Who you Fooling?

The Los Angeles Marathon is next weekend, and as someone loosely connected to—and just as quickly disconnected from—the running world throughout my life, I’ve watched it, tried it, completed it, quit it, made fun of it, lamented it, and planned for it. And that was just the last three years.

As someone who doesn’t sleep much, I seem to have more time to think about things. And lately, I’ve been thinking about the different types of runners who participate in the race. Certainly, 26.2 miles is more than most humans will run in a lifetime; relatively few will ever consider doing it all in one day. Among those who do, there’s all sorts of reasons why, but that’s not what I’m thinking about right now. Story for another time, maybe.

At the moment, I’ve boiled it down to two types of runners:

The first type accepts the goal of completing the marathon. They pay the registration fees, get new shoes, and establish a training schedule. maybe they love running, maybe they hate it; it doesn’t matter (for this blog argument, anyway), because they do a little bit on a regular basis to get better. When race day comes, they show up on time, execute their running plans, and while it is challenging, compete and complete.

The second type signs up for the marathon, pays the registration fees, maybe buys new shoes. And those shoes sit in the closet most of the time. Little to no training takes place. Plenty of excuses abound: got too busy. Got lazy. My dog had kittens; my kids activities got in the way. Boss sucks. Job sucks. Gym sucks. I suck. And on race day, for reasons that are their own, they show up in time and do the race. Maybe they walk a lot. Maybe they rest. Complain. Do it really half-assed. Maybe they quit. Maybe… they finish, and it utterly kicks their ass, and take the next three days off work because they can hardly walk.

Here’s the thing: if you watch a wide shot of the LA Marathon, if you stand on the side of the route, watching nameless, unknown runners going by, you can’t really tell them apart. Doesn’t matter if it’s mile 3 or mile 23… they blend in like wily chameleons, because running a marathon is hard for just about everyone.

Yet just about every runner has someone watching for them—a spouse, a kid, a parent, a friend. And when you see that person ambling by, and assess how they are doing, you KNOW which type of runner they are. It’s written across their ruddied face.

Why is this bugging me? Because it occurs to me that this model of two groups asked to complete the same task—preparers and procrastinators—can be found everywhere: business, teaching, athletics, writing, gardening, prayer. To the untrained and unknowing eye, charlatans and champions blend together into the background; but someone knows if you’ve put in the work or if you are completely and utterly full of shit.

You might cross the finish line. You might wear the same medal. But you know which group you belong to.

So do I.