When stress gets you it's wise to find a diversion, to engage in some activity that promises to take your mind off of whatever loathsome task you have ahead. Just telling yourself to "chill out" or drinking a soothing cup of herbal tea will not always do the trick. At this time of year stress levels are high as ever as so many of those heavy questions hang painfully upon us like an albatross around our ever-aching necks.
Why do I have so many finals? You mean we were supposed to read that? What will I be doing this summer? Where will I be living? What will I wear for Spring Fling? Do you spell commencement (sp?) with one 'm' or two?
It can all be pretty darned overwhelming. Just yesterday, for example, I woke up, all set to enjoy our lovely Patriot's Day off - how very Massachusetts! - when I had a realization. It was one of those 'aha' moments, or as I like to call them, "holy shit!" moments, second only in significance to Descartes' own 'cogito ergo sum' which, if I recall my Latin correctly, means something very philosophical and profound, I think. My moment basically involved the revelation that 1) I had a lot of work to do, 2) I had very little time left in which to do it, and 3) I had run out of clean socks. I nearly cried.
I rolled out of bed, looked to the sky, and wondered, "What am I going to do?" And with that I decided to do what I always do whenever I have impaled myself on the horns of a dilemma. I watch television. So I flipped on the tube expecting typical Monday morning fare: Montel Williams, Barbara Walters, Bob Barker.
Instead, I got runners, runners, runners. Of course, the marathon! How could I have forgotten, the yearly ritual in which hundreds upon hundreds of very healthy very crazy people come from around the world and set off from the center of Hopkinton, trampling locals' flower beds and spitting righteously on nearby parked cars? They proceed to run quickly, all the way to the Boston Public Library without stopping for lunch (not even a bowl of soup!).
I snickered to myself at the absurdity of the whole event. But as my scornful chortle echoed off the glass tube in front of me reverberating back into my own ears, I heard the scoffs of a lazy and tired man rendered immobile for having let his stress get the better of him. Right then and there I made a decision. I nodded my head in agreement with myself, got up off my ass, put on a pair of unnecessarily short running shorts, shouted the word "Freedom" at the top of my lungs, and, sockless feet and all, sprinted out the front door. As I crossed the quad I planned the day in my head. First, run to Hopkinton. Second, run the marathon. Three, win the marathon. That would be sure to take my mind off of those papers I had to write.
Somewhere around the Memorial Steps my mind began to wander, imagining what it would be like running down that course, bonding with fellow competitors, compelled onward by the cheers of thousands...
Me: This is fun!
Runner #24601: Yeah, marathons rock! My favorite part is the running.
Me: Mine too. That and the winning. I really look forward to winning.
#24601: Winning? Well you better hurry up! Many fast people are many miles ahead of you. It seems highly unlikely that you will catch up without cheating. And even then, a victory seems almost impossible. The leaders have already reached Heartbreak Hill.
Me: Hmmm...cheating at the Boston Marathon?! But how?
Paul Revere (on a horse): The British are coming! The British are coming!
Me: Paul Revere! What are you doing? Your presence here next to me on that horse seems absurd.
Revere: Well Rob, every year I do a reenactment of my famed 1775 midnight ride. Patriot's Day was established to commemorate the battles that took place in Lexington and Concord between the brave minutemen and the tyrannical British. Bloody wankers! It was on this day in history that our nation was born. The seeds of independence had been planted.
Me: Wow, I had no idea. Thank you Paul. You have shown me the true meaning of Patriot's Day. You're the coolest dead silversmith on a horse I have ever met. But that still doesn't answer my question: what are you doing here?
Revere: Well Rob, the reenactment took place at the ass-crack of dawn. And with all the shooting and fighting over, I've been kind of bored, riding around a bit, drinking coffee at Dunkin', reading the Globe. Then I figured I'd check the marathon out. That's when I overheard you trying to devise a strategy to win this thing. May I offer you a ride on my horse?
Me: Yeah, totally Paul. That's really kind. You're a lifesaver. These shorts were starting to chafe.
We gallop off down the road, soaring past the competitors and crossing the finish line an impressive 1 hour and 35 minutes after the race started, leaving even the wheelchair racers in our dust. As they hand me the trophy, I dedicate my victory to all of the revolutionary minutemen who died hundreds of yours ago so that generations to follow may live in freedom.
Of course, at that point I was jolted out of my daydream as I tripped on a pothole on College Ave. As I bent over to tie my shoelaces I suddenly had second thoughts. "Cheating is wrong. And besides 26.2 miles is a long way to run." With that I set off in a new direction, toward Kelly's Diner and a tasty stack of blueberry pancakes. Yumm!
