Marathon reflections

Many runners make a big deal after finishing a marathon, but this schtick is getting pretty old after my fourth. I was proud of the accomplishment, but the new car smell has worn off. All of that to say, I have another marathon medal to stick on my fridge. Not the best, not the worst. A good run overall.

My second marathon was Twin Cities in 2015. That was a year when a Black Lives Matter protest had planned to disrupt the race. This upset many people who felt that interfering with people’s marathon is the most egregious sin possible; certainly a greater injustice than anything black Americans have faced in Minnesota.

During that race, I saw a few idiotic signs along the lines of “Runners Lives Matter.” Minneapolis would face a much more significant reckong on this issue in the Summer of 2020.

This was a pretty awful marathon for me. It wasn’t due to those signs, but rather a far too busy summer schedule to find time to train. I basically quit running for 5 years after that.

When I left San Francisco in late 2019, I had only my choir group to miss. Almost all my other friends had moved out of the city. During my final Uber ride to the airport, my driver played some quasi-religious sermon in the car, making it a rather noisy and unpoetic departure. That was an accurate metaphor for my last year in the city.

Californians are a lot like Minnesotans; quite cliquey and reserved. This has never been my style.

I’ve been in New York City for more than four years now. In that time, my circles of friendship have only grown over time, not shrunk. This was never more apparent than during the marathon. Many friends came out to support me and a few others were running alongside me (metaphorically speaking, I was in the last wave). Choir friends, Minnesota friends, old friends I had met through other friends, running coaches, etc. And millions of strangers giving me nods, thumbs ups, and cheers when my face probably indicated I was going to keel over.

I saw many runners and spectators waving Palestinian flags, cheering and striving for human rights. I even saw signs of support for Palestine at “the silent mile” through Hasidic Williamsburg held up by residents of the neighborhood. This was a warm contrast to my race in 2015.

There were many signs supporting Zohran for mayor. I myself was wearing a Zohran running hat that I had gotten through the community canvassers I met when door knocking for the campaign. It’s easy to get sucked into the charisma of a candidate—humans are hierarchical apes after all. But as charming as Zorhan is, it’s what he stands for that has brought together the people of New York City; all of whom want a better life for their neighbors.

My choir director Charlie was the first person on the course I saw cheering me on. Her daughter had made a sign for me. I remember Charlie telling me a story of how her daughter loved celebrating every cultural holiday possible. The NYC Marathon might as well be one too.

Growing up in a multicultural city like New York City, this is one of the few places in the world where all of this is possible. Certainly more so than the homogeneous west suburbs of Minneapolis.

At the finish, I saw one of my running coaches. He asked me how the race went, and in typical fashion, I said I was a little disappointed with my time (this is normal; I’ve never been happy after a marathon). But he encouraged me all the same and reminded me that this is still a big achievement.

What is so special about my first NYC Marathon has almost nothing to do with running. It was about all the deep and meaningful connections I’ve made over the years. It is about the spirit of the city which is united, not in spite of its heterogeneity, but because of it.