Do You Know What I Mean?

One of the most notable things about the wait at the school at Hopkinton was that one of the friends with whom I traveled brought a tarp.  This is not a rookie thing to do.  But it is something that experienced Boston marathon runners will often do.  The tarp is cheap but big enough for however many people to sit on rather than sitting on the damp grass first thing in the morning.  And the tarp is small enough to be stuffed inside one’s race bag if necessary when done.

Where we set our tarp down was near a sign on the field that proclaimed “Welcome to Hopkinton.  It all starts here.”  And we were also near a screen with some video (including text messages that were coming in—a sign of the times) and an announcer. 

The announcer had about 10-15 minutes of material that he pretty much kept repeating.  It was all well intentioned. It was useful information—the first time I heard it.  Thinking back, I know he was announcing some of the things that were available that morning.  Runners could get free pre-race massages.  Runners could listen to a sports psychologist talk about how to run a great Boston Marathon.  (All of this between my arrival at 7 and needing to get to the starting line by 10.)  And one of the most commonly repeated refrains being that there was an official photographer from the company that was handling pictures that could be purchased taking pictures by the sign about Hopkinton.  Every time the announcer talked about the photographer he was quick to add that when runners were in line they should be ready to step up when their turn came up and they should be ready to show their number since that was how the pictures would be provided to the right people.  Finally, he commented multiple times on how all this needed to be done quickly.  Given the number of runners, if all 27,000 registrants showed up and wanted their pictures taken and even if each took only 30 seconds, that would be 13,500 minutes.  Since there are only 1,440 minutes in a day, it was simple enough to do the math and recognize that I would take several days.  The announcer used multiple ways of describing the situation but made it clear that we would all be there until several days later (sometimes he talked about Friday or next week) and the race would be over and that would be less than ideal.  And at the end of every time that he made this statement he would say “You know what I mean?” 

I didn’t count the number of times that I heard “You know what I mean?” that morning, but it seemed like it must have been at least dozens and it may have been over 100.  At the end of every “paragraph” of his speaking he used exactly the same phrase.

So, as I think about my reaction to the situation that began at 2:50 PM on that afternoon—long after the last time I heard the announcer at the field ask “You know what I mean?”—I think about how I have processed it.  As I have mentioned several times in this cycle of writing and trying to let go, I have noted my understanding or lack of understanding (I suppose in this context knowing or not knowing) what was meant by this experience. 

What did the attackers mean?  How rational were they?  What was their rationale?  Did they have a clear rationale or not?  They meant harm.  Clearly.  What else did they mean?  Did they mean to slow an entire city down for a day—almost a week?  Did they mean to inspire terror or fear?  Was it a political statement?  I still don’t think that if one of them were to ask, “Do you know what I mean?” that much of anyone would be able to answer the question with anything other than the reply, “To cause chaos.”  And, if that were their only intention, they were incredibly successful.

I also think about what the event meant.  I wrote in my first post-marathon entry about a sense of needing to life live to the fullest.  But is that all that it meant?  Some have noted the “There but for the grace of God go I” feeling that comes from an experience like that one.  In a conversation with one colleague when I made reference to the fact that I figured he could imagine what I was feeling, he informed me quite plainly that he could not and that he had no idea.  So, he would answer to me, “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

And then there is life outside of running, and trying to figure out if people know what I mean and if I know what other people mean.  Personal relationships.  Do my wife and kids know what I mean?  What I hope?  What I aspire to in my new job?  What I think will happen in the long run after a transition period?  And do I, in turn, hear them and know what they mean about certain issues?

For people with whom I work now, do they know what I mean and do I know what they mean?  And how does our relative position impose upon each relationship a need to understand what is meant in either direction.  I just read something on this evening’s flight that said that sometimes in a workplace setting that something has to be said seven times before people get it. 

