lot where we started. We turned in our stickers and claimed numbered popsicle sticks indicating what place we finished. I found Diane and my friend from work (who placed third in the women’s group!) and we enjoyed some hot cocoa and popcorn before saying our goodbyes. It was freezing cold, and as we got in the car a bit of snow began to fall. After a quick stop at Dunkin’ Donuts we were en route to Boston, tired and happy, and feeling very blessed by this run.
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