14. Finis Coronat Opus

The worst are the days before it. What if I weren’t fit? What if I didn’t sleep well? Oh, I need to go a day before I planned it. Do I really need this? Why am I doing it, again? You’re running it in your head and it goes well, until you’ve lost track of yourself and can’t tell how many kilometres you’ve covered. It’s like disappearing in the haze. 

Anxiety? Plenty of it, smug grinning and awaiting for its nemesis: the first step. 

  

             And amid all these cheers, flag waving and tears, we sailed off to Gallipoli…

 

            Was it Moscow or Los Angeles? I was little at that time, so it must have been Moscow then. 1980, the Olympic games. My first encounter with a marathon race. I had no idea what happened - they broadcast only pieces of the race, thanks God, it’s boring as hell to watch a full one - but I do recall how the winner got a blanket over his shoulders at the end of the race. Space blankets, they call them nowadays. Made of some material used by NASA, hence the name. To keep your body’s temperature up after the race. And the commentator saying something that those who run marathons will never suffer a heart attack. Hope he doesn’t jinx it! 

I am wondering, where are these useless memories stored? Is there a mechanism to replace them with some useful ones? Like cleaning your garage now and then. Anyway, after the operation, the garage is equally full with new junk, so why bother? Enjoy the useless memories. And now I have time...

   

On the bow I stand, west is where I go/Through the night I plough, still my heart, calculate and pray/ As the compass swings, my will is strong, I will not be led astray…Well, I AM going to the west, I feel the bright but cold sun of the early December in my neck. Then I will turn and close a third of the distance in a nice loop around my house. The other two thirds I’ll make in the opposite direction so I’ll end up in a nice “8” shape or, if you want to be more sophisticated, an "infinite loop”. 

            Three kilometres - the worst has passed. Any moment from now the endorphins - the oblivion that masks pain - will kick in and I’ll be in the zone, going smoothly. Three kilometres - the inner fog clears, everything starts to make sense now...

            Și el e emirul, și toate le are.../E tânăr, e farmec, e trăsnet, e zeu/ Dar zilnic se simte furat de-o visare.../Spre Meka se duce cu gândul mereu,/Și-n fața dorinței — ce este — dispare/ Iar el e emirul, și toate le are… Spre Meka-l răpește credința — voința/Cetatea preasfântă îl cheamă în ea/Îi cere simțirea, îi cere ființa/Îi vrea frumusețea — tot sufletu-i vrea. Perfect sense, indeed. 

Dar Meka e-n zarea de flăcări — departe/De ea o pustie imensă-l desparte/Și pradă pustiei câți oameni nu cad? Come on, it’s only a desert: you cross it, you’re there. Preferably in a straight line. Just do it, don’t overthink it!

God knows, God knows I want to break free… Freddie is on a killing spree on Wembley, with the whole crowd as accomplices. Fabulous performance, so enthralling. Amazing how someone can influence the masses just like that. How many were there? Fifty? Hundred thousand? Hey, I’m turning, I’m getting the sun in my eyes. Almost ten down. That’s a quarter already, it goes well. A few more to go and I’ll be around home again, finishing a third of it. Just keep it steady. 

Donnez-moi une suite au Ritz, je n’en veux pas … Jeez, she sounds so happy, inviting to dance. Just don’t, keep the pace. Moi, je mange avec les mains, je suis comme ça… Ok, maybe I should stop making fun of my son when his knife remains clean after eating soup. 

            I’ve almost done the first loop - one third of the whole journey and I am around home. About 28 more to go on a route that I’ve travelled on so many times. Feels like a new beginning but on a journey I’ve already been on, albeit without the fatigue of almost fifteen kilometres. 

            I'm banished in exile/I wander this land/No faith in the future/I'm in their command

Cross over the mountains/And valleys so wide/I walk as I wonder/With hope by my side... Hmm, ominous music. The famous Nostradamus. Expelled from medical school and travelling through France and Italy for years. The reason might seem preposterous nowadays: he had been a pharmacist for a while (ok, apothecary, if we want to be quaint about it!), which was considered inferior to a doctor. Prominent figure. They say that the Nazis were using his prophecies for propaganda in WWII. Garage memories ...

   

Old habits reappear/Fighting the fear of fear/Growing conspiracy/Myself is after me… 

Halls of justice painted green/Money talking…

Fire … to begin whipping dance of the dead/Blackened is the end/ To begin whipping dance of the dead… Colour our world blackened … 

Breathtaking live medley of an astounding band from a nearly perfect album. Played in reverse order from the original - a detail that you get when running and there’s nothing else to do. I listened to it after 2 years from its release, I listen to it now, after thirty odd years. Is there something in it that makes me feel young? And not a bit younger(I’d take that, too, thanks!), but young again? Do I expect to see myself at 16-17, longer hair (well, whatever hair will be longer than what’s now), just joining me in the run? What would the young me do if he was here sharing the music with me? Probably wait for the song to finish, then stop, light a cigarette, wish to get the courage to chat up the nice girl that was smiling at him and that’s it. Damn, if Lars didn’t hit the drums so ferociously, my legs can barely keep up. 

