Humans Of The Chicago Marathon
This email sat in my inbox for about 2 weeks before I opened the embedded links. I’ve had so many ideas about how to respond to it, I just haven’t found the best words. The first good news is that my name was selected in the Chicago Marathon lottery and I will be there in October to run through the city(with sights set on beating my 2019 Chicago time by over 40 minutes). The second good news is that the marathon organizers contacted a group of runners who, during the sign-up process, indicated they have a story to share. It is a chance to talk about my “why” and share my love of running with an extended audience. I have a unique opportunity to share about my life that may be published on race-related promotional material, such as advertisements, the race exposition, billboards, pamphlets or commercials. I don’t know how far my words will reach, so I want to answer the questions in a way that best represents my philosophy and is true to who I am. The questions are purposely open-ended, allowing anyone the chance to respond with introspection and personal thought.
I haven’t seen them in a while, but I used to read these Facebook posts daily. There was a popular page called Humans Of New York(HONY). A photographer (I believe his name was Brandon, all politics aside) would ask strangers on the streets of New York City questions about their lives that gave them the stage to talk about where they came from, where they are, or where they’re going. Some stories would be so compelling and detailed that they had to be split up into 2 or 3 (sometimes 5 or 8) different parts, with one fraction delivered daily to our news feeds. If you remember HONY, you might remember reading about some unique and interesting characters. I often wondered what I would say to Brandon if he stopped me in the park or on the way home from an event. Would my story gather eyes and attention on par with his other interviewees? Would my experiences resonate with readers? The irony, or relief, is that people who looked completely different than me were going through something that I could relate to. They were simply talking about their lives-past and present. Some were stories of joy and success, others were poignant counts of loss and misfortune. What HONY demonstrates is that all these stories are valuable, not just to the person telling, but to the person reading. Over the years, I have learned and laughed and cried reading these stories that would otherwise go untold. The overarching mantra is that we are more similar than we are different.
I enjoy big city marathons because they collect tens of thousands of people worldwide to accomplish something together, unifying us. Our collective participation says “we are different, but we are struggling together, and therefore equals.” It reminds me of my elementary school’s annual theme one year: “Unity in Diversity.” As you can tell from watching the finish line footage of any marathon, the tears, expressions of fatigue, joy and strength are evidence that every person had to overcome something to make it to that moment. There will be 40,000 stories being told that day, each with their own undying and underlying fire: the “why.” We choose our “why” before we choose our “when, where, and what.” The reasons we run are tied to our story. It has to compel us to get off the couch and run alone in the dark in below freezing temperatures, to set goals and forsake our warm beds, to endure the aches that accompany all athletics, and to defend our hobby to those who don’t understand. Marathons are the last 26.2 miles of a journey that began months or years before - miles of running, as well as “miles of life.”
Training is difficult, but it’s not harder than anyones life. The milage of life and running have 3 major health-related dimensions: mental, physical, and long-term. Like the length, width, and height of a rectangular block, these dimensions interact and the entire solid is affected by changes in any of them. Everybody’s block is different because our circumstances are unique. There is the internal stress of self-actualization, self-esteem and mental health. The physical dimension is the constant problem solving we do at home and work: the emails, trips to Costco, car repairs, bills, monthly reports, deadlines and quotas. The last one may be hard to pinpoint because it may not weigh so heavily on day-to-day operations but have major implications on the future; they are saving, preparing, and major decision-making. With training through a season, the mental toll is found in the ever-present wondering if we will ever be as fast and fit our former self or our projected goals. Some of us number-obsessed ones are meticulously looking at seconds and minutes pass by, not knowing if our added efforts are worth it. The physical commitment to training is like picking up a part-time job. It comes with its added energy and bodily toll. We navigate time constraints from the “more important” areas of our lives, knowing this hobby of ours takes away rest time and makes everything else more difficult. The long-term stress, when seconds and minutes turn to months and years, is the frustration of injuries interrupting a promising season, forcing us to sit out a few months and go back to the drawing board. Planning lives and international travel around races months in advance may be an expensive and stressful activity. People around us also don’t like hearing we can’t attend their event because we are running a race that day. Our “why” must be bigger than all of that.
Whether the difficulty is simply the act of running, or if running is a mechanism of overcoming other mental, emotional, work or health-related problems, we know the finish line is both physical and symbolic. As soon as we cross the finish line, we have to own our finish time, be it 3, or 6, or 10 hours. We know that number doesn’t tell the story of what happened during our race, but it belongs to us. We must also own the journey that we took to get there. We have to own the circumstances that brought us to where we are in life. My story belongs to me, invariably, irreversibly, and indefinitely. Our stories are diverse like the HONY characters, but we can resonate with each other by finding unifying characteristics of kindness, service and resilience. Like NYC, The Chicago Marathon has a level of anonymity such that you never know who is running next to you. I hope to encourage any Chicago runners who see my answers on a pamphlet or poster. As luck may have it, we may cross the finish line beside each other without knowing it.
These are my answers exactly as I gave them to the Chicago Marathon Organizers.
Why are you running the Bank of America Chicago Marathon?
I signed up for the lottery in October recently after my cancer diagnosis. I knew I would go through an 18-week chemotherapy and have a long road to recovery and training ahead. The Chicago Marathon is a goal I set from last December as a return to marathon running to celebrate triumph over cancer and the beginning of the next chapter of goals I set in my life. I hope to encourage others by coming back from cancer as a faster, stronger, and well-prepared runner. I look forward to an excellent race performance in Chicago.
Who or what is your running motivation and inspiration?
I am inspired by my favorite professionals: Eliud Kipchoge and Kenenisa Bekele. My daily motivation comes from within. I have been running for a few years, obsessing over the numbers on my watch and addicted to the feeling of flying on my feet. Seeing my paces and fitness change through the months motivates me to keep going and seeing what my limits are. I love trying new workouts, new techniques, and setting the next goal. The mental high of hitting a new PR or training milestones keeps the sport fresh for me.
What does running mean to you in your life?
Our lives are full of areas where we have to meet others' demands. I want my running to be a place where I make the rules. It is a safe place that I can be creative, aggressive, relaxed, ambitious, or meet with my team and let the miles fly by. My identity as a runner goes deeper than my diagnosis. I was worried cancer would stop me from running, but I have run throughout my chemo. Running is my way of proving to myself that I am stronger than my disease and will be a key that helps me return to a normal and healthy life.
