Waiting

Two days until race morning, and we are at the tail-end of our tapers, waiting.  Martha ran an easy two miles this morning, driving down to Fort Macon State Park to avoid the wind.  I completed two miles also, in the same direction, but at a brisk walk.  I was filled with nervous energy, itching to get up on the balls of my feet and turn that walk into a sprint.  But there is much wisdom in that old saying by which marathoners swear:  “There is nothing you can do at this point to improve the condition you are in.  But there is a lot you can do to destroy it.” 

We have been receiving e-mails from the Race Director (organization for these events appears to be superb), one of them asking me if I wanted to lead a pace group at 1:45 (yeah, right!), 2:30, 2:45,. or 3:00 finish times.  "We will refund your registration," he wrote, "if you provide us pacing services! You have to agree to run smooth, even miles, not wear headphones, and be friendly and encouraging to anyone you are pacing."  If I had been running more races recently and could be sure of those "smooth, even miles," this would have been a tempting proposition; but I have no idea how those final miles will go and would not want to be responsible for shepherding a flock of expectant first-timers twice across that high bridge.

When I was running yesterday, I saw a big ship out in Bogue Sound, so massive that I thought the channel would not be deep enough; I did not have my camera, but it was tall enough to entirely obscure the six-story condo in Beaufort that I have learned is the Old Towne Yacht Club, a landmark that we can see from Fort Macon.

This morning I saw the same ship out on the horizon with two freighters, its silhouette hazy against the morning sky.  These freighters have come and gone at unpredictable times during our two-month stay here; sometimes the horizon is completely empty, other times they can be seen in the morning like this, or lit up at night with bright navigational lights.  Their movements are as inscrutable to me as those of the blue whales that swim deep in the ocean; I don't know what cargo they are carrying or what distant countries may be their destination, what flags they sail under.  Perhaps they are waiting, too, gathering up reserves of strength for that journey across the vast expanse of the deep; perhaps they are waiting for other ships to join them; perhaps they are singing strange, beautiful songs to one another.