The End

A guest post from my friend from Kenyon College, Sean Edelman. The two of us, pictured handsomely, below.


Over the crest of the hill, the familiar flags, people, and noise come into view. After laboring for what seemed like an eternity, the runner could finally see the physical goal; the one he suffered through the summer heat and winter snow to reach. He had climbed mountains, crossed plains, and conquered his demons. Yet, with his goal finally appearing like the sun over the horizon, he can only feel emptiness and longing. Was this it? As he approached the finish, this particular thought echoed throughout his mind, bringing doubt to his soon-to-be achievement.

Over the last 6+ years of my life I’ve been a runner. What began as a placeholder for not making the high school soccer team became one of my primary identifiers. Back in high school I proudly displayed my identity by wearing t-shirts I had won or purchased at meets, I spent my afternoon sitting with my runner friends discussing other teams and their runners, and I would gladly spend my free time in my coach’s office hoping that some of his knowledge would pass down to me. Every fall I toiled through the long miles, steep hills, and unfortunate weather of cross-country season, counting down the days until the first winter track practice. I lived for that feeling of lacing up my spikes and tearing around the oval. I gave up parties, weekends, and countless hours to nothing but running. The competition kept me going each day. I loved racing and the palpable sense of accomplishment drove me to worker harder and harder. Never would I have thought that my attitude towards the sport could ever be changed.

The realization came around last February.

With only a couple hundred meters standing between him and the finish line, the runner’s thin muscular frame remained upright and focused, hiding the mental turmoil that dwelled underneath his skin. The single thought of doubt that troubled him wasn’t a new phenomenon. He had managed to suppress its growth in his brain by thinking that it was only a passing attitude. However, as the finish line got ever so closer, he could no longer ignore his own demons, and they began to overwhelm his thoughts.

It was a Friday night and with a meet the next morning, I was spending it sitting in my room watching a movie. A knock came on the door; it was a friend of mine coming to get my roommate to head out to the party scene. As the door shut behind them a question crossed my mind: Why was I depriving myself from the fun that I knew was out there? Was a track race worth really worth this?

I was appalled by the thoughts crossing my mind. Track was who I was. My once stable identity was now at conflict. The sacrifices, which I had once made without an afterthought, now had to be justified. I realized the personal achievement gained with racing had long left my body. Just like an injured runner’s tendons may hang by threads, my connection and love I had for the sport of track had withered away to small, decrepit strands.

Like a virus, this string of thoughts plagued me throughout the rest of the season. I found myself just going through the motions that I had once put all of my effort into. For the second straight year, I didn’t see my times drop. Races became something I felt forced to do. The glow of accomplishment no longer surged through my body. Emptiness replaced fulfillment. Change had come and I was reluctant to accept it.

A few weeks ago marked the first day of fall track for the runners who don’t participate in cross-country. As I stretched in the autumn air after a long distance run, I watched the fall trackies finish up their workout. Eagerness and excitement was flowing throughout the bunch; they were elated to be back doing what they love. Watching them brought back memories of the sensation one feels at the start of a season. It was a feeling I once longed for and the thought of it used to make my heart race. Sitting in the warm sun observing them, I realized I no longer pined for what they were currently experiencing. I finally recognized that I had moved on.

Serenity and peace came to my troubled mind. Acceptance finally spread its roots.

As the runner crosses the finish, the aches and pains that he had ignored begin to throb throughout his body. He wants nothing more than the soreness to stop but he knows that the suffering has just begun. As he starts to walk away, the feeling of emptiness disappears from his body. The race is over and although it didn’t end as he once anticipated, he is now filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. It had been a good run. He had made it. The uncertainty of tomorrow no longer bothered him; it excited him. Although the pain in his body had become nearly unbearable, he cracked a smile.

Are you trying to change your life? I'd love to post your thoughts here, email me! ken.e.noguchi@gmail.com