At the risk of contributing to the avalanche of poorly attributed quotes on the internet, permit me to cite unnamed sources for defining insanity as the repetition of the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Was that Einstein? Or Narcotics Anonymous? Wherever it is from, it sometimes (usually? always?) applies to marathon running… and it certainly applied today at the Kiawah Island Marathon.
I suppose in a great many ways a marathon is an apt metaphor for life itself. And I’m sure many a quotable quote makes that claim far better than I could ever wordsmith here. There’s preparation and attempts to navigate the ups and downs of the road in both a race and in life… and the inevitable mocking turns of fate that make preparation go out the window when confronted in the moment itself.
Today’s race was a reminder that when it comes to me, I’m not great at sticking the landing, at sealing the deal, at closing. Oh, sure… I can start a lot of things… and I might even finish them… but rarely can I pull it off with grace, wit, and charm.
The day began with torrential downpours, making the drive from my AirBNB to the start line a bit of a water logged washout.
Maybe I was still reeling from my host wanting to educate me on both Jeffrey Epstein’s murder (“You’d have to be an IDIOT to believe the story he killed himself,” my host kept saying) as well as the truth of Christianity (“I spent the last year trying to disprove all religions to figure out if any of it was worth a dang,” he’d said. “The only one I couldn’t disprove was Christianity!”) I nodded politely and kept telling him I needed to get to sleep as I had to be up at 3:30 AM to drive to the start line. He never picked up on my social cues.
Fortunately, the rain finished before we started our run and aside from the dreaded perpetual headwinds regardless of running direction, it was probably ideal racing weather — brisk, overcast, and just the right amount of humidity to ensure we kept hydrating along the way.
And yet… and yet…
I wound up virtually replaying my Space Coast failures along a different waterfront. Unlike that race, I never walked… but I did slow tremendously in my pace in the closing miles. I just didn’t have the energy to keep up my pace. I wanted to… man, I had dreams at the halfway point of breaking 3 hours… but it all slipped through my footfalls.
At race’s end, overhearing others talk about their BQs and PRs thanks to the pancake flat course and cooperative weather, I could only shake my head and shrug. I congratulated the folks who did achieve their goals, as I was sincerely happy for them. But it all felt like a kick to the head.
Of course the apocryphal corollary to the non-Einsteinian insanity quote is the answer to why you repeatedly bang your head against the wall — because it feels so great when you stop.
This was my last marathon of 2019. Am I crazy for still believing things may be different in 2020?