Humanity Sometimes Strikes When You Don't Expect It

When I see someone jogging, humanity or community aren't the first words that come to mind.  Joggers usually perform their hobby alone, singularly driven by their need to be fit or to flush out their thoughts or to get into that endorphin zone they talk about.  I've never really understood it.  Running just isn't something I ever wanted to do unless there was a sale at Macy's before Christmas.  In fact, sometimes I've even questioned the sanity of those sole athletes, squinting and soaked as they run through a rain or snowstorm or as they sweat copiously during the most humid of summer days. 

My lack of interest extended to competitive running as well.  To be honest, I've never had any interest in watching the Boston Marathon.  It might seem pretty strange to have so little interest in a world class competition that takes place right here in my own neck of the woods but it's true.  I went to school in Newton and was able to see the runners up close two years in a row actually but that was a long time ago and I've never had any interest since.  Sure, I knew there were some great human interest stories that came out of those competitions but really, I just didn't care that much. 

But this past weekend, I had my eyes opened quite a bit.  I learned that sometimes jogging, running, competing...is sometimes about a whole lot more. 

A few months ago, my husband decided to enter the Falmouth Road Race.  I'd heard about it for years but really, I was never interested until now and only because of his participation.  This was a personal triumph for his efforts over the past three years and I was delighted to support him.  Other than the fact that I always enjoy spending time in Falmouth, I was there to see him and him alone.  So off we went and as happens so often, I realized, I've got alot to learn.

The day before the race, we had to pick up his race number at the high school.  That was the first time we realized how many people it takes to make this event work.  Over the course of the weekend, we saw hundreds, maybe more, of volunteers passing out numbers and assignments or driving buses or standing security.  From what I could tell, their only compensation was a tee-shirt but they were friendly, efficient and supportive of the runners. 

On the morning of the race, I dropped my husband off at a bus that brought the runners to the start line.  From there, I had to walk a little over a mile from our hotel and decided to get as close to the finish line as I could.  The closer I got, the larger the crowds.  I wasn't surprised because I knew there would be at least 10,000 runners competing and that invariably adds up to alot of fans and supporters as well.  The atmosphere was electric with excitement.  An enormous American Flag was hung above the finish line.  Off to the side, an equally enormous Jumbotron filmed the race from the start line in Woods Hole and followed the racers along the ocean roads until they reached Falmouth Heights.  Upbeat contemporary music blared from loudspeakers and helicopters buzzed over head.  Finally, as the first competitors, mostly wheelchair racers, began to cross the finish line, I was struck at the magnitude of what they were doing.  A father and son from Venice, Italy were among the first group to cross.  Others from equally far away places arrived as well.  Competitors who for whatever reason had become disabled wheeled by at lightning speed.

The "elite" runners arrived next as most of the wheelchaired people had finished and behind the elite came the "average" runners.  But that's when I realized that so many of these people were anything but average.  Runner after runner wore T-shirts that advertised awareness of this or that disease.  Lymphoma, Chron's, Diabetes, you name it, someone was bringing awareness to one malady or another.  Some people wore T-shirts with photos of their deceased love one that read "In memory of....". 

Of course this isn't at all unusual.  Most races bring these people out to raise awareness or to pay tribute.  But this time it really struck me.  It was up close and personal and it was touching, inspiring and even at times, heart wrenching.  Parents jogged behind and pushed the wheelchairs of their disabled children.  I saw two men with their arms around their friend, a severe burn victim who had raced the course with their assitance.

For many competitors, this is a personal achievement, meant only for themselves.  It's a great way to test yourself, to see what kind of discipline or skill or endurance you have and that can bring confidence and pride and self satisfaction that translates into a person's whole life.  It's a goal to be met, a test, and something or perhaps something that is just fun to participate in.  It's a great thing for the individual. 

For others, it's a large stage that offers awareness and perhaps raises a little money for a selected cause and a meaningful way to let their loved ones know they care.  For others still, those that pushed or prodded or dragged their friend or family member along, it's a way to tell that person with the disability or whatever issue, that they can achieve things, that they can live life in a large way.

For me, it was a moment of pride to see my husband's three years of training come to fruition but it was also an opportunity for me to see a larger picture, a beautiful reminder of humanity.  From the volunteers who threw themselves into what could be described as chaos due to so many people, to the residents who stood at the edge of their driveways, hoses ready to cool down the runners, to the friends and family who supported their runners with cheers or by literally pushing them, it was a fine example of community and humanity and I am a new fan.