Circling back to the field at the school at Hopkinton, I suppose after hearing the message about available services, getting a photograph taken, and getting to the starting line each dozens of times, that is why I knew what the announcer meant.  Spiraling around one final time to the inauspicious events of April 15 (other than having to pay taxes), I am not sure that one apparently loosely organized terror incident with a response that was effective but for which some have questioned the implications for civil liberties, we still don’t necessarily know what the attackers meant or what it means to our society.  For that, I hope we don’t need six more events to find out.  I fear what seven of these events would mean to our society.  

Compartmentalization

I have been thinking about this topic since the first time that it was revealed that one of the individuals who is believed to be responsible for the bombing was a college student who otherwise seemed like a reasonable person.  I recall that immediately after he was identified an NPR employee from the Boston area was talking about the fact that he had been to her house for a prom or after-prom party.  He was described by any number of people in any number of ways--charming, charismatic, etc.  People were completely taken by surprise that he could go from being an apparently otherwise normal person in his late teen years to playing a role in bringing about three deaths, injuring over 200 others, and shutting down a metropolitan area for an entire day--April 19 when the hunt was on and the entire area was on lockdown.

Living a compartmental life that is that separated would seem to drive a person crazy.  And yet, when I think about it my own life has its own share of compartmentalization.  I am a husband,  I am a parent.  I am a runner. I am a Sunday school teacher.  I am a worship band musician.  I am an academic administrator.  I am a teacher.  I am a researcher.  

People in one part of my life don't always know people in other parts of my life.  People in one part of my life don't know what I am doing in other parts of my life.  I am the only one who connects it all.

And connecting it all is a non-trivial issue.  There are lots of things that I try to keep in a very tidy order.  There are some things that I try to keep as separated as possible.  Not to hide one compartment from another.  But just so that I can have a clear sense of organization in my life.  There are some things that should be shared across compartments in my life that are not shared when the should be.  Sometimes that is very costly.  Waiting or forgetting to share something can lead to all sorts of conflict.

I am sure that I am perceived differently by people in the different compartments of my life.  Some people see me as the dad who does everything.  My wife sees me as the spouse who doesn't help at some things that she values nearly as much as she would like.

Even the running that took me to Boston is sometimes a source of conflict.  And that is the point at which I find myself confused and disappointed.  Running has become a strong source of my identity. But so is being a husband and a parent and all the other things.  And there are not enough hours in the day to live out all the dreams for all of the compartments in my life.

I wish there were.

But my job is to figure out how to fit the compartments together.  And to fit them together in a way that reflects the priorities that I should have.  Sometimes figuring out what the priorities "should be" is non-trivial because the important people in the different compartments don't agree.  Then, my job as a connector becomes even more important.  And even more challenging.

So, I look at someone like the accused in the Boston case and I wonder how he was able to live a life so compartmentalized and in a way that totally hides from people in one compartment what is going on in another compartment or compartments.

I hope I never have to feel the need to separate and hide the compartments of my life to that degree.

Instead, I hope that the parts of my life can be better integrated and carry me into a happy and well-rounded future together.  And hopefully to find success and fulfillment in them all along with the people in each of the compartments.  

Complexity of Moving On

When I wrote yesterday, I mentioned a conversation with a nursing colleague from West Virginia University in which she indicated that she thought my idea of blogging/journaling out my issues was clever.  Today, I had a meeting with a colleague from the Johns Hopkins School of Nursing.  He had known that I was running the Boston Marathon.  After another colleague I had not seen since April 15 came to say hello, my colleague commented on how much he felt bad about not asking about the race.  When I mentioned my blogging, he reminded me that he had begun as a clinical nurse working for the Department of Veterans Affairs and that he had worked with many veterans who suffered from post traumatic stress disorder.  In our roles as evidence-based researchers, he pointed out that there is actually good evidence that journaling (I’m not sure whether it included both privately and publicly in a blog form) could help with post traumatic stress issues.  That is good news for me.  Perhaps my 26 petals into the wind idea will work.

