Amy Lu's View

“How can you be bored during a marathon?”

Chad posed that question to me in the days before I was scheduled to run my fourth marathon, as I was anxiously obsessing about how I would do. Among my litany of worries was how I would deal with the boredom. 

I was just as surprised that Chad DIDN’T get bored while running a marathon (he’s run five so he knows what it’s like) as he was that I DO get bored. How can one not get bored while doing anything–much less something that can feel uncomfortable and tedious–for over four hours? Not necessarily for the whole or even the majority of the time, but at least for periods?

I think Chad’s secret is being present in the moment–even when there are over four hours worth of moments. 

And being in the moment during a long run is tricky for me–I want to be present, but not SO present that I can’t stop thinking about how tired or hot/cold or uncomfortable I am. (Luckily, I’m usually not in significant PAIN but there are definitely moments of “ow” for me).

On regular runs, long or short, I distract myself as much as possible by listening to audiobooks and thinking about what I’m going to eat and wear after the run. But during the marathon (or any race) I didn’t want to be as checked out as I get when listening to an audiobook–it just seems like a not great idea  (it would have also been hard to hear an audiobook consistently over the cheers and music and whatnot of the event). So I followed my usual race procedure of listening to my own music on my phone, and that did provide some entertainment and inspiration but it wasn’t a problem if it got interrupted by ambient marathon noise. 

I didn’t aspire to run the marathon with Chad’s level of mindfulness, but I did have a goal to be at least more aware and appreciative of the experience. I set my intention with a new temporary tattoo that I applied to my forearm on Marathon Eve that said “How is this moment perfect?”

But I did keep doing it, with moments of boredom and beauty, pride and doubt, and diversionary thoughts of what I would eat (and drink) later in the day, and where I could wear my medal. 

I used to shy away from the word “perfect”–perfection is unattainable, right? But in the last several years I’ve been reconsidering my definition of “perfect.” I haven’t settled on a new meaning yet (and that could be an entirely different post) but I am trying to consider how life (and all the people and things and experiences and feelings in it) can be worthy and meaningful and beautiful, even, or especially, when things don’t conform to my simplistic ideas about perfection. 

I don’t have a good grasp of what I mean by perfection, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to find it if I’m not paying attention. 

So how did I find perfection in my marathon moments? In the beauty of the fall colors of the trees, in the sun reflecting off the lakes, in the blue, blue sky. I saw perfection in all the spectators cheering on their loved ones, and cheering on me, a total stranger. 

Listed like that, in one short paragraph, my perfect moments seem slight. But they added up and were enough to get me to the finish line. 

Maybe the most perfect thing about any of these moments is that they simply were–that I was able to do and be a part of this weird and silly and preposterous event. 

Did I get bored? Yes, yes I did. Or maybe “bored” isn’t quite the right word–What word means “I am SO OVER THIS and can’t possibly keep doing it?”