Running in and Out of Time

Time it Is, Time it Was

A cemetery isn’t a place one might think of as a good place for running. Unless you are a runner yourself. There’s no traffic to contend with. There are no pedestrians to get in your way and break your stride, especially when it is December in Marion, Ohio. This is why the two boys found the cemetery the perfect location for a post Christmas run.

It was a cold day but there was no possibility of snow. Just dense air that stung a little with a deep breath. These boys were used to that. They were runners and serious runners let very little stop them in any season. Before leaving the warmth of the 1960 Chevy Biscayne, they discussed what they should wear. The jackets they wore over a sweatshirt would definitely come off. They knew it was too bulky and besides they would quickly become far too warm once they started running. There were the grey sweatpants with the school logo, a Viking in profile, which would keep their legs marginally warm but which would also impede a smooth stride. They had to come off but only after they had done their warm up stretches. The sweat shirt would stay on. Cold legs would quickly warm once the run began and blood flows to them but chests needed some protection.

So out of car they went. They laughed as they began their warmup exercises and joked about how school had been closed because of snow the day before they went to Columbus for the state cross country meet last month. They found it funny that school could be called off but cross country meets could take place even with heavy snow on the ground. The thought made these teenage boys feel a bit rugged, a little more manly, to have competed when most of the state stayed warm in their beds.

A little chill today was an easy obstacle to overcome. Cold didn’t stop the strong. So after their warm up, off came the sweatpants. It was time to run into the December sun that never rose very high in the horizon at this time of the year. They would generate their own warmth. They would conquer the wind chill just like the day they led their cross country team to an Ohio State Championship.

The short, little nubs of spikes on the bottom of their running shoes bit into the gravel pathway and made a reassuring crunch with each stride. Their shoes were nearly as light as ballet slippers. In fact, the original idea for these type of shoes came from someone at the German company, Puma, who put a nylon plate on the front part of a ballet shoe and imbedded sockets for spikes. Running in these shoes was like having wings on your feet. They were so light you hardly knew you were wearing shoes. It was like running barefooted without the pain or danger of stepping on something damaging to your feet.

It didn’t take long for the boys to fall into a steady rhythm. Their pace was strong but not forced. It carried them along with purpose, with confidence. They talked as they ran. It would only be towards the end of their run that words became less frequent as a joyous fatigue would begin to overtake them. But right now conversation was not only possible, it was part of the excitement to be together and doing something they both loved and excelled at.

They replayed the state meet as they had several times before. They talked about how they had nearly slipped and fell on the muddy course that wove through the Scarlet and Grey golf course where the meet took place. They talked about seeing runners actually slip and fall into the slushy snow along the pathway.

Soon, however, their conversation turned to more serious topics. These were things they had discussed multiple times during so many runs the past three years. They spoke of the inner concerns running could draw a person into. Things like where do you find the strength to keep going when your body is screaming at you to stop. How to discern between pain that arose to distract and discourage you and pain that really meant you’d pushed hard enough for now. They talked about religion and how running was a kind of belief system in the miracle of the physical body. Did those miracles come from strictly within oneself or was there a higher power that was available to those who acknowledged a force greater than themselves, that gave them life. It was heady stuff for a couple of teenagers but they felt like natural topics when in forward motion, slipping through the cold December air feeling the strength of youth contract and expand in their muscles as oxygenated red blood cells fuel their entire being. It was a meditation of movement that propelled their bodies and their minds to seek answers, ask questions, reach for life.

Marion County, Ohio is mostly flat. Along with rich soil, this is what makes it such a profitable place to farm. The land yielded much. In the winter, a denuded landscape opened to the eye. Even in this cemetery, the boys could see well ahead of themselves. Only random leafless trees provided a break in the view. When they did encounter a slight rise they would run up it to create a little more resistance, some added challenge to the run. These rises would have a series of steps leading to a large family monument, who at least at one time, had the means to place a tomb that looked over the surrounding graves. The boys would joke that the wealthy felt above the rest of us even in death. They also acknowledged that these small bumps gave them the desired variety of challenges to an otherwise relatively flat pathway. It was an irony they understood even if they had not yet lived long enough to understand what irony was.

After they had meandered through the cemetery for an hour or so they were ready for some more challenging terrain. Across Mount Vernon Boulevard ,which bordered the cemetery, was the Harding Memorial. It was built on one of the few actual high spots in the city. It sat in minor stateliness surrounded by an expanse of lawn. Just behind it the ground fell away at a step angle, well, steep for Marion County, to a large grassy area that ended at a tree line and a tiny creek that flowed into a culvert as it passed under the Marion-Waldo Road. When it snowed this was one of the few places children could come to slide down the hill on sleds and other homemade contraptions.

The boys liked to add this to their run as it provided challenging uphill and downhill running. They sprinted across the boulevard, their spikes clattering on the cement until they reached the other side and the cushion of the crispy grass, which had a layer of frost that crackled lightly each time a foot broke through the thin crust.