Yet, I have to say that the news of the past day has also illustrated to me just how complex emotions and feelings around a negative event can be.  The news this morning indicated that the two accused on causing the explosions at the Boston Marathon had actually been planning to attack the July 4 celebration in Boston.  However, it appears that when the two who were accused realized that they had all the materials and could assemble the bomb early and they saw the preparations for the Boston Marathon they decided that would be a good target.

When I started the process of writing 26 essays, I thought that all I had to overcome was what I was feeling and what I knew on the day I began.  I had not anticipated the fact that more news would come out.  And that as more news came out, my brain, my heart, and my soul would have to process and figure out what to do with this information.  I thought that I could be rational about putting the stresses, strains, and heartfelt pains of April 15 behind me as rationally as I would make a career decision or a decision about the next project to take on at work.  I had not completely realized that emotions are not something that can be dealt with as rationally as other choices in life. 

Why do I find the new news that the Boston Marathon may not have been the original target of the bombers disturbing?  Well, it comes along with desiring things to be rational.  As just noted, I hoped that my emotional pain could be dealt with rationally.  But it cannot.  From the first moment that the bombing was revealed on April 15, I hoped that the explosions could be explained rationally, but they cannot.

Why would rationality make me feel more comfortable?  I am not sure.  I can always ask why anyone would bomb the Oklahoma City federal building.  To me it makes no sense.  But at least there was a clear target.  I can ask why anyone would take the even more hideous action of crashing airplanes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.  There seemed to be a purpose.  It was not a good purpose.  There would be no good purpose.  But at least I can understand the target and the motivation—even if a wholeheartedly disagree with both. 

In contrast, we have the events of April 15.  Two men who didn’t seem to have much of a plan other than to cause havoc.  Two men who may have had a plan but who changed the plan on a whim.  Two men who appear to have struck out at whatever was the nearest big event that just happened to come along.  That is something that I truly cannot comprehend and that for some reason bothers me more.  At least when there was a clear target, I can understand how I might avoid being present at a target.  But when individuals choose simply to strike out in what seems like a completely random way there is no way to avoid it.  There is no where to run (no pun intended) or hide.  There is simply a need to accept the fact that there is always a risk. 

This actually bring me to an important concept from economics.  The difference between risk and uncertainty.  Risk is something that is known.  Something that is understand.  There is a risk of dying when running a marathon due to a cardiac event.  That risk is not well defined but there has been some research.  I can look up the figures.  I can understand it.  I can describe it.  I can communicate it to others. 

But the unpredictability of the possibility of a terror attack at a race is true uncertainty. Even if I disagreed vehemently with some of the policies Donald Rumsfeld advocated when he was in the Bush Administration, I liked one thing he said.  It was something to the effect of distinguishing between the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns. Or that sometimes a person doesn’t know what he doesn’t know. 

I know the risk of dying from running a marathon.  I don’t know if it will happen to me.  But I understand what I don’t know.  Contrast that with the possibility of a terror attack.  I have no idea of what the risk is.  I have no way of defining that risk any more accurately.  I suppose I could say that I know that I don’t know the risk.  But I don’t even know where the risk would come from.

Running a marathon—I control the risk of death from running a marathon.  Terror incident during the marathon—no control.  Terror incidents in general in seemingly random places.  No control. 

I don’t insist on having control over everything in life.  But I do like to have some appreciation for how much control I lack.  In this case, I simply have no way to conceptualize the lack of control. 

This realization makes me appreciate how complex it will be to move past the events of April 15.  Twenty-six essays will help.  They may or may not move me completely past the events.  Only time will tell.

Hills and Analytics

Last night, I left my office at 4 and drove to Morgantown, West Virginia, to lecture at the West Virginia University School of Nursing today.  It was a very nice lecture with great questions and afterwards I had a quick lunch with the former Dean of the school who asked me how the idea of the writing to work out my stresses came to me.  Other than I have always written and it has helped me to work out my stresses over time, I didn’t know what to answer.  I suppose the 26 essays for a 26 mile race could be called cute or clever (the latter being her word for it) but I can’t imagine that I am the only one who has taken to writing a lot in some format.  All my format does it provide some coherence and gives me a sense of when I will reach my goal.

