was so central to my life. Or maybe this is simply a matter of time passing. Maybe I just had to
undergo an inevitable internal adjustment, and the period needed for this to happen is finally drawing
to a close.
As I suspect is true of many who write for a living, as I write I think about all sorts of things. I don’t
necessarily write down what I’m thinking; it’s just that as I write I think about things. As I write, I
arrange my thoughts. And rewriting and revising takes my thinking down even deeper paths. No
matter how much I write, though, I never reach a conclusion. And no matter how much I rewrite, I
never reach the destination. Even after decades of writing, the same still holds true. All I do is present
a few hypotheses or paraphrase the issue. Or find an analogy between the structure of the problem and
something else.
To tell the truth, I don’t really understand the causes behind my runner’s blues. Or why now it’s
beginning to fade. It’s too early to explain it well. Maybe the only thing I can definitely say about it is
this: That’s life. Maybe the only thing we can do is accept it, without really knowing what’s going on. Like
taxes, the tide rising and falling, John Lennon’s death, and miscalls by referees at the World Cup.At any rate, I have the distinct feeling that time has come full circle, that a cycle has been
completed. The act of running has returned as a happy, necessary part of my daily life. And recently
I’ve been running steadily, day by day. Not as some mechanical repetition anymore, or some
prescribed ceremony. My body feels a natural desire now to get out on the road and run, just like when
I’m dehydrated and crave the juice from a fresh piece of fruit. I’m looking forward now to the NYC
Marathon on November 6, to seeing how much I can enjoy the race, how satisfied I’ll be with the run,
and how I’ll do.
I don’t care about the time I run. I can try all I want, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to run the way I
used to. I’m ready to accept that. It’s not one of your happier realities, but that’s what happens when
you get older. Just as I have my own role to play, so does time. And time does its job much more
faithfully, much more accurately, than I ever do. Ever since time began (when was that, I wonder?),
it’s been moving ever forward without a moment’s rest. And one of the privileges given to those
who’ve avoided dying young is the blessed right to grow old. The honor of physical decline is waiting,
and you have to get used to that reality.
Competing against time isn’t important. What’s going to be much more meaningful to me now is
how much I can enjoy myself, whether I can finish twenty-six miles with a feeling of contentment. I’ll
enjoy and value things that can’t be expressed in numbers, and I’ll grope for a feeling of pride that
comes from a slightly different place.
I’m not a young person who’s focused totally on breaking records, nor an inorganic machine that
goes through the motions. I’m nothing more or less than a (most likely honest) professional writer
who knows his limits, who wants to hold on to his abilities and vitality for as long as possible.
One more month until the New York City Marathon.