From “OMG” to “My God! My God!!!” and back again…
I read through my last post just now. It struck me how ironic it is that I urge you, the reader, to think of the displaced, tortured, raped and murdered Congolese every time that you use your phone but I make no mention of that very connection when talking about the text that I received saying, “Thanks to Dan’s run three women have been sponsored…” a text on a cell phone that I paid for. The truth is I didn’t make that connection until more recently while I was thinking of all of this. The sobbing seems to become even more appropriate… if what I have discovered about Congo is true and if you consider it, you can’t refute what an insidious existence we live. How sad to contemplate.
I will add to this by saying I won’t admonish myself. I think there is some impulse in me to feel guilty. This impulse I’ve learned is fundamentally ego-centric and making it about “me” is no road to a solution. I will simply make an effort to acknowledge these kinds of connections in my life when I see them. I will no longer ignore them or “put the book down” as I did with the book on the Rwandan genocide. That is my commitment. I’ve learned that if I start with a simple recognition, I will inevitably build the momentum and the strength to act. Its what running 50 miles entailed in the first place... contemplation into decision-making, into action and then action into powerful action (hopefully).
When I decided to run for Congo I had no idea of the complexity of its circumstance. I knew by the articles I read that the situation was grave and most likely in many ways beyond my immediate comprehension. I certainly had no desire to connect myself as a contributor to such a horror story but essentially this is what I see. And after seeing this, I feel obligated to say what I believe… because we benefit from this, we should in the very least acknowledge it. This is the message we need to tell ourselves. This is what will bring change. And who in their right mind can possibly say that this situation should not change? This is about all of us, not just one person.
Softly
and silently
like tears
their blood falls
on our hands
while we sleep.
Fundamentally I’m talking about what connects us all beyond any government, race or religion… our basic principle, our humanity. After speaking to Lisa Shannon on the phone that night, I received a lot of messages from the “Thousand Sisters” network. It was just people reaching out to tell me they were inspired by what I was doing and to wish me luck. It was very powerful and humbling. I never really expected that. Its something I have within me now (whether I like it or not!).
I view our lack of knowledge of the situation in Congo as a form of sleep. I’ve witnessed how people react when I discuss it openly. There’s a very strong impulse to “stay asleep”… as if they are saying, “Don’t disturb me! Don’t awaken me to this! Please, I can’t be accountable! It is too, too incomprehensibly horrific!”
Fortunately for me (or unfortunately, depending on if you feel that ignorance is truly bliss), I attached this, what would be, abstract notion of the suffering people of Congo to my ultra marathon training. I was unable to lull myself back to sleep in relation to it. I had to contemplate it for roughly 6 months. Looking back I have to say that there was a strange tone of intention to this as I embarked on attaining my goal. Like something in the back of my mind was telling me that if I was to make my existence more meaningful, I needed to make myself more aware of those whose existence was more about survival. I had spent years focusing on things like company politics, making more money and losing weight… things of this nature. Then I got married and brought two children into the world. I wanted more from their dad. For weeks I kept thinking of the first story on Congo that I ever read… the account of Generose, Claude and Lucien. A family forever changed by brutality and murder.
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Mile 50
Mile 50 was approaching and Liz was now the quiet one. I asked her if she could think of anything to talk about and she responded somewhat jokingly, “I have no idea how you’re going to react to what I’m saying.” I think the sobbing episode freaked her out a bit. I’m not one who usually goes around sobbing.
We moved on and the one guy who was keeping with my pace during the last 5 miles or so was finishing up the race with a young woman who could have been his girlfriend or sister. He was the big guy that I saw back at the mile 38 aid station. He later told me his name was Adam (I think). We took turns passing each other once or twice at our incredibly slow, 16 minute or so per mile pace. Just prior to mile 50 he passed me and ended up crossing the finish line in front of me. I don’t know if that was his intention… like “I’m going to come in 30 seconds before this guy!” or not. Either way I didn’t care. If you finish at 11 hours or 11 hours and one minute is there really a difference? Liz and I spoke about it later. That’s not why I did this. There are a lot of competitive people in the world, I know who would shake their heads at this… whatever.
