When your vantage point on the race, is from the safety of the side lines, sometimes you see things you just don’t really want to see. At 6 am this morning the air is still, bright and promising. But somewhere in the background of the sky you can feel a tension slowly building hour by hour. The weather maps for days have been thick with gloomy predictions, but as we all know too well here, Summer was sooner or later really going pay its respects to Queens.
In the camp there is the usual chaotic stir of activity as the runners gather shoes and clothes and supplements in the fragment of time before they have to start off for the day. I dart back and forth between the resting runners as they lounge luxuriantly, but o so briefly on the their plastic chairs. What I sense though is that the great hot wave of summer, with all its gluey humidity is now just a short way off from us. If it steams into the city as predicted by midday, it will make the lives of all who run here excruciatingly difficult.
This morning as I was walking here I was enjoying the still peace when I unexpectedly heard a car horn toot. I looked over and saw Arpan waving me over to take a ride with him. It is just a short walk for me but I really can’t imagine what it must be like for him to drive back and forth, morning and night, and then run all day.
Somehow he has time to tell me a short story about his last 3100 mile race in 2004. He describes how during the late stages of the race he was having a really tough time. On one night in particular it became really difficult for him. It was late and he had been running for weeks and covered thousands of miles. Dark thoughts come and go all the time for all of us but for Arpan on this night the mental barrier he was confronting was exceedingly stubborn and refused to be dislodged no matter how hard he tried. He just felt like he could not go on. He was desperate and in this moment of true crisis he resorted to the only strategy that he felt he had left, and that was to pray.
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A brief time passes and he is running on the far side of the course by the Grand Central. It is by now past 10pm at night and it is hot and dark and he is running all alone when he starts to here light footsteps moving up from behind. He doesn’t look back, but notices that they must be being created by a small child in light plastic sandals. There is a light but rapid snapping sound as the sandals rapidly slap slap the hard sidewalk. In a short time suddenly a little Indian girl appears at his side running. Her hair is long and brown and swings back and forth behind her. She smiles up at him with all the sweetness and purity of youth and says, “I am helping you.”
At the right hand turn on 168th street she continues along straight just as Arpan makes the sharp right hand turn. In an instant his cares and burdens were gone and he ran contently on until the cut off at midnight.