I Ran a Half-Marathon Because I Don’t Want to Die Posted by Nathan S. on 04/07/14 | Filed under Opinion, True Blogger Stories

On April 15 last year, one day after my daughter's third birthday, I sat on my couch watching the news of the Boston Marathon bombings and desperately dialing and redialing my family and friends' phones. It was without exaggeration one of the most terrifying and heartbreaking days of my life, and I emerged from the emotional wreckage by vowing that next year I was going to run the Boston Marathon. Running a marathon seemed like bucket list material, and if I didn't finally run the marathon I had grown up watching the year after it was attacked, when would I ever? So, before the first explosions of the shootout with the Tsarnaev brothers even occurred, I was determined. I was going to cross the same finish line in 2014 that in 2013 was such a source of horror.    

And then the reality of life ground down my idealism to powder. Month after month went by as I continued to convince myself that there was still time to start training seriously next month. Week after week went by and I just didn't start the fundraising to register for the race through a charity. Finally, in January, I was forced to admit that it was just too late. I wouldn't be running the Boston Marathon this year. I had failed, and worse yet, I hadn't even really tried. 

Shame hurts, but it can also be a powerful motivator. I had fallen short of my original aspirations, but the shame of giving up entirely was just too much: "I really passionately care about this thing, unless it's inconvenient....then nevermind." So if I wasn't going to run a marathon, the least I could do was run a half-marathon. Before I could think twice, I signed up for the next open half-marathon in L.A., spent the next few months training, and this weekend I finished it. 

Even at my physical peak, my ceiling was something like a decent D II athlete. I had certainly never even run anything over...let's say 5 miles...in my life, and let's just say I hadn't exactly been treating my body like a temple the last few years. But that was the other reason I was running this half-marathon, perhaps an even deeper reason than the bombings.

Two years ago my father-in-law died in his sleep of a massive heart attack, robbing my wife of a father and my daughter of a grandfather she would only be able remember in pictures. On my father's side, my grandfather had died when he was just a kid, and before I turned 25, two of my uncles had also died. Sadly, at 61, my dad is now older than his father or his brothers ever were. In all of those men, including my dad, I recognized the same attitude that's so deeply embedded in me, an approach to health that could most accurately be called "don't be a bitch." Someone bought another round? Don't be a bitch, drink it. Your shoulder's hurting? Don't be a bitch, pop it back in. Some tightness in your chest? Don't be a bitch, it'll go away. You'll be fine.  

They carried an adversarial relationship to their body that I absolutely share, but it isn't hard to look around at the thinning numbers of my family reunions and see the inevitable outcome. You die. Early. The thought of not being there to see my daughter graduate college, or my grandchildren graduate college, is terrifying, and committing to running this race was a way to set a new trajectory as I get into my 30s. Over the last few months I didn't train super hard, but no matter what, three days a week, I got up from my desk and ran. I didn't stop drinking, but I drank less. I didn't suddenly only eat kale and brown rice, but I tried to order a chicken sandwich instead of a burger. I went to the doctor's for my first physical in more than five years. 

So as I ran the half-marathon, that's what I was thinking about. At least for these few hours, I was going to run as hard as I could, and I was going to do it for Boston and for Phil Torres and my uncle Jim and the grandfather I never knew and my wife and my daughter and the grandchildren I need to see someday. And so when I crossed that finish line exhausted, it felt fucking good. It felt like being alive, maybe for years to come. 

I'm not exactly sure where I go from here. The last few months also taught me that I just don't enjoy long distance running, although it was nice to have an hour to just be in my head as I ran. But I do feel like I need to keep up this momentum. Maybe I'll try to get really good at swimming, maybe I'll join a b-ball league. We'll see.

And that's really the reason I'm writing this. Not only to hold myself publicly accountable for continuing to improve my health, but because I know there are a lot of people in RefinedHype Nation out there who share that struggle. Of course this is a hip-hop site, but at its best RefinedHype is actually about being human (a human who loves hip-hop), and it's especially about being a man. As men, we don't talk about our health, we don't support each other in being healthier, until it's too late. But fuck that, I'm trying to be in that nursing home with y'all still arguing about "Ether" vs. "Takeover". So to all my people out there working and failing and getting up and trying again to be healthier, I'm with you.

Let's all not die together. 

p.s. - On a musical note (pun intended) I listened to Big K.R.I.T.'s "King Remembered in Time" on repeat during the half-marathon. Definitely an under-rated album, hearing "Shine On" bang when you first move past that starting line is some serious motivation. 

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