wilderbutterflyWhen I started to write this, I had just finished volunteering at mile 20.5 for the Columbus Marathon. The streets teemed with people who proclaimed that they were able to do it. They took the plunge to do something that few relatively few people decide to do. As a runner, I think I identify with choosing difficulty.
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Today was the Columbus Marathon. 19,000 participants lined the streets to run distances of 13.1 and 26.2 miles. I didn't run the marathon this year. So I did what any sane runner does when they don't train for a race; I woke up at 6 am, braved the first frost of the season, and prepared a water stop for runners. We put out cups and filled them with water and Gatorade. We cut up bananas (oh so many bananas) and oranges. We peeled Twizzlers from wrappers and put out pans of animal crackers and pretzel rods. Then we stood out for five hours while runners rolled through, clapping, jumping up and down, chanting names and encouraging slogans, like "go bananas."
Some people looked at me like the nutter I am. Some people took the bananas I proffered like they were nectar of the gods, and one actually pointed at me and said "NO. Just no." As if a banana being waved near her running space was something that would actually kill her. It was emphatic, and kept me and my stand-mate laughing for the rest of the time we stood there.
During this time, I had the opportunity to talk to many different people. A woman and her daughter's cross country team lined up with a poster to cheer on their coaches. The coach came by after running a half marathon (13.1 miles) to cheer on other runners and help hand out fruit. A few college students from Ohio State and Capital University (non-runners) also joined us. The head of the stop was the manager of a local gym. Everyone worked with a smile on their faces, and many stayed much longer than the four and a half hours I stayed.
As we were standing, we talked. Some were non-runners with questions about the racers: "Do you think we'll use all of these oranges?" (We did.) "Why aren't they coming back to get the oranges and bananas when they drop them?" (Running 26 miles is a special feat. After 20 miles, the body is tired. Sometimes it doesn't work the way your body does when you haven't run 26 miles.) ...The questions were varied, and the coach answered many questions. I answered some as well. Some were about the courses I'd run, and some were about the runners coursing by. A passing comment he made was to the leader of a troop of girl scouts, "These guys are fast, but my hat's off to the ones out on the course for five and five and a half hours." I raised my hand then. " That's me. I'm the one you admire."
And it got me thinking. Turning the wheels in my little skull as my feet pounded the pavement on my mini-distance run today. Because this is not the first person I've heard touting their admiration for us, the turtles whose determination push us through five hours + on a marathon course. I guess it's a way of giving us recognition. It's a nice sentiment. And I appreciate the athletes who give a nod to us slower athletes. And I mean no disrespect to the people who give us recognition.
But as I was running this afternoon, after coming home and changing into running clothes, I started thinking. Because I've been thinking about my second entry for this blog for weeks. I knew I was going to be writing about ADHD and distraction. Which is a topic fraught with opinions. There are opinions about attention span. There are opinions about whether ADHD is real, whether kids are over-medicated, whether kids are over-diagnosed. I am not here to argue about any of that.
Being acknowledged as a slow marathoner, one to be admired for my pace, is much like being admired as someone with a disability. I don't WANT to be acknowledged. I don't want to be noticed. I don't run marathons so someone can say, "damn, that was a great race!" I run them for self-edification. I started running because it was difficult. Each mile forced me to push myself beyond my comfort zone. Each day I went out running was a battle, one that I fought and won each time I went a little further. And when I started running with a partner, runs became cathartic. Times to be social, to feel good about myself. Added benefits popped up. Additional energy, ease of getting up in the morning, not feeling some of the fatigue that comes with my depression symptoms. The ability to feel good about myself. Running is still difficult. Sometimes, I don't manage to make it out. I'm not always motivated. But I definitely don't see myself as someone to be admired for just making it out. I mean, they definitely should. Being awesome is super-helpful in having self-esteem....but I digress.
Today was a good day. I was productive, happy, functional, contributing member of society. I made lunch for my son, and my nap was short enough to be considered normal. I met people. I laughed. I shared a passion that has given me much joy. I gave back to the community. Some days are good. Some days I end the day relieved to go to sleep because I have nothing left to give.
On a recent pacing run, I was listening a song about gold. Sometimes my running music frequently sounds like a pre-teen's playlist for homecoming night. I was running down Northwest Ave. half drunk on my runner's high, and the song came on. "This is for all of the girls, boys all over the world, hold your head up high, you're worth more than gold...there are days all we feel like we're messed up, but the truth is that we're all diamonds in the rough." And I smiled, threw my hands in the air, and trotted home on a cloud of happiness. Because I felt good. Accomplished. There are times when I don't feel like a diamond. The day of the marathon, I felt good. I made a difference.
(Disclaimer: Each story is a story about me. About my labels, my disorders, my dysfunction. Trying to apply my methods might not work the same for everyone. I always advocate to find a therapist that works for you. Everyone can benefit from a set of ears and expertise on how to listen. Especially someone who understands that mental illness is a label and labels are wide judgments on a set of characteristics. More on this later. But I am just a person. I have had several classes on behaviorism, how to employ it to get behavior you want, and I have a degree in Speech Therapy. I am emphatically NOT an expert.I'm thrilled that you're viewing my blog. But my whole purpose is to let people into the closet of my struggles, not to give advice or try to force anyone into a box. For the love of Pete, or Sherry or Doug or Leslie, find someone professional if you think that you are struggling with mental illness. I go once, sometimes twice a week. It doesn't make you weaker. But what the hell do I know.)
(Posted Nov 7, 2015 on Blogspot: Marathon Day and Thoughts about Distraction)