May You Run and Not Grow Weary

May you run and not grow weary.
Walk…and not faint.
Isaiah 40:31

(Sign posted on a Copley Square church before the finish line of the Boston Marathon)

I'm not much of a sports fan. About the only thing that will get me to a baseball game is the promise of massive beers and peanuts delivered to me at my seat and getting to sing a slightly slurred "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" during the 7 th inning stretch. And I'm certainly not much of a runner – I generally ascribe to the view that anyone who runs for any reason beyond being chased by a wild boar or something is a little loopy. (Extending that argument to its logical conclusion, anyone that does it for 26.2 miles is certifiable).

All of that noted, however, I have to say – watching the Boston Marathon yesterday was one of the most enjoyable outings – sporting or otherwise – that I've had in awhile. (At least among the outings that didn't include heavy flirtation or heavy drinking). Thousands of Bostonians lining the street to cheer on thousands of virtual strangers from all over the world is quite the sight, especially in a city with a reputation for unfriendliness towards "outsiders" (read: non-lifelong Bostonians) . Handmade signs, free kisses to runners, kids handing out glasses of waters, runners in crazy costumes, runners for a cause – be it personal, political, charity, or something else altogether. Many runners had their names printed on their jersey or written on their arms, prompting the cheering fans, me among them, to urge them on by name. "Way to go, Dave!" "Keep it up, Suzy Q." "Alright, Mark!" Each time I got to cheer a runner on by name, I felt as though I – in some teeny, tiny, miniscule way – was helping them to achieve their goal of finishing. I felt like I was a part of their effort. Call me mushy and sentimental, but it felt really, really nice to be a part of a community, if only for one afternoon.

There are, certainly, many more noteworthy and important things a person can do beyond running a marathon. On paper, I find the accomplishments and daily toiling of social workers, teachers, firefighters, and the myriads of others who give selflessly of their time and energy to be a lot more inspiring than someone who strapped up their shoes and pounded the pavement for an afternoon. On paper. Yet to watch so many people accomplishing personal – and perhaps lifelong – goals, goals I know they trained months for, goals I know must have seemed, at some points in the race, unachievable…to watch that unfold before you for hours is to be inspired.

I saw men and women in their sixties and seventies run by me at the 24 mile mark, showing few signs of fatigue. (And many more in their twenties, thirties, and beyond showing many signs of fatigue, but pushing forward anyway.) I saw a mother & son team – the back of his shirt reading "She's my hero" and pointing to her. I saw the now-famous Team Hoyt, the father pushing the son in his wheelchair for 26.2 miles to finish their 25th – that's right, 25th – Boston Marathon.

None of this inspired me to want to run. No, definitely not. If anything, watching the expressions of pure pain and exhaustion on the faces of the thousands of runners I saw yesterday only reinforced my notion that running is not the pursuit for me. But it did teach me a thing or two about determination. About the will to accomplish a goal, trumping every other physical and mental urge to give up, to lie down, to rest.

Yep, this is a certifiably cheesy post. No doubt about it. But this is one cheesy writer you can count as a fan of the Boston Marathon.