Marathon Mania: It's not always about the T-shirt

I’m  hoping  to run two marathons within two weeks of each other this fall.  A little nutty, I know. But it’s supposed to be. It’s what I need to do if I want to become a Marathon Maniac. If you visit the MM website, you’ll see there are lots of ways to become a Marathon Maniac. I’m going for the easiest, the most basic entry method:  two marathons within two weeks.  

What’s my reward for cutting back my social life, wearing out my feet, and qualifying for membership in this totally psychotic group? I get a T-shirt that says Marathon Maniac on it. Yup. That’s it. It’s not a freebie either. I get to pay for it with sweat and blisters, of course, and also cold hard cash.

When you come right down to it, the Marathon Maniacs are just another running group. In the grand scheme of things, becoming an MM is not that huge a deal. It’s not like winning the Olympics, or saving a life.  

But if I finish both those marathons, I get to buy that T-shirt. I get to say I’m a Marathon Maniac.  I think that’s wicked cool.  

The urge to become an MM hit me full force during the Providence Marathon. I was poking along, clutching my gut for most of the race, feeling pathetically bad for myself.  I kept seeing all these runners in their bright yellow MM shirts. Many were suffering just as much. Plenty were worse off. I felt a kinship. Like me, they kept plodding on, just doing what they had to do to get to where they needed to be.  They were enduring, surviving, overcoming, succeeding.

I’ve seen tons of these Maniacs at other races. Before Providence I never felt compelled to try to join their group.

But Boston hadn’t happened before any of my other races.

See, jumbled up in this urge to try to become a Maniac are other things that have nothing to do with miles and minutes, but have everything to do with moving forward.  I’m untangling all this during my long runs, when I can’t help but think about these things:  the selflessness of the spectators, runners, and volunteers who rushed in to help immediately following each bomb; the resilience of all the Jeff Baumans and Carlos Arredondos;   the kindness in the claps and screams from all the super fast runners who could have left, but stayed in the heat and sun to cheer on us slow pokes at the Boston Athletic Association 10K a few weeks back.

Lately, everywhere I look, I see people being more than I ever thought that they could be.  I want to be like them. I want to be more too.  Each long run reminds me that I haven’t even begun to tap into my potential   as a runner, as a writer, as a member of the most important race of all – the human one.  

I know there will be plenty of days when I will forget to try my best. But if I have that T-shirt, I can look at it, and remember.  Plus, I’ll be able to say I’m a Marathon Maniac. That’s wicked cool.