The marathon

04/03/2012

What race are you running?

It is Sunday morning and I’m preparing my rucksack to go to the mountains. It’s been an extremely demanding week at work and my mind has said “Enough, get me out of the city, give me open space, pure air to breathe and lots of green to rejoice my sight”. So I have listened and I am ready to give it what it asks for. I’ve packed 2 bocadillos, fresh fruit and 2 soft drinks. I also pack my basketball hat and a light sports jacket, just in case it gets cold up there. The sun is playing shiny games outside. It’s about 10:30 in the morning.

As I step out of the old building which I call home, I can see many people motioning up the main street. They are wearing fluorescent green t-shirts with numbers on their chest. A really tired 4359 passes in front of me with small steps, puffing really hard, almost walking. From behind him, still running briskly, a smiley 1033 passes like an arrow, all healthy cheeks and wearing a funny hat. And somewhere in between all the others, I glimpse a 8162 who is helping 10343 stretch his muscles, as it seems he has cramps on his right leg. 

 What’s this human tide invading my neighbourhood? Why is it passing through Poble Nou? Why does it go around Gandhi's Gardens? I ask a policeman, who is stopping traffic coming from a side street, my eyes not leaving the green current for even a second. 

-It's Barcelona's marathon- he says, very earnest.

-How many participants this year?- I say playing the curious fool that i am. 

-Over 11 thousand.

-Guau! And where does it end?

-Arc de Triomf

-Gracias!- I keep going up Bac de Roda, but first I stop for a little and cheer some of the runners.

-Vamos, ya queda poco! Animo!

-Gra...puffff ...cias!- returns an exhausted girl with a smile .I take a couple of pictures and continue on my way up to the metro, then the train, then the walk to my peaceful-treasure-magnificent-giant-oak-shadowed-hill retreat in the mountains.

But right before I lose sight of the gardens something happens...

I catch, out of the corner of my eye, something that must have been a hallucination...

I see the trees beginning to bend their branches down, stretch them and give the most tired runners a gentle push... they don't seem to notice it, yet their feet are thankful... and, in the far corner of the Gardens, I can see a little man lift his heavy iron legs. He's not wearing running shorts or any shoes, but a loose robe. He adjusts the round glasses over his face as he begins to run, surprisingly fast, in between the multitude. He puts on a childish smile as he applies his hands on the tired ones. His hands over cramped calves and sore thighs. His hand over hunched backs and overworked lungs. The runners don't seem to notice him, yet their bodies are thankful... and the last few kilometers weigh less in their hearts. 

Endurance. Patience. Stamina. These are the hardest qualities to acquire. We’re driven by image and instant gratification. We reward what we can see and count, measure, classify, compare and evaluate. We value success, above all, in numbers. Taking shortcuts is risky. Your heart may not be ready, your legs might not be strong enough. Yet so many beings face life as a short race, trying to beat others to the end, other who must forcefully be their competitors, a fact that in itself gives meaning to their rush and fills their eyes with a manic purpose. Their life is always hectic. There is no sense of companionship with the other runners.

What race are you running?

Our path in life is a marathon.