Arrogance, Regret, Pride, and the Marathon

As a distance runner, I had always seen the marathon distance as the final summit. 26.2 miles is an absurd distance to run, a true exercise in futility from many people's perspectives, even for some within the running world. However, as I approached my tenth year as a runner, the marathon no longer seemed insurmountable. My past experience and accomplishments had given me confidence, and I knew that running a marathon would be in the cards for me. I knew time to do it was fast approaching, and I truly believed I would be ready for it when it came. 

But I had underestimated the marathon, and it broke me. 

I felt like a fraud exposed while running those last six miles, during which my legs were aching, screaming, persistently reminding me of my insufficient training and half-hearted preparation. The sharp numbness that cut through my legs in my first training run back from the race shook my faith in my physical capabilities for the first time, and forced me to recognize that my body's limits were not as high as I had naively assumed. Upon the diagnosis I received from my orthopedist, I felt fear and hopelessness, like nothing of my running was in my control anymore.

Running, one of the few things I built in my life from the ground up that I was proud of, was all of a sudden lost from one race. The permanence of the situation struck fear in me, which simmered and birthed deep-seated bitterness and regret. I hated the marathon. I hated it for taking the running that I built over the years. I hated myself for my arrogance and naivety, and became ashamed of the race I ran. I would have done anything to turn back the hands of time and chosen not to run that day. How does one process such turmoil? Like most challenges I face in my life, I tried to turn away and forget about it. I did not run for two years afterwards. Every time running came up in conversation, I would leave the conversation or try to change the subject. 

And yet all the while, I could never close the door on running completely. Based on my research, I had little faith that the rehab exercises that the doctor prescribed would help, but I would find myself doing them every now and then regardless. I never tried running, even one lap around the track, but I purchased a gym membership and regularly put myself through monotonous and miserable elliptical sessions. In my typical fashion, the whole thing was half-hearted and not as routine as it should have been, but I still did it. I couldn't kill my hope entirely it seems. In hindsight, it was clear as day: I still loved running, but I had also become too scared of losing running to face it anymore. 

What ended up breaking the standstill for me was a tired cliche. A dream I had of me running. The wind in my hair, the grains of the trail under my feet, the cold in my gasping lungs - memories I had almost forgotten. I felt alive and complete in a way that I hadn't for a long time. When my eyes opened, that elation was quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of hollowness. I could hardly focus on getting through my work and everything else I had going on that day, but as these mix of negative emotions stirred in me, one thought, one desire surfaced above all else: I want to run. That thought ate at me persistently, snowballing into something that began to overshadow the fear and hopelessness that had become my status quo. Within a week, I found myself in my running gear after work, standing at the start of a 400 meter loop at the nearby school. 

My escalation of distance was excruciatingly slow and infuriatingly inconsistent for the months following. Some days I would be able to run four to five loops with no pain in my leg, but then the next day I would feel that familiar pain encroach within the first lap, as if I was back to square one once again. Those moments where I slid back hurt the most. The bitterness, regret, and fear I had been trying to run away from for years would stir again, and those feelings would feed into my laziness. I would take multiple days off when I really shouldn't have, and there were frequently moments I thought about giving up this effort altogether. But I think it's in those moments that I came to truly realize the pull running has on me. Running is not something I could ever so easily let go. It is a  foundational part of who I am - past, present, and future, and there is still have so much for me to learn from it.  

This past week I ran 20 miles with no pain. All were on the track, and I still have no idea how my leg will respond to hills and slopes, but never before would I have imagined I would be so elated to run 80 laps around the track. Running has once again taught me something new, something that was not so easy to learn, and I am forever grateful. 

I plan to challenge the marathon distance again one day. Looking back on my race two years ago, almost everything that could have went wrong did go wrong. I was clearly not prepared enough, and had approached the distance arrogantly. But in hindsight, I am proud of what I accomplished in that race. The pain was truly unreal in those last miles, but I grit my teeth and pushed through it, just as I have learned to do throughout my years in the sport. The next time around, I will be more prepared. I have come out of this experience stronger than before. Maybe not physically (yet), but I now realize the marathon is so much more than that. I look forward to experiencing all that this simple, yet endlessly deep sport still has in store for me, and am eager to face the challenges ahead. 

The shoes that have been with me through my rehab period

Vignette #1 - Processing the Unrealized

A boy in my neighborhood died the other day. He was hit by a truck while biking to school. The article I read said he was fourteen years old, and described him as soft-spoken and studious. His parents declined to comment.

