Yesterday, two people died while running the Philadelphia Marathon.
You may have heard about it. If not, you've likely heard similar stories. As of late, more and more seemingly healthy lives are suddenly cut short while participating in events that are supposed to epitomize the peak of fitness. This summer while I was watching friends in the New York City Triathlon, another friend was watching race officials attempt to resuscitate two swimmers who were pulled from the water in the first leg of the race. Neither of them survived.
When running, I'm immortal. I push harder than I thought possible. Each heartbeat makes me stronger. Every step propels me one stride closer to the adrenaline rush that is the finish.
When running, I'm mortal. I visualize blood pounding through my veins. My lungs ache and my throat is dry. Tastes like iron.
It scares me when people die while racing. Hits too close to home. Suddenly the mortal destroys the immortal. People say things like, "He died doing what he loved," as if it's a good thing. I disagree. I never want to die while racing. I race to feel alive and strong and free, and I hope those people felt the same. I always struggle trying to come to terms with the idea of dying when you're doing something that makes you feel so real.
An old friend introduced me to a line from an Ani DiFranco song that has always stuck with me.
The finish line is a shifty thing / and what is life but reckoning?
By my reckoning, others' deaths makes me appreciate my own life. This selfishness brings me guilt. But tomorrow, I could be the one who reaches the wrong finish line far too soon. For now, I'll embrace my mortality a little tighter and take each day as it comes. Next time I run, I'll savor the immortality for all it's worth.
What will you do?
