I just told you, the Army…”
“I’m not talking about the Army.” Sarah’s interruption was demanding, “Is our family going to be like this when you get back?”
“Well, Hailey’s going to be a lot stronger once she gets off all these meds.”
“I meant you and me.” Her voice trailed off, not so much defeated as simply not finding the argument worth continuing.
Stephen paused and caught his wife’s questioning look. The fullness of their silence stagnated the conversation more than before. Dropping eye contact with her, Stephen reluctantly answered, “I don’t know, Sarah. I just don’t know.”
Stephen knew the strain on his marriage could hardly reach across their house, much less the other side of the world. Saying goodbye to Hailey was devastating even with her cancer in remission, but leaving Sarah was noticeably easier. It wasn’t a future he was too excited to consider and he looked forward to the less complicated life of the combat zone. Perhaps Mayweather wasn’t so crazy after all.
“Way to go! You’re so awesome! You guys are heroes!” The supportive words came from a lady who was extraordinarily alert for someone standing alongside a curb in her robe and slippers cheering on the passing marathon runners. She had a two handed grip tightly wrapped around a steaming cup as if it were there for medicinal purposes. Unaccustomed to feeding off the praise of others, Stephen was surprised at how the lady’s encouragement snapped his mind back to the race he was in the middle of running. He smiled at her and felt an added lift spring from his next step.
Stephen had been praised by crowds before. With the return from each deployment he and his fellow service members had been thanked so many times it caused him a discomfort. The one he felt the greatest discomfort with was being called a “hero.” It wasn’t that he opposed someone linking the term “hero” to a service member. To him, nothing could be more true. He just didn’t agree with the label being linked to him. In Iraq, he had done his duty. It was something he had voluntarily committed to doing long before he was asked by his country to make wartime sacrifices. He didn’t feel it was a matter of heroics. It was a responsibility and following through with the promises he had made. The compassionate citizens of a grateful nation, in their determination to undo the sins of a prior generation’s disdain for returning troops, had overwhelmed their brave warriors with an abundance of heartfelt and genuine praise. It was an embrace that he, like many who returned with tattered uniforms or minds stolen by a preoccupation with the ones who didn’t return, had struggled to accept. The status of hero became a burden he was certain he could not live up to.
Nevertheless, the cheers of the early morning well-wishers along the roadside seemed different. The praise was not born from the mix of personal emotions determined to elevate those willing to do what others wouldn’t, but instead he felt the encouragement came from an appreciation. This was an appreciation for a commitment of training and effort towards a goal which he was in the process of bringing to a completion. The crowd continued to applaud runners as he passed by. Stephen took in every positive word he could. Their words reached him deeply and before long he felt their words were accompanied with a different type of expectation. They were words that commanded one foot to continually be placed in front of the other. The cheers evolved into a rhythmic cadence as if his former drill sergeant were steadily prodding him along, though with much more encouraging words than he ever remembered his drill sergeant using.
Stephen received their optimistic spirit despite his own frustrations with how the race had begun. Their cheers reminded him that he had made a choice to cross that starting line and it was a decision he intended to fulfill. He charged himself forward, declaring with each step that there was no way he was going to let this crowd down. It wasn’t long before he caught himself making eye contact with people in the crowd in a self-serving hope to solicit motivation toward him personally. In most cases it worked, and he returned their inspiration with a wave and a smile to cover his guilt of having being so dependent on their generosity. He felt proud to be there, inspired by the applause. He was motivated.
It quickly became evident to Stephen that the crowd had a personality of its own. It was one thing to get up at a ridiculous hour before the stars had even faded. It was an entirely different thing to get dressed, endure the cold weather and stand for several hours cheering for people you’ve never met and furthermore, would likely never see again. He was impressed by the crowd’s commitment and touched with gratitude for the adrenaline boost he was receiving. No longer feeling the insecurity of a rookie runner, he obligated himself to return their praise with thumbs up and a heartfelt, “Thank you for coming out this morning.” Touched with an unfamiliar twinge of euphoria, Stephen was feeling very much like the ambassador of running.
Unbeknownst to Stephen, the gel pack was working its magic and replenishing his carbohydrate stores. The gel, having made its way through his digestive system, sent a rush of random endorphins coursing through his body. For the first time he could genuinely admit to himself that he was actually enjoying the run. He had spent so much of his race in silent sarcasm over the early part of the morning that he hadn’t yet let himself realize the joy of the journey. He drank the crowd’s encouragement and savored every drop, straightening his back and lengthening his stride. The thrust of his arms had a renewed swagger to them. His heart beat stronger and his legs became lighter with each lift. Warmth filled him and he began to stretch his stride even farther. Without regard to his own speed, he began weaving past other runners, sidestepping and plotting his path two and three bodies in front of him before making his advance. As his pace continued to increase he kept a close proximity to the far right hand side of the course where he could repeatedly drink from the invigorating well of assurance the crowd so graciously served up.
Almost as suddenly as they had appeared, the sideline crowd thinned out. Stephen looked ahead and saw a long, inclining straight away as concrete seemed to continuously rise above the brightening horizon. Instead of a crowded field, he observed the sparse files of runners as they approached the incline at varying paces. He glanced back to see the fading crowd with their distant but unending cheers. He wanted to stop and tell them how much he appreciated them. He considered the idea of hopping onto a street bench and making a public announcement. “Thank you all for coming out today. We really appreciate your support and sacrificial efforts. You’ve all been great. And while you may want to stay here to cheer on the other runners, have your breakfast and coffee or possibly even be tempted to go home and tuck yourselves back into bed, we ask that you instead get in your cars and drive alongside to continue your unceasing praise for the remainder of the race!” He chuckled to himself at his entertaining idea and delivered his own self-assurance at realizing how good he felt and what a good run he was going to have.
The giant bulb in the sky had risen above the horizon and effortlessly broke the last ounce of will in the morning’s briskness. Clouds which previously held dominance now crumbled into smaller formations, accepting without dispute their singular purpose of drifting towards an inevitable fade. The sea of bodies shifting among the road compelled him to forego his speech and instead push forward to the upcoming challenge with a moderately suppressed smile. The rising peak of the road’s overpass before him seemed no threat to the strength and speed surging from each step of his elongated stride. Glycogen from the gel packet made its way into Stephen’s muscles and propelled renewed strength in his legs which powered him up the road’s prolonged incline. Each time his feet hit the ground another charge of energy pulsed through his body and caused the fibers of his leg muscles to demand more and more oxygen to keep up with his rising pace. Every breath brought vigor and durability to his laboring lungs. Yes, the ambassador was feeling good, really good.