One marathon - two races

I ran two races at yesterday’s Royal Victoria Marathon. First, a smart strategic strong 42 km run, with evenly timed 4.45 minutes per kilometre splits. Then, bizarrely disconnected, a final 200 metre stagger, knees jumbled, eyes squeezed tight shut, faltering stumble punctuated by long hyperventilating groans, mooing like a cow driven to the shambles by some invisible goad.

Or make that an invisible god - likely Hermes, swift mover, cosmic trickster, patron of thieves and magicians. In the evening, recuperating, I came across an email trail suggesting I had in fact made my race goal - qualifying for the Boston marathon - by one second. Checking the race results, I saw my name - at chip time 3.20.59 - closely followed by another runner from Quebec, another man, same age group, who came in at 3.21.00 - one second too slow to qualify for Boston.

Here’s the crux of free will versus necessity in that most fleeting of instants: do I take personal credit for months of clean living, hard practice runs, regular stretching, core training, good race planning, a conservative start, mental fortitude and discipline, or do I accept, with gratitude, the god’s gift of that stolen second, a sacred mystery beyond my control in that final disoriented step over the finish line?

And perhaps I needed to run 42 long and hard kilometres on my own steam (and the loving support of kind friends and cheering onlookers) to be able to surrender at the last to whatever force summons forth spring from stone legs, the prime mover’s manifestation in this personal effort.

In any event, I am happy and grateful.