Liz and I approached the mile 50 marker on the road and I became more conscious… Like there was a small burst of excitement in me… Mile 50… I told myself that I would think of Stan on mile 50 again and he immediately came to mind. His smile. His joy. I felt alive. I asked Liz if she ever read the dedication that I wrote for him on my website and she said no. She’d looked through a few iterations of what I wrote but I put that in last and she never caught it. She resisted going into a discussion about him. She wanted me to finish in good spirits.
After the mile 50 marker there were a couple of guys standing by a parked pick up truck watching us go by. “Almost there now!” they called. We turned down a dead end road. I remembered this part from the tour the day before. The road stopped abruptly. There was a guard rail that you had to maneuver around and then a field of grass for about 500 feet until you came to a campus parking lot. From there we ran the cross country course that we started on. Through grass (that felt nice after pounding the pavement for 49 and a half miles) to the finish.
There was construction all over the campus. At one point a course marker pointed straight to a waist high, fenced off barricade. It was one of those temporary flimsy, plastic orange fences that they put up around town fairs and such. It was all jacked up. Runners had to climb over it to move on. A side note… after running 49.7 miles, the last thing you want to be involved in is climbing fences. Adam and his young lady friend went over first and Liz and I soon followed. Liz said, “I can’t believe they’re making you do this on mile 50!” I didn’t care. I don’t think Adam did either… We had the finish line on our minds.
Adam and his friend jogged up ahead and Liz and I trotted along. We ran over the plywood that was thrown on the mud through a path of trees. The same path we ran out on that morning. The end was very close…
Up the grass hill, around the fence and the finish line was in sight. I saw Emily playing in the vacant road by the big digital timer. The finish line was the same as the starting line. I know I was exhausted but my senses were heightened. This was a moment I would remember for the rest of my life.
The sun was still out but evening was soon approaching. Liz began to jog away from me as the finish line approached. Steve stood behind the finish line and took shots of me coming in. I looked at the pictures later and when I flipped through them I got an idea of how bad my hobbling was. Again, I didn’t care.
There were about ten people total at the finish line including my caravan… Steve, Laura, William, Emily and Liz… a bit of a different scene than the New York City Marathon finish line. They were all cheering me on. There was some cheering and clapping from the folks I didn’t know. I hobbled and hobbled and I raised my arms as I crossed…
I DID IT!!!
I DID IT!!!
I DID IT!!!
I DID IT!!!
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I did what I set out to do. I accomplished this monumental task. I felt a swelling of all kinds of emotions as I stood there but most of all I felt pride. That stays with me now too. Just like the suffering of the Congolese. To me running 50 miles was as close to doing something impossible as you could imagine and I did it. I now believe with all of my heart that I can do anything I put my mind to. I never believed this before. I would always say it or think it but I BELIEVE it now. This is truly a blessing. I know most people do not feel this.
Emily ran up to me and ran away. She was glad to see me but she doesn’t like it when I’m “all sweaty”. I walked around a bit. My head was buzzing and I remember feeling like my eyes were wide open. Tom, the race organizer handed me a medal wrapped in plastic. I put it on. Steve and I then posed for some pictures together. Emily then came over again to see the medal. I grabbed her and thrusted her up over my head up and down several times. We call that “blast off!” She started laughing. I put her down and she and Willie ran up and down the wooden ramp to the trailer-like office where the race “headquarters” was positioned. There were a few tents with some food and drink. I didn’t want any.
I just walked around for a bit and then I laid down on the grass. There were some kids sitting there and I made a corny joke about having just taken a lap around the pond. They laughed surprisingly hard at that one. I laid on my back waiting for my legs to stop pounding. That didn’t happen.
Eventually everyone made it to the Forerunner which was in the parking lot about 200 feet away. My legs were SORE… When I got there Laura was chasing Emily around the lot while Liz changed Will’s diaper in the back of the truck. “How are we driving home?” I asked. Liz said, “Steve’s driving. You’re in the passenger seat and Laura and I are going to crunch in the back with the kids.” Sounds good.
I got in the passenger seat and moved my legs. I moved them again. I was trying to get comfortable. I moved them again. It dawned on me that it was going to be a while before my legs were “comfortable.” I just sat still accepting their uncomfortable condition. I looked at Steve who was in the driver’s seat. “We did it.” I said. He looked back and responded, “We did it.”
Will close this up soon!!!! still more to come...
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