The half marathon milestone is behind me. No longer an explorer, I’m coming home now. The sun is covered by clouds and it’s getting colder, 2 degrees, according to my watch. And my mother was not with me in the morning to tell me to get dressed properly - I have only a summer t-shirt on that’s pretty wet now. Hope that it’ll make a pellicle of water between my skin and the t-shirt. The divers get that, why not the runners as well? My lungs are good. How are my legs? Don’t think about it! Just move. 

Below 20 to go... 

Voices are calling from inside my head/I can hear them, I can hear them/Vanishing memories of things that were said/ They can't try to hurt me now

But a shot in the dark, one step away from you/A shot in the dark, always creeping up on you… Ozzy, what a pleasure! Long time no hear, buddy! Crazy loon! He bit off the head of a bat! Pandemic then? Let’s be serious, the whisky sterilised everything in an instant. Didn’t he say he’d donate his body to science, as it’s a miracle for him to be alive given his lifestyle?            

Now 15… It’s working well!

The timing is excellent, no need to panic. Why would I panic? Exactly, just go. Such a pity that the sun is gone, the clouds make the leafless trees look desolated. And it’s getting cold. 

Run over stiles, across fields/Turn to look at who's on your heels...The line is getting nearer/But do you want the glory that goes?/You reach the final stretch, ideals are just a trace/You feel like thr… Hey Siri, play the next song! I love this track, it’s about a Colin, but it’s just not the right time. Since I started to run, five months ago, I had, next to the numerous excellent moments, some tough ones. But never, not even for a split second, have I thought to give up. Never felt like throwing the race and I need no new ideas, thank you very much. 

Thirty-two kilometres. Wow, this is the longest distance I’ve made so far. Every metre from this one is a new distance record. I’ve passed the three quarters. I feel good, I’ve even gone faster in the last two kilometres. I wonder when the man with the hammer will come. And how. 

Nooooooo! Fucking watch, it stopped! I cannot believe it. When did it stop? Not long ago, I checked it regularly. It’s disrupting my flow. No no no no. Is THIS the man with the hammer? Is he playing with my mind? Just calm down, start another session, what’s the big deal? Where did it stop? 33.56 or 33.65? Keep walking, don’t stop. Make sure you save the progress so far. Done. Two presses of a button and it’s reset. Good. Resume running. Excellent, go! Gathering speed as we head down the runway/Got to get airborne before it’s too late! 

How much is still left? It’s 42.2 in total. I’ve done 33.56. Or point 65. Let’s stay on the safe side: point 56. Why is it so difficult? I’m very sharp with numbers, always been so. Jesus, this is impossible. Just breathe. Take it easy and slow. It’s not 9, but more than 8. Then it’s 44 plus 2. No, it’s 44 plus 20. Is it really 44? Yes. 64 altogether. 8.64 to go. Damn, this operation took me almost a kilometre.  

I need to think of the final route. The last part is tricky. If I hit home too early I might be tempted to stop. If I finished too far, I’d have to still cover the distance. 

You are the wind, the only sound / Whisper to my heart when hope is torn apart / And no one can save you / I walk alone / Every step I take, I walk alone / My winter storm holding me awake / It's never gone…  Incredible how alone you are in all this and how few are the instruments that help you - your legs, your lungs, and your mind, basically. Still, no matter how deeply alone I've been in it, I've never felt lonely.

Six...

Approaching the new bicycle bridge over the motorway. Wonderful construction, but naked and open, collecting all possible winds: from the sky above and from the cars below. The temperature is now close to zero and a glimpse at my shoulders caught a scary layer of frost on them. After the bridge I’ll enter a zone accessible only by foot or bike. No possible rescue by car anymore. If I stop, I’ll die. Which means… Yes, I will!

Good that the bridge is after me, entering a grove makes the cold more bearable, at least there’s no wind. Four... Then three… I know the final route. I’ll make a circle around my house, big enough to avoid temptation. Two…I’ve passed the forty threshold. If it hadn’t been for the snobbish and lazy royals, they might have kept the marathon distance to forty. Then I would have made it already. One…

            A few hundred metres in front of me, like a lighthouse, it’s the Hovenring, a splendid and unique piece of architecture and engineering. It’s a suspended roundabout for bicycles, circling an intersection. Beautifully lit. Touching distance from my home. No better place to finish the race, like the final round at a real stadium. This is so cool, indeed, I hope to forget that I‘ll have to climb a bit but I am so tired anyway that I can’t tell going up from going down anymore. I’ll make two rounds of it.

Forty two kilometres. Two hundred metres to go… 

To dream the impossible dream/To fight the unbeatable foe/To bear with unbearable sorrow/To run, where the brave dare not go.

To run.