I wonder what dreams this boy had. Perhaps he had grand and outlandish dreams not befitting of his image. Dreams that made him blush to think about while lying in bed. Perhaps he was an aspiring musician, a talented guitarist, that dreamt of playing in front of stadiums filled to the brim with fans and cheers. In front of teachers and classmates, he would only speak when spoken to and reservedly so. But in his room, his guitar would sing feverishly in his blistered hands with a depth of emotion beyond his years. In his senior year, he would finally muster the courage to play in one of those talent events at school. The performance goes anything but perfect. He fumbled on the most difficult parts, just as he worried he would, and he couldn't bear to lift his face to the audience upon struggling through the outro. But when the cheering erupts in front of him, his anxiety melts into an overwhelming rush of validation and tears. Perhaps he decides then and there to pursue music, and embrace the roadblocks to come.

I wonder if this boy would have found love. Perhaps he would have met his first love in a couple of years' time, his high school sweetheart. His face would flush every time their eyes met and he would read every text from her three or four times while failing to hold in his smile. He would have had no doubt she was the one, despite all accusations of naivety around him. But then things would get complicated. Going to different colleges in different time zones, meeting new people, increasing responsibilities, difficulty arranging times to video call with each other. He continued to convince himself that it would work out if they persevered, ignoring the signs of the indifference and frustration budding in both of them. That first relationship would fade into blurred memories, and he would subsequently meet other partners, each less memorable than the last. But perhaps he would meet someone new, in a rather uneventful way. Someone who is compassionate, intelligent, and has a laugh that brings an unknown sense of comfort to his heart. Someone who he can trust to be there with him in his toughest times, and who he can trust himself to be there for. The honeymoon phase soon passes and he begins to see her imperfections, but even so, he comes to know that his heart is only truly full when her hand is in his. 

I wonder what this boys' relationship with his parents was like, and what it would have become. The parents that declined to comment. Perhaps they were loving. Often too strict and often too critical in their fumbling through parenthood, but always with the intention of giving their child as bright a future as possible. Perhaps there would have been strains in the relationship. Not supporting their son's choice of career, frequent arguments at the dinner table, fewer and fewer visits and calls home. But perhaps the relationship would eventually begin to mend and evolve. The boy grows into someone no longer a boy, and begins to see his parents point of view. And maybe one day, his parents would also come around to accepting his choices as well. The veneer of conflict and stubbornness would gradually peel off over the years to expose the love that was always there. And perhaps, on his wedding day, his parents would be sitting in the first row, shedding tears with full hearts. I wonder if his parents will ever think about such things in the years to come. What could have been. Perhaps it would be too much to bear. 

I wonder what meaning there was to this boys' life and death. There is no future in which this boy is still alive. And yet, there is also no future where this boy did not exist. A future where his songs are never to be performed, where he and his soulmate will never meet, and where his mother and father will carry inconsolable hearts that will never heal. Although for only fourteen short years, this boy was here. And maybe that alone is more meaningful than we will ever realize. 

Digital Manga?

A couple of months ago, I had a good amount of free time so I started browsing through some lists of recommended manga. A lot of titles on the list were the same old same old that I had yet to get to (Akira, Oyasumi Punpun, etc.), but there were a few new entries that piqued my interest. So I go check out the first one on the list called "Tower of God". The first thing that stood out to me was the color. A lot of manga start off with a few pages of color... but for this, the whole thing was colored. The art also looked a lot less straight-edge than usual. The character designs were more rounded and the outlines were softer.

Tower of God: OMG color in manga?!!

And finally, I came to the realization that what I was reading wasn't manga. I've watched enough anime and read enough manga in my lifetime to know that names like Han Shinwoo aren't Japanese.

Turns out, what I've been reading was a Korean webtoon published on a website called Naver, which is like the Google of South Korea. The artists who create these webtoons are professionals, who put out a chapter a week with few exceptions.  And the writing for these webtoons are actually good! "Annarasumanara" was one of the best comics I read in 2013 and the art in particular was unique and stunningly beautiful.

Annarasumanara: I love the color contrast

I believe digital distribution is where the manga industry is eventually headed. Imagine manga in full color! Publishers could do that if they didn't have to worry about putting that in a magazine with a circulation of a million people. Naver has proven that webtoons work, and that they work very well. Japanese publishers has been slow to adapt, but there are still signs of technological shift. The remake of "One-Punch Man" by Yuusuke Murata is currently being published digitally on the Young Jump Web Comics site. In the west, many of us have been consuming manga from fan translated scans for as long as we can remember. But Crunchyroll has recently announced their simul-pub releases of several popular manga, including "Attack on Titan".

Webtoons open up a new realm of possibilities for manga, manhwa, and comics as a whole. Maybe artists and authors can pick out background music to play as we read. Or maybe they'll start incorporating gifs? Would that even be considered a comic anymore? Will the comic format become more and more cinematic as tie goes on? I don't know. But as a manga enthusiast, the possibilities are exciting. I look forward to the industries' future.