Life moves pretty fast. Sometimes you have to just stop and look around a little.
Ottawa Marathon
Once upon a time there was a boy who had not yet had a day off. He seemed ordinary enough: wispy dark hair, chiselled looks, devilish charm. Each day he would wake up, brush his teeth, and make his way to school. Each day he would sit in class, endure the minutia of lessons, and struggle to focus on the long, dry teachings handed down by generations before. Each day he would come home, perhaps do some homework (often not), and then head to bed before the same happened again tomorrow. Day-after-day, year-after-year, the boy lived this way. He heard his same name called nasally from the blackboard, sat in the same chair in the classroom, watched the same world turn outside the window. It seemed destined to continue forever.
Then, one day, the boy had an idea. It was an idea that would spawn a wonderful story…
He took his day off.
And little did he know of the adventure that would ensue that day.
The tale of Ferris Bueller was one I remembered watching as a teenager. It is known for many things – Ferris’s devious invention to keep the parents unaware of his school-dodging ruse, his theatrics before the city’s giant parade and his race-against-time through the backyards of his neighbours in both fast-and-slow motion – yet it may be most critically known for a single line:
“Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
It was a line I always remembered, and one that would stick out to me during marathon 10.
The City
Having conquered Washington DC late last year, I turned my sights to another capital city: Ottawa. The cold, snowy winters of Canada had kept me indoors on the treadmills for a few months to train, so when April arrived I was itching to look at something other than my own face while I ran (surprising as that is to hear).
But just because I was ready for Ottawa that does not mean it was ready for me.
Three days before my arrival, the city suffered its worst ice storm since 1998. It left over 100,000 people across the twin cities without power for days, and the restoration was still underway as I landed with my running gear to tackle the trails. I had seen it on the news, and like many in Canada I was concerned for the people at the time.
I had visited Canada’s capital years before, so I knew that there was a lot to love about the government town. Looking around, the city still felt open and green despite what had happened. The Rideau canal cut a beautiful figure through the city centre, still thawing out from the freezing winter where locals would use it to skate as their commute to work, and the gothic-style Parliament Buildings towered over surrounding neighbourhoods.
So far, Ottawa had seemed to hold up well. But I knew that if I ran outside the city, it may tell a different story.
The Marathon
I started the watch downtown in the morning, crossing Parliament Hill within the first few kilometres. The roads were quiet, the sun was up, and the colder air felt crisp in my lungs. Cutting through the city, the Byward market, and towards the Rideau River it was a strangely satisfying morning to be out, and I felt like perhaps it would be a simple run to kick off the year.
But I was quickly proved wrong.
As I hit the trails southbound alongside the river, the devastation revealed itself. Tall, strong trees had been split in half like the gods had brought an axe upon their core, punishing them for daring to stand. The thick, heavy trunks were strewn frequently along the path, forming immovable obstacles to navigate through. The snow remained frozen, and icy, over the trail, concealing the way and sending the uninformed around in circles. Most critically of all, the river line had risen to flood the lower sections of the trail, closing the way under the bridges lest you risk being swept away by the roaring current.
I passed hazard-after-hazard, blockage-after-blockage. I hit multiple stopping points, and pulling out my phone to check the map became a frequent action. When I hit points that I could not advance past, I would turn back and retrace my steps to cross to the other side of the river where I would seek an alternative route. I took alleys around the university, jumped over logs and squelched through mud. It was like chipping away at a marble stone, each step getting further north, and so when I finally turned back at the 12-kilometre mark I did so with wet feet and low energy.
I shuffled back to the city, crossing the halfway mark, and turned over to the second part of the route I had planned: along the Rideau canal. These trails had been attended to more readily after the storm and so the hazards were now fewer and further farther between. I ran relatively uninterrupted for the second half, but my mind had already been affected by what I’d seen. Here, in Ottawa, I truly found myself absorbing the surroundings, and the marathon felt second fiddle. My legs chugged away under me, and the fatigue was there, but my mind continued to think primarily about the city and its coming weeks.
I felt gratitude for the days I’d lived with power, and without storm damage. I felt empathy from those living here, and the task ahead for them. I’d been hit in the face with a clear reality check. My eyes had opened to the story around me.
When I finished back at the canal’s end, I was glad. I was sore, tired, hungry, thirsty and cold. But, compared to the image around me, suddenly 42.2 kilometres didn’t feel quite so challenging after all.
Reflection
We focus a lot on our goals. We are constantly moving forward, continuously pushing through each challenge to the next, seeking the quickest way to the end so that we may finally leave the painful parts behind us.
However, sometimes we focus so hard that the views along the way whizz by as a blur. Like a car on a fast highway, we drive onwards while the scenery besides us passes unseen and forgotten. Nothing seen. Nothing learned.
I certainly felt that in my marathons to date. Sure, there have been moments in Queenstown and Washington DC where my surroundings made a real impact on me, but those moments had been outnumbered by my focus on my body and the ability to complete these long runs. I didn’t regret it. I needed to go through that learning. Yet in Ottawa I learned to take a pause, to see the scene around me. I’d learned to open my eyes a little more while running. I came away with a deep sense of perspective, and an intention to be grateful for each day where my home, and the people around me, are okay.
It was a confronting, yet beautiful, feeling, and I felt a little more complete as a person.
And as the great Ferris Bueller warned, if I hadn’t stopped to look around, I may have missed it.
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