The wall
I’ve never been much for running—or for any exercise, for that matter—so frankly, I don’t know what would compel otherwise level-headed folk to get up at sunrise, pull on running shoes, and start jogging around the neighborhood.
And when they return, all sweaty, panting and smelling of the sun, I have to wonder what possessed them. Especially when they take their running to the next level and start competing! Sometimes, runners may even take on a higher form of punishment and get involved in a triathlon, punishing their bodies not just by running but also by swimming and biking.
It’s a certain kind of crazy, although I will admit that when I behold runners’ bodies—toned calves, flat bellies and rock-hard behinds—I feel a certain kind of envy, although never enough to compel me to leave my bed before a decent hour and get chased by the dogs in the neighborhood. So call me a running ignoramus.
But I do know that at a certain point in the run, especially when competing in a marathon, a runner will hit what’s been described as “the wall.” It’s a combination of fatigue, cramps, thirst and frustration. To give in will mean collapsing to the pavement. To continue and finish the race, the runner must slow down, try to get a “second wind,” and then gradually build up one’s speed and energy to the finish line.
Given all the punishment marathon runners put themselves through, reaching the finish line must feel like a life-changing moment. No wonder family and friends make it a point to gather near the finish line, not just to encourage the runner but also to add their own energy and vigor to the flagging competitor.
Among runners, the Boston Marathon has acquired a formidable reputation. To finish this race means to enter the world of the running elite, especially after surviving what some have called “Heartbreak Hill” whose elevation has killed the dreams of many a competitor who finds himself/herself suddenly bereft of the will and strength to run the course.
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And so we come to this horrible pass in Boston Marathon history.
One of the oldest regular races in the United States, if not the world, the Boston Marathon is held every year on Patriots’ Day, reports the New York Times, “usually an opportunity for the city to cheer with a collective roar.” But the two explosions that broke through the whooping and cheering that afternoon “turned an uplifting day into a nightmarish swirl of bloodied streets and torn-apart limbs as runners were toppled, children on the sidelines were maimed, and a panicked city watched its iconic athletic spectacle destroyed.”
One competitor, who had crossed the finish line a few minutes before the blasts, mourned: “These runners just finished and they don’t have legs now.” He stood around surveying the carnage: “So many of them. There are so many people without legs. It’s all blood. There’s blood everywhere. You got bones, fragments. It’s disgusting.”
An event that celebrates running—and legs—as well as the proverbial human spirit and endurance, had just been turned into a bloodbath, killing three people, including a child, and injuring and maiming more than a hundred.
It was dispiriting and deflating, even for a sedentary journalist from a faraway country. Running must be one of the last few human activities that escapes the logic of utility but fills its adherents with immeasurable joy and sense of achievement. I’m afraid that innocence has been irrevocably lost.
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As with runners in the Boston Marathon, America has just hit “the wall.”
It must be difficult, in the future, if the will is still there, for runners to approach the site of this year’s finish line and not remember the dead and wounded. Right now, Bostonians, if not most Americans, must be struggling to overcome their fear and insecurity, their tendency to look over their shoulders as they shut their front doors, their rising hysteria, and the air of paranoia that would turn their country into a fortress.
After 9/11, the very human anger and impetus for vengeance over the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks set off a war on two fronts: Iraq and Afghanistan, with collateral damage in Pakistan. The “national security” mindset also affected travelers worldwide, creating elaborate security checks in most airports. For years, passengers were required to remove their shoes for x-raying after a single incident in which a bumbling wannabe terrorist accidentally set off a small explosion from his wired shoes.
Then again, as radio commentators remarked, after our own incidents of domestic terrorism such as the Edsa bus bombing and the tragic explosion on a Super Ferry, stringent checks and security measures immediately followed. But as time went by, and the urgency waned, we let our guard down and security guards were back to lazily poking our bags with their “magic sticks” that seemingly hold amazing powers of detection.
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Actually, that’s what I hope will happen with the Boston Marathon. I pray for the day when the organizers, runners, the cheering folk on the sidelines, can, beyond the proper security preparations, continue with “business as usual.” Continue running, continue cheering.
I hope the time will come—and soon—for Bostonians and Americans in general to make it across their very own Heartbreak Hill and show the crazies who planted and set off the bombs for maximum devastation that they did not win.
I may never understand the joy of running, but it gives me joy nonetheless to behold the faces of those who brave the hardship and pain, break through “the wall,” and triumphantly cross the finish, greeted by the roar of a supportive crowd and not the roar of destructive bombs.
