And the Oscar for Best Actress in the Role of “It Doesn’t Matter if My Name is Not Drawn in the NYC Marathon Lottery” is …
Wait for it … Wait for it …
We watched the Academy Awards presentations last night for a while. Nearly went snow blind from glitz and camera flash. Nearly slid into a diabetic coma from sweetness in acceptance speeches. Nearly stress-fractured bones in the palms of my hands from applauding excellence and hard work.
This is as it should be always. Great work deserves great honor. Every dog has his day, baby!
It got me to thinking about running in the dawn when no one but you knows you’re out there. Silent and secret, the run is excellence for its own sake. Sometimes it’s even perfection. It contains all the drama and comedy and pathos of the most complex script. An entire life—all that a runner is or ever will be—can be played out within one single hour. But no one else knows. When the run is complete, there is nothing left behind in evidence except a wet towel and private satisfaction in knowing that on this day, you did it. Again.
Runners of the dawn deserve standing ovations and golden statues. I think we should form a committee and show up at each other’s doorsteps from time to time to celebrate quiet greatness.
And then we should run once a year through the five boroughs of New York, where our standing ovation goes on for 26.2 miles. Our carpet isn’t red, but it’s there and it will get us over bridge grating. No one will ask “who” we’re wearing; our clothes and shoes are plastered with familiar logos. As for golden statues … well, each of us would rather have a medal on a ribbon at the finish line of the ING New York City Marathon, right?
See ya in New York, you winner, you!