Run.
When I run, it doesn't mean the world,
except for shoes, but definite places
to step--and next and next-to-next--
and then only a touch. When I run
slowly, it all goes past, and with it
those who did right or wrong or didn't,
and Earth--it also follows a streak in space.
from Marvin Bell's "When I Run"
I started this post with two intentions. First, I would go back to my initial list of multitudes and pull something from there to explore. Second, I would not start today's piece with poetry. But I am not going to apologize for using the above quotation (though I am inclined to); I am going to own it. Poetry connects everything and makes it all make sense. Since I couldn't immediately come up with a poem about running, I did the next best thing and typed "run" into the search box on poetryfoundation.org. The first poem that came up was Bell's "When I Run" published in 1983. Marvin Bell was my first poetry teacher at Iowa. Now it all makes sense--see how that works?
I remember quite a lot about Marvin Bell's workshop. He took us, on the first day of class, to a movie theater to see the film "Il Postino"--he bought tickets and popcorn for the whole workshop class. It's a fond memory that makes each subsequent experience of that great film even better. I also remember how much he loved poetry. We would be in workshop waiting to go up or insulted because we just went up or annoyed/relieved that we were not going up, and he would break out in poem--not one of ours or one of his, just one he liked. He would read out the poem, look up, laugh, and say, "That's a great poem" or something similarly mild and pleasing and we'd move on. There was no invitation to shred or adore. Just to enjoy.
There are few things one gets to simply enjoy. I enjoy running. I'm getting ready for the Shamrock Shuffle 8k this Sunday. The Shuffle, a big event in Chicago that extends the St. Patrick's festivities and kicks off the running season, is a 5 mile run though downtown streets with about 25,000 people. I will come in somewhere around 12,000th to 15,000th place. It's the one area of my life where perfectly average, right in the middle, nothing special is just fine.
Perhaps that is why I get to enjoy running: I expect nothing of it. In the 5 years I have been running, I haven't lost any weight, my times have not really changed, I haven't been injured, and I haven't healed any old injuries. I put my earbuds in and go--for 30 minutes, for an hour. Once I ran for two hours. And I did it for one reason: it was two hours of being outside, listening to my audio book, and having the company of 10,000 people with whom I did not have to speak. As Bell observes, all those people who did or didn't simply go past.
Of the 24,999 people who will be lined up with me on Columbus Drive Sunday morning, about 10 of them will actually race. The A bibs will be done in about 20-25 minutes--long before I even start. Two of them (male and female winners) will be happy and eight will be disappointed. Meanwhile, back in corral G, I will be angling for a spot in the sun to wait. As I approach the start, I'll wish my race neighbor luck, turn on my book, and enjoy each and the next step.
