Crease

It was today. The marathon. I told myself I'd train for it. Get in shape, jog and run and all that. It seemed like something I should do. Other people were doing it, weren't they? Seemed like the kind of thing that's good, that maybe leads to other good things. Exercise! Goals! I don't know, people like those things, don't they?

I had this thought a year ago, right after the last marathon. My girlfriend at the time, she was running in it. I was the sitting on the sidelines the whole time, cheering her on, asking her how much she ran today, but also throwing in the occasional, "Why are you running this much? Like... why?" Her answers always varied, when she gave an answer that was more than a laugh. She was nice like that, nice enough to shrug off my skepticism with a laugh. It's good when people can do that.

Her time was pretty good. I think. She was happy with it, but I had no frame of reference for any of that, no context I could put it in. So she told me it was good and I believed her. But it seemed... OK. This is a small thing that I'm not entirely proud of, but it's the truth, so I might as well say it, because really it's not that bad. But her time didn't seem that impressive. Like, maybe it was good for her. But I figured that I could do better. And a year out? I thought I'd be able to do just fine.

At some point I let this slip. I don't remember when. It's not important. Maybe it is. But I let it slip. I said it out loud, big boob that I am. There are some things, you say them out loud, and you can't take them back. I thought this would be one of them, wouldn't you? It wasn't.

I was high and mighty. I started a regimen, without research and without expertise. I just started running. I'd run a little here and there, just to work out the kinks, stretch the muscles, get this old body into running order or what have you. Then I figured I'd better get serious about it. Started running every week day. Started adding more and more, little by little, in increments here and there. Timed myself, tried to beat those times, added more, timed that, tried to beat it still. You picture that finish line, at the end of the street or sidewalk or whatever. The important thing was to visualize it. Then all you have to do is move it. It was at the end of this block, you stick it at the end of the next. You see it there in your mind, in your eye, and then you place it wherever you want. And suddenly it's something almost tangible. I was going to beat that time. I was. Hell, it'd be easy. A run in the city? A walk in the park.

Weeks went by and months and I was looking good. I was feeling good. I was feeling like I just might pull it off. I was sleeping better. I was waking up earlier. I had energy, I had stamina. My thoughts were clearer, my mind was focused, my pants were looser. There was always a dark visible crease in the center of my buckled belt because I'd gone up a notch. That crease bothered me, it was ugly. But still, it reminded me of this thing I was doing, this great thing, so it made it OK. And I won't lie to you, it was the best I've ever felt in my whole life. The best I'll probably ever feel. This old body of mine. Maybe not. Who knows. Certainly felts that way. Feels that way. Felt that way. No, it feels that way.

It was mile twenty-one. I was doing really well, I felt great, I felt like I could go all day. I was so close. And then... I don't know. I couldn't see the finish line. I knew where it was, but I couldn't see it. I closed my eyes and all I saw was... And I was asking the question I'd always asked her: Why are you running so much? And I stopped. I just stopped. Let the crowds of humanity rush past me. Let myself disappear. Let myself walk that long walk home. And I won't lie to you, when I got home, I was exhausted.