I went to grad school in Boston. I lived in a tiny apartment in Allston which I shared with two roommates. I enjoyed living so close to downtown Boston — Just a T ride or leisurely walk away.
Every April, the Boston Marathon would take over the streets, and it was a straight up block party, with crowds cheering on the incredible athletes.
My friends and I would watch and party; we stood around the 23 mile marker, from what I recall. So the runners were really close to achieving their dream at this point.
My favorite part was always watching the elite at the front. Seeing them run felt less human and more like gazelles gliding across the savannah. The grace of their movement, and yet the speed at which they ran is a beautiful sight indeed. They looked weightless; truly a force of nature. It still takes my breath away every time I have the opportunity to watch a live race.
But the fun isn’t over once the elite pass. Watching the other thousands of runners, many of them shuffling in at this point, some bleeding or limping, was another sight to behold.
I still think about one runner in particular, though. Even now… 20 years later. And it wasn’t because he looked like he was struggling. Quite the opposite; he looked strong considering he had run 23 miles and just overcame the infamous “heartbreak hill,” a famous uphill climb towards the end of the Boston route. What struck me was he was wearing a costume of sorts. He wore a belt with a fishing pole attached to it and hanging out and in front of him. And what was hanging from that fishing pole just out of reach? A beer can.
Gosh, I thought that was funny. So much so, that I haven’t forgot it all these years later. And I admire that man for keeping what was probably a very uncomfortable accessory on him all those miles. As a marathon runner myself, I can’t even imagine wearing something like that for even half of that grueling race.
Today I started thinking about that man again as I saw an old beer can on the side of the road. What a great analogy for addiction, am I right? When we have a drinking problem, we are always chasing that first or next drink. We are always this close to being satisfied, and yet so far away. Even towards the end. Especially towards the end.
And societally, it’s an equally accurate message. Drinking is funny and cute and harmless…. until it isn’t. You are a caricature in someone’s memory (everyone has an drunk uncle Doug in their family tree, right? Just me?) or the funny sidekick in a TV show. And when it goes too far? You are a spectacle. You are Charlie Sheen having a public meltdown (#winning) or the heart wrenching public trial of Johnny Depp and Amber Heard. So painful to witness but equally hard to look away.
Maybe this is why all these years I still remember a random dude running a marathon. Because deep down his costume resonated with me. It tugged at more than just my sense of humor or curiosity. It felt strangely familiar in a way I couldn’t quite describe.
Today, I no longer chase my next drink. I am in recovery for substance use disorder. I abused alcohol for years and years. I’m so grateful I don’t run my life with a beer can just barely out of reach. But sometimes I catch myself replacing that beer car with food, or social media, online shopping, or busyness. “Just one more” from feeling satisfied, am I right? This is the world we live in.
Do you realize how wonderful it must have felt for the guy when he finally took off that fishing pole costume? I imagine it felt even better than crossing the marathon finish line.
Whether it’s beer, or shopping, a toxic relationship or dieting, we need to remember the ‘thing’ that has been chaffing us for the past x number of years is removable. We have nothing to prove to anyone.
Today is my first Monday without a job. I’m a little scared. Idle time terrifies me. But I’m also really grateful to feel my load lightened. I feel less like I’m carrying the weight of the world and more like a — well, a gazelle.
Good read:)
So interesting!