Life in MicroChasm

As far as I am concerned, roughly two weeks ago we entered the "sweet spot" of the year.  I am well aware of the fact that summer's unofficial beginning beckons.  Whether I realized it at that moment or not, I have been looking forward to "Summer 2021" since I first slipped a mask over my nose and mouth way back when in March 2020.  

A couple of weeks ago, just before April's end in fact, sunrise broke through the six a.m. barrier.  I love the early morning and ever since sunrise became a "5-something" proposition, I have gotten back into the routine of running before I head off to work.  This morning, sunrise here in my little town was/is (depending upon when you read this) 5:39 a.m., which means (for you non-early risers) there is "usable" daylight by 5:20 a.m. or so.  Translation:  I can get out and run by 5:20 a.m. without searching for a miner's helmet and other gear designed to illuminate and to amaze.  

Once upon what now feels like forever ago, I was capable of running long distances.  I have run in nine marathons.  I have, on at least one occasion, run close to forty miles in a single day.  That, however, was then.  

This is now.  

Now, my pre-work morning run resides in the neighborhood of two miles, give or take.  I am happy that I have fallen back into the habit of doing it - and have for roughly the past month or so reestablished the routine of running five days out of seven - but I am a bit gobsmacked over just how far I have fallen in a relatively short amount of time.  2017, when I ran in the Marine Corps Marathon on October's penultimate Sunday and then, two weeks later, ran in the New York City Marathon on November's first Sunday feels as if it is a million miles away.  

A couple of Sundays ago, when I stretched the distance I covered out to a whopping 2.5 miles, I found myself reminiscing about the New York City Marathon and contemplating trying to get into the 2021 Marathon, which will now serve as the 50th Anniversary Edition of the race.  A day or two later, on a morning when the pollen count was set at "chewable" and I struggled home after only a couple of miles, I realized what a foolish notion it was I had entertained two days earlier.  

Whether I am capable of running the New York City Marathon now, or am more likely to end up a whimpering mass curled up in a ball on the shoulder of one the Queensboro Bridge's travel lanes, suspended forever between egress from Queens and ingress to Manhattan, I know not.  I do know that at this moment in time, right now, I cannot wrap my head around doing all that must be done between this day and Marathon Sunday to ensure that I am in condition to run 26.2 miles through New York City's five boroughs.  

Life is indeed a forward-moving exercise.  For me, however, it appears as if it shall never again move forward from the Verrazano Bridge in Staten Island to the finish line in Central Park.  This particular chasm between what I would like to do and what I am actually possess the ability to do, appears to be one whose distance I shall never close.

-AK