A line from Oprah Winfrey goes, “Running is the greatest metaphor for life because you get out of it what you put into it”. In running, I have one favorite word: endurance. And that's basically how I get through life as well – the power to withstand life’s trials and difficulties.
Last week, I had my first international feat at running, at the 11th Incheon International Marathon in South Korea where I’ve been for the past seven months as an expatriate. I signed up for only 5K since I had little time to train; besides, I haven’t tried running on a very cold weather. It’s late March but there hasn’t been any sign of spring yet.
The start and finish line.
Weeks before the event, i only managed to run a total of 12. 4 miles, a lame preparation for an important milestone in life, especially for someone who is no longer young enough to depend on agility and strength alone. Again, going out for a run on a cold weather was a struggle. But I had to run nevertheless and get used to the weather or I wouldn’t have made it to the race day.
I’m practically a newbie (and a late-bloomer) at running. I started just over a couple of years ago, after more than a year of bout with hyperthyroidism. So it was like a form of resurgence, a reawakening of a dispirited self. Since then, I felt that every time I run, I purge myself of the remnants of the disease that gripped my body with heavy night sweats and palpitations. Running has helped me claim back the vitality I lost to an unseen enemy whose battle is silent yet costly.
Soon I found myself signing up for marathons, which I have in my “life’s bucket list”. I bought myself a good pair of running shoes and dry-fit shirts for weekend runs with Chris, who was more than happy to see me back in shape.
At the subway plying the Incheon Line 1, you could actually point out who were heading to the Munhak World Cup Stadium – those with timing chips attached to their shoelaces while others had race packs in hand. I got to exchange a smile, a guess-we’re-heading-the-same-way kind of smile, with a middle-aged man who caught me staring at the timing chip on his shoes. I felt somehow we understood each other; besides he must’ve noticed we were both wearing Mizuno, like the couple of other runners in the same car.
The Munhak Stadium hosted some matches in the 2002 World Cup
where Ji Sung Park scored a victory against Portugal.
That’s what I like about running. There is one common denominator among runners – the silent vigor and the motivation to reach one’s goal, without the dictum of competition (except, of course, for elite runners competing against their rivals). The race sets off and you race against time, and not against each other.
Running has also become like a sort of spiritual process for me. I get to feel the cold breeze and watch the outline of trees against the blue sky as I run. From these, I imbibe the inspiration to think, write and believe - on the basis of reason and emotions, that running is my life’s metaphor. And at the culmination of each run, I feel a sense of gratitude, a feeling that I usually carry over to the next run.
Yesterday, when I did a sort of reconnaissance run around Hamyeol, where our university moved all foreign professors’ accommodations, I saw how perfect the place is for running. A short distance from the campus is an endless row of orchard, covered by a thick morning haze. I stopped by the roadside to watch an old stooped woman pruning her plants and placidly snipping off some weeds from her garden.
In What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami writes that no matter how long mundane some action might appear, keep at it long enough and it becomes contemplative, even meditative. And I say amen.
Wearing the Philippine flag was the best part of the race.
I have five weeks till the 2011 National Half Marathon in Busan, and I have to cover a longer mileage to prepare myself for another arduous test of endurance. And as I stretch out over a distance, space, and time, I’ll give heed to the silent and often inconspicuous sources of inspiration along the roadside. It’ll be spring soon; maybe just a couple of weeks more and the trees will start growing back their leaves obliterated by winter. I’m glad I have the spring to stir my imagination as I gear up for Busan. Again, I’ll run against myself and my own time; I’ll also run with others who live the same metaphor as mine.
