It was October 8, 1995, and I was running my first marathon. The somewhat ill-conceived concept was to use the Royal Victoria Marathon in Victoria, B.C. as a qualifier for the 100th running of the Boston Marathon the following Spring. My stalwart running buddies assured me that a marathon was easy to train for and that it was a manageable and attainable goal. With their supportive and inspiring encouragement, I was all in. I faithfully took long runs, ran sprints, and increased my weekly mileage for months prior to the marathon.
I don’t remember much about the marathon itself other than the last agonizing ten or fifteen minutes when the pain of lactic acid build-up paralleled that of being in labor. I valiantly tried to focus on anything other than the all-encompassing, mind-numbing throbbing of every muscle in my body. In the last quarter mile, I stumbled blindly forward heartened by the knowledge that my reliable and devoted friends would be waiting at the finish line to hug and congratulate me on my achievement.
However, my friends were nowhere to be found. One was elbowing his way through the cue for bottled water and bananas. The other one later proffered the flimsy excuse that he had gone to the medical aid tent for an IV. Eventually they both put forth the cheery explanation that they knew I was fine, that I was fit and prepared, and that anyhow, we’d all wind up at the hotel at about the same time. They rationalized that we’d regale each other with vivid and hilarious stories about the race at dinner that night.
The story has become a pillar of my running group’s humorous folklore. The tale has not acquired, nor required, embellishment with time because its factual accuracy is, by itself, so comical.
I am the recipient, and donor, of tough love from my friends and family. The marathon banana guy is the same person who arrived, unannounced and unrequested, at my office years ago at 6:00 a.m. to help me through a work crisis. My oldest son, who recently turned down my request for technological help, kindly assuring me that I was completely capable of building my own website, once canceled a trip to his roommate’s bachelor party so that he could fly to Washington to support me when my mother died. My friends will be there for me in a heartbeat, but they know me well enough to perceive I don’t want to be smothered by concern.
Friendship allegiance is both bounded by and bonded through an understanding of another’s needs. Staunch loyalty is circumscribed by an appreciation for someone’s independence and stoicism.
My workout comrades know not to circle back to me if I lag behind on a rigorous run. I’m confident that I won’t fall and get hurt, and I prefer to exercise self-pity in solitude. And I hope they expect nothing more from me, either. After all, that’s what cell phones are for.