By this time, they were warmed up and with the transition from the gravely paths of the cemetery to the crunchy grass, their pace picked up. Their breathing also increased. Conversation lessened as they circled the memorial to a past President who had a shady past and a questionable cause of death. Two rumors in particular persisted in spite of the official Marion City portrayal of a beloved citizen struck down in his prime by contaminated fish on a tour of the West Coast of the U.S. The first rumor was that he had fathered a child with a young woman in the cloakroom of the US Senate*. The second was that his wife had poisoned him out of anger for his many dalliances.** For the many things people in Marion could not agree on about President Harding, the one thing they could all concede was that Warren G. Harding*** was a very handsome man and his wife, from the wealthy newspaper family that promoted his candidacy for President, was far from a beauty.

As they ran around the memorial, down and up the inclines, they talked less. This was partly due to the increased demand for oxygen to fuel their bodies. This turned their thoughts more inward. Each knew that by this time next year they would have spent their first semester of college in opposite ends of the state. One was going to Bowling Green University in the north and the other to Miami University in the south. This would be the first time they would be separated since second grade when they made friends on the first day they met. It was a friendship which had grown and deepened for ten years. They were brothers in every way except genetically. One of them had a sister two years older. The other, a

sister eight years younger and a brother four years older who seemed to have never accepted the fact he had a brother. It was just the right combination for two boys to develop a bond unhindered by competing loyalties with siblings.

The boys talked about their excitement of going to college but they didn’t talk about being separated. Each in his own way understood that it was necessary that they had to define themselves without any connection to the other. They didn’t doubt that they would survive alone. They did wonder how time and distance would affect their bond. They believed or at least sincerely hoped it would hold as each went into a larger world, made new friends, explored new paths, encountered new ideas.

On this frosty winter day, however, the bond was strong as ever. This was not the time nor place to think about separation. They ran shoulder to shoulder. Matched breath for breath sharing in the exhilaration and physical challenge of a sustained run through the waning winter sunlight. Fatigue began to creep into their legs. It was time to return to the green Chevy and the warmth it would provide once the little six cylinder started to pump out some of its mechanically generated heat.

First the spiked shoes had to come off because they would catch on the cotton fabric of their sweatpants as they were pulled over rapidly chilling legs. Next their hooded sweatshirts came off, followed by a sweaty polyester jersey. As fast as they could, they pulled on a dry teeshirt as they shivered from the contact with the frigid air. Over that came the sweatshirt again to hold in some body heat as they waited for the car heater to do its job.

The boys settled into the cloth bench seat and each found their breath slowing. From deep inside them they felt a sense of calm, an euphoria, that comes from all the endorphins that flow from the brain during extended physical effort. It was a “runner’s high” but even more than that, it was a recognition that two friends had shared a magical day of brotherhood. It was a day that they would store in their most private being along with so many from the past ten years. They might not have known at the time how these memories would help sustain them in the years ahead as they experienced the unforeseen tragedies, losses, doubts, injuries and challenges life would give them. They did know that this day held a value that was worth protecting. It was a treasure. A gift from God. A talisman to wear as they ran headlong into whatever the future had waiting for them. Time it was, time it is for two true brothers, who in this moment of happy exhaustion knew that the only thing their friendship would run out of was time.

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*In 1928, a book by Nan Britton was published describing a six year affair she had with the former President Harding. She claimed he conceived a child with her who was born in 1919. The book is considered one of the first best-selling “tell all” books and generated a great deal attention and outrage. Britton was, of course, vilified in many sectors as an immoral woman, a liar, an opportunist, etc. The Harding Family, however, never challenged her claims in court. In 2015 DNA testing confirmed that the child was definitely Harding’s child.

**This rumor about President Harding being poisoned by his wife was never confirmed.

***Warren G. Harding, 29th President of the United States, did not complete one term as President due to his death in August 1923 in San Francisco. Before Richard Nixon’s Watergate scandal, his administration is considered one of the most corrupt in US history. The scandals of the Harding Administration resulted in Congress passing legislation, which has endured to this day, giving subpoena power to the House and Senate for review of tax records of any U.S. citizen regardless of elected or appointed position. This drama is now being played out in the House of Representative’s investigation of Donald Trump and the Capitol Riots of Jan. 6, 2021.

Thank you for being one of my readers. I appreciate your feedback. I had several readers say my last essay, “Shelter from the Storm”, brought tears to their eyes. While my intention wasn’t to make anyone cry, I am touched that my writing could have such a powerful effect on my readers. I join with you in your tearfulness as I found myself dribbling tears onto my MacBook as I wrote the final lines. Our connections to the ones who came before us are special. They aren’t always happy but they do allow us to feel a connectedness to the arc of life. We are never truly alone. We are forever connected to those who came before us in their strengths and weaknesses and those who follow us and carry not just the DNA of us but the essence of who we are. For me, this is why it is important that we live with the highest consciousness of our words and actions because we do matter even long after we have left this life.

My wish for you is that you have a store of special memories, of times when time ceased to exist, if only for an afternoon, of times that nourish you when your soul is hungry, times that protect you when you hurt and times that bring you joy and connect you to the very best in you and those you love.

Please share any of my writing you feel friends, family and colleagues would enjoy reading. Knowing I touch so many lives gives me the courage to do my best to write as authentically as I can about this world we share.

Be safe. Be well. Love as much as you are able. This life is short even when there isn’t a pandemic among us.