In Flanders Field - So Much More Than a Marathon

YAY!!! I completed my first marathon! 4:37. My goal was to finish it and to run the entire way. Mission accomplished on both fronts. I am not the fastest, nor will I ever be. I only have dedication and stubborness working for me. Slow and steady may not win the race, but it gets the job done. We woke up late (I set my alarm to 6pm) and rushed out the door to a waiting taxi to take us to the train station. I loaded the bus in the rain. The dreary day matched my thoughts. "This is going to suck. Why am I doing this again? Why did I think I could do this?" I sat next to a 'judicial policeman' aka an investigator from Belgium. This was his 7th marathon and he had scounted out the course the day before on his bike. Clearly, he was much more serious about running than I. We arrived in Niueport to gray skies but thankfully, no rain. After checking in, a small crowd of men gathered around me (not gonna lie, I kind of enjoyed it) and all wanted to know the same thing. Why had I traveled to Belgium to run a rather obscure marathon? Why had I traveled there to run my first marathon? I had a lovely discussion with a pharmacist who likes to do ultra-marathons and a businessman who had recently returned to Belgium after living 2 years in India. The pharmacist noted that most marathon runners tend to be well educated. However, most ultra-marathoners tend to be millitary or ex-cons.

We gathered at the start line to the music of "Chariots of Fire" cheesy, but moving all the same. An overpowering feeling welled up from within and then the gun shot started the race. I started at the back and was a bit discouraged when I seemed to be neck and neck with a grandpa for the first 5 miles. I then caught up with two English chaps, Dan and Ben who had decided to run the marathon four days before. They had completed the London marathon but had done little (Ben) to no (Dan) training since then. We chatted and laughed for quite some time as we passed corn fields, cattle grazing, tractors (yes John Deere), small farms, and WWI monuments. Ben sped up at mile 13 while Dan and I stayed behind. One of my wishes had been to encourage other runners. I was unsure of how to do this with the language barrier beyond smiling at people, giving the thumbs up, and saying "success!" or "good luck". I was thrilled to be able to cheer on the English men. The course was absolutely beautiful and I enjoyed the rural quality. However, crowds can be a huge help when fatigue sets in. At every point where there were people I gave a huge "woohoo!" and then felt a bit rediculous and loud. Miles 16-20 were a bit discouraging and Dan dropped back at mile 19 but then caught up again from miles 21-25, which was great. My longest run prior to the marathon had been 23 miles which I did before the flight over. Another runner kindly observed that I should have had my long run 2 weeks prior to the marathon rather than a week. I replied, "Yes, that is what all the running articles and what my legs say. Oh well though. Live and learn. Learn and live." When I finally got into town and into the main square, I started sprinting and felt as though I were floating. The people at the finish line greeted me and there is something about running a marathon that is transcultural. The feelings of euphoria, success, the endorphins... ah it is a beautiful thing. It was a great to have accomplished a goal that I had been working towards for months. Melissa was there at the finish line with a huge hug. Although she thinks I'm completly crazy for wanting to run a marathon, she has been one of my biggest supporters. A true friend.

That night I read "In Flanders Fields" by Major John McCrae, a medical officer with the Canadian Army in WWI.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky

The Larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below

We are the Dead, Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields

Take up our quarral with the foe;

To you with failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields

While running the marathon, I was struck by how beautiful the country was. It seemed that the crops had grown to cover the scars of a brutal war fought almost a century ago. I wonder if by my initial raction to Ieper, if they did die in vain. The region was demolished, leveled by the war. Buckets upon buckets are still collected of shrapnel. Farmers still uncover mutions (highly unstable at this point) and remains while plowing the fields. How long did it take for the fields to become fertile again. Trenches still weave through the backyards of homes. At first glance, it seemed that life has moved on, poppies still grow through it all. However a further look is required. A pause is needed to begin to grasp the tragedy wrecked by fours years of war. It was to be the War that Ended All Wars. Sadly, the Treaty of Variselles lead only to another war, much larger and worse than the one before. The devestation of war must be understood, appreciatated. What we understand of history has a great impact on our actions today and the future.