Marathon Dad

June 20, 2016

Greetings from the long run,

If aliens came down to earth and tried to learn anything about being a male parent, they might go to the Hallmark store and look at Father’s Day cards.  There they would find common themes that seem to summarize fatherhood: lawn mowing, beer, cooking out, long visits to the bathroom, golf, napping on the couch in front of TV, farting, fishing, and working under the hood of old trucks.

They would also find a segment of cards that describe a loving person who is wise and kind and encouraging and able to teach his offspring how to tie a square knot, ride a bike, train a dog, and fly a kite.

If aliens then decided to kidnap Earth’s prime Father Candidates based on their Hallmark research, I can tell you I would still be on the ground waving to them as their flying saucer whisked the abductees off to whatever probing they were destined for.  My farting abilities notwithstanding, I doubt I would make the cut.

My children have all made it into adulthood and seem like they are on a good trajectory, but I will admit that was more likely in spite of my efforts rather than because of them.  I won’t list my shortcomings as a parent here, since I like to keep this essay around 800 words and to avoid profanity when possible. 

But I have learned a few things as a Father, and because I am also a runner I tend to see everything through that filter, I am able to share with you: “Lessons from a Marathon Dad”.

I have aligned the mile markers of the marathon with the ages of children.  It’s not a perfect system, but I am confident you didn’t read this far expecting perfection.

Miles 1-5:  You think it matters that your shoes match your shorts.  You are caught up in the excitement of a new thing.  Then you get tired. You have no idea how this will go, only that it seems hard.  You wish you had trained better, paid closer attention to advice from more experienced people, and stretched more.  You have doubts.  Mostly because you hear the word ‘No!’ a lot.  One of the bands on the course plays ‘It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood’ and it sticks in your head for ten miles.

Miles 5-10: Things get easier for a while, you are warmed up.  You think maybe there is hope.  You are in your groove, it’s fun.  You stop caring about how you look or if any one hears you fart.  You have learned not to listen to the spectators, particularly the ones who have never run a marathon or who say ‘Just wait, it gets worse’.

Miles 10-15: Things get hard again and even though you had been warned, you are surprised, because what you learned about running from the first ten doesn’t prepare you.  Emotions are rampant; the word ‘No!’ comes up for new reasons.  Spectators are telling you that ‘you look great’, ‘you are almost there’, ‘it’s all downhill’ and other lies.  You wonder if you should have signed up for the half marathon.

Miles 15-20: You doubt that you would recommend this to anyone else. None of the bands on the course play the music you like.  It occurs to you how much money this all costs.  You feel pain where you didn’t know you could feel pain.  There are some miles that are fun and effortless, and then you can’t remember what that’s like because you’re climbing a hill.

Miles 20-25: You have no idea how you got this far.  It’s challenging on a new level.  Delirium sets in. You realize that even though you are running slower, the miles are going by faster.  You think that maybe you should have started running earlier. 

Miles 25-26.2: Now emotions are running the show.  You are near tears, in part because you realize what you have accomplished, and in part because it will soon be over.  You start to notice people who have already finished, and the look in their eyes gives you hope, and makes you sad.

Post race: The band is playing your music again.  You have forgotten how to dance but you don’t care. You learn there is no finish line; that you will be running this race for as long as you are a Father. 

I am certain none of this wisdom will make it into a Hallmark card, and I doubt it will get me a spot on the next alien abduction bus.  But for me, and a narrow band of running parents, it probably makes some sense.  Marathons are the hardest thing you’ll ever love.  Like raising children.

When we look at our purpose in life ultimately we search for where we are when we are at our best.  We find the most satisfaction in what asks the most of us, challenges us, makes us dig for the gifts we must have.  I don’t think every moment as a Father, or a runner, has been the best I have to offer, but every day, every mile that goes by gives me another chance.  It’s so worth it.

Hope this finds you running with all your heart,

David

Copyright © 2016 David Smith