Sideways from the World

Hi there.

Yeah.

I’m still pretty sideways from consensual reality still. If my body wasn’t continuing to tell me it had happened, I would be wondering if I dreamed the marathon. Which is funny, because this entire week? I have dreamed of running in some shape or form, every time I sleep. Not bad dreams. Actually really good ones. But even in my dreams now, I run.

Re-inserting myself into the dayjob and regular life hasn’t been difficult, but it’s been odd. The shift in attitude from people when they find out that I not only ran my first marathon, but finished, has been entertaining to watch.

I don’t feel transformed the way I did after passing my initiation into firewalking and becoming a firewalk instructor. If anything, I feel pared away. Like all the extraneous bullshit I’ve been carrying for so long got dropped along the 26.2 miles that I ran through Los Angeles. I’m lighter in every way that matters.

Yeah.

So this whole week has been a resting one. Next week, I begin slow walks. Finish the edit of the Alice Assassin novel. Push more ARCs out the door for the press. This weekend I’m going to start painting in the frisket for the Halloween Tree painting. I’m really looking forward to that. And drawing three large crows on the painting before frisketing them out too.

As E. Bear says: it’s a good life, if you don’t weaken.

Originally published at Angela N. Hunt. You can comment here or there.

Forerunner

This is an excerpt from the memoir I’m writing now about my journey to the marathon, Running with the Moon.

It has been less than 50 years since women have been included in marathons.

And it took Kathrine Switzer crashing the Boston in ‘67 to make that happen.

She only made it because other men running, ran around her in a shell so the race organizers couldn’t physically grab her and drag her out of the race. Jock Semple, the race organizer, specifically went chasing after her.

“Get the hell out of my race and give me those numbers.”

He is recorded as shouting this at her. Photographers caught the moment, her running on with the serene face of a valkyrie, her clothes being pulled, even as other runners turn to run back to help her.

She didn’t get the hell out of that race. Her boyfriend and other male runners kept pace with her for the entire marathon.

Kathrine would eventually go on to win the NYC Marathon with a time of 3:07:29.

You want to hear something even wilder? Since women have begun running the marathon and ultramarathon races, as a gender, they have made greater progress in less time than men. The longer the distance run, the more even the odds become. Any race over thirty miles? It’s an even split as to who will win. Men do not have the advantage.

Weaker sex, my ass.

The first time I read this story, I cried. Because I could imagine being Kathrine. I could imagine being driven by the desire to enter and run. I could imagine being afraid, because I know she must have been.

And I can imagine running anyway.

Women like Kathrine are owed an enormous debt. By everyone. For their defiance. For their courage. For the fact that nearly fifty years later, I didn’t even think twice about entering my first marathon. That I didn’t think twice about anyone telling me I couldn’t do it because it wasn’t allowed because of my fucking gender. They told me all sorts of other reasons for why I wouldn’t make it, but that one fallacy wasn’t thrown in my face.

And by the way?

To the men who ran with Kathrine that day? Whoever and wherever you are?

You are my heroes.

Thank you. For myself and my daughters, thank you.

Originally published at Angela N. Hunt. You can comment here or there.