In 1947, Jackie Robinson changed the game of baseball with 80 feet and 7 seconds. He was 28 years old. When my dad told me the story of Jackie Robinson stealing home, his voice turned cobalt blue, rich, tinged sun yellow with excitement. Here was a player worth following! Here was a player who was a man first, and an adventurer second, and a baseball player third—he had heart. Which is really all you need, was the message he wanted us to hear, me and the Cheetah.
Picture us for a second, if you would: my brother was a skinny spit with a floptop of brown hair and unfortunate glasses (not of his own choosing to be sure); I was a round little smudge with a bowl cut to rival his and an aversion to girly clothes. Basically I wanted to be his body double, a tomboy to the max, which meant that by the time I was five I could name most of the Star Wars ships and the Vulcan peace sign was no big thing. There is a picture of the two of us in Starfleet uniforms, I am 6 or 7, he is 9 or 10, our fingers carefully arranged to mimic Spock. It is an accurate portrayal of the best moments of my childhood. We were not the most athletic of kids; sure we played tball and soccer, much later he ran track and I played rugby, but as kids we had other interests. Our parents didn’t care what we were passionate about, as long as we were passionate about something. And my father told us stories of afternoons he spent in Yankee Stadium, watching Mantle, DiMaggio, Maris, and the rest. Mixed in were stories of the towering fleet-footed Shoeless Joe and the Great Bambino and Mr. Robinson the lion-hearted man.
He changed the game because he did something that people said could never be done. The course of history changed, his history and the game and 1947 and the world around, changed because now something new was again possible. And with the achievement of another victory, another stride of greatness, came the promise that one day another player would achieve something even more remarkable. Change eases open the present day door, yes, but I think it does more than that; I think it pushes the boulders away from the entrance of the tunnel so we can see the mountaintops beyond. So that far off the beginning of shrouded years, imbued with silence, peek over the horizon. From where I lie tonight on my living room floor I can see through the screen to the stars overhead, and while I have not felt hopeful about much the past few weeks, I cannot help but sigh as a little grace sneaks into my hearts, much needed and familiar. From where I lie tonight on my floor, Max stretched out on the bench and Ruby stretched out beside, I am bolstered by last weekend.
The Inspiration did a 12 hour run last weekend up in Olympia. She and Doughnut and Boston were all there. I needed to get in a 20 and when she invited me up to join her, I jumped at the chance. I love running and walking with this woman. She is someone I aspire to be like, strong and determined, someone who can get back up after life deals those inevitable hard blows. We can go in silence, companionable, matching stride for stride, each keeping our legs and elbows and shoulders in time to the other. And we can chatter away, about plans and work and stories and men, and how much we are hurting at this very moment, and what we want to eat RIGHT NOW. There are very few people I can run or walk with for that amount of time and not feel an internal pressure to go quicker so that I don’t slow them down, but with the Inspiration I never feel that. And it was a privilege to speed walk 21.5 miles with her, a privilege to join her on this journey. It wasn’t her first of timed races and I can see why she likes them. There’s no expectation of a certain number of miles—if it takes you an hour a time to get around the 1.5 mile loop, then that’s how long it takes you. And if you can do an ultra in 5 hours like Boston (shout out, Speedy Gonzales!) then that’s how long it takes you. The Inspiration mentioned at one point that she was thrilled I came up; yet she did more for me than I did for her, the pleasure was mine. And no one was having their best day, so I didn’t exactly fill the role of peppy pacer terribly well, but the Inspiration didn’t seem to mind.
After 21.5 miles and massive blisters (my last long one in dying shoes), I tapped out and watched keep on going. Her stride was long, determined, powerful, and I began to understand that I was watching someone do a truly magnificent feat. Most people can’t imagine doing a 12 hour race. Most people are in awe when I tell them that I got to be a part of part of one. That because of her, I am planning my first 12 hour race. That because of her, something new is possible in my life. I have changed because of what I saw her do, and now I can see another goal waiting to be achieved. It’s not about speed or slow. It’s not about running or walking or crawling or skipping, it’s simply about heart. And of course there is nothing simple about having the heart to do a 12 hour race. For that matter, there’s nothing simple about having the heart to do a 5k. No matter the length, if it is a step beyond what you ever thought you’d do, then you are for a single avalanching moment stealing home. You are sliding in under the tag to the roar of a crowd who has witnessed the impossible, and is just now realizing it as you pop to your feet and shake the dust off your shoes. I learned in steps last weekend what my father aimed to teach us for years. Speed and strength and distance are not the tools necessary to complete a goal; no, they are the by-products of courage, determination, and a heart like Jackie’s. If you come believing you will start, and you will finish, then you will. Dead fucking last is greater than did not finish, which is of course greater than did not start.
Thank you, Inspiration, for letting me join you for a few laps last weekend. Any time you want a buddy for any amount of miles, you know where to find me. And thanks for introducing me to Jackie Robinson. I never thought I’d get to meet him, but watching you stride away I learned that you don’t have to be the first one in to change the world. You just have to keep going, put one foot in front of the other, and know that the finish line is yours. You just have to know that your sliding toes will touch home plate before the catcher can tag you out. I learned that from you. So once again, thank you. Have fun this weekend!
Wow.
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