As the days go on we get more news.  The surviving brother accused of the bombing sent a text of “LOL” to his friend when his friend texted the accused that he looked like the suspect in the picture.  Apparently the young man had even bragged about knowing how to build a bomb.  And his friends tried to help to protect him.  All of this leads me to believe even more that the young man who my friends and I just thought was acting like a real jerk on April 15 at about 3 in the afternoon at the government center stop on the green line of the T may truly have been the surviving accused.  How many people out there would joke about such a thing?

But setting that aside, a drive from Baltimore to Morgantown is characterized by one very important feature.  There are lots of hills.  Now, the hills between Baltimore and Morgantown are bigger when you get closer to Morgantown. And if we were to think about them as hills on a race we could think of them as rolling hills rather than the mostly downhill first half of Boston and the four distinct uphills of the second half. 

Combine the analytic nature of what the investigators are finding about the continuing flow of evidence in Boston with the thinking about hills, and what do I get to write about today?  An analysis of my race.  How the hills affected me?  And how the hills brought on the unexpected.  How hills have repeatedly brought on the unexpected for me.  Yet how similar my last three races have been.  While this theme is only weakly linked to the negative events of the day that I am trying to toss aside like petals plucked from a flower, even simple reflection on the positive aspect of running the race itself will help me to take one step closer to putting the negatives behind me as well.

With that in mind, let’s look at what I ran—based on my Garmin watch.  One note before I start—the Gamrin tells me I ran 26.4 miles.  Perhaps I added a bit by running from side to side to get water at the different water stops.  I won’t ponder this too much because if my average pace was correct and I had just run 26.2, I would have qualified for Boston again next year.   Not that I have any thought of doing it again next year, it would simply have been nice to know that if I wanted to I could.

Setting that aside and focusing on how long it took me to get from the start to the finish regardless of how many miles I ran to get there it is interesting to note that my last three marathon finish times were all within 91 seconds of each other.  I ran 3:15:45 at the NCR Trail Marathon in 2011.  I ran a 3:14:25 at the Lower Potomac River Marathon in 2012.  And I ran a 3:15:56 at the Boston Marathon in 2013.  And that Boston run was with a lot more base but only 4 weeks that I ran between 40 and 50 miles and just 2 weeks when I ran more than 50 miles since the first of the year.  That was all I could manage and the runs were high quality, which was the focus on the training.  I can’t say how I would have done if I had run more miles.  And it doesn’t matter as I didn’t.  The training is done.  The race is done.  I ran exactly what I trained to run.

I can also look at splits and compare them.  The NCR trail marathon began just a bit faster than the Boston Marathon.  But I was able to run the NCR trail marathon much more consistently hanging around 7:20 until the last six miles.  And even the last six miles were held under 8 until the last 2 when we had to run uphill.  Of the three races to compare, the NCR Trail marathon actually had the slowest time at 20 miles, but I hung in well until the very end.

Lower Potomac also started a bit faster than Boston.  In fact, the time remained faster until the conclusion of mile 16.  I’d say I overdid it at mile 16 in Boston as I ran a 7:02.  But I don’t think it was really all that bad as I continued to run and even pulled a 7:10 at mile 22 in Boston (fastest mile 22 by far) but then closed with three miles at 8+.  What helped in contrast at Lower Potomac was the flatness at the end.

My body knew how to handle the mostly flat NCR Trail marathon but didn’t know what to do with that final uphill.  My body made the most of the flat ending of Lower Potomac to open the door to Boston in the first place.  In Boston, my body didn’t know what to make of the first 13 miles downhill and just had nothing left to give to try to pull those last three miles back down.  Through mile 20 was my fastest ever.  So I was doing something right in terms of the slower start and then picking up just as I had discussed with my main running mentor.  What was most interesting was that in the mile that included Heartbreak  Hill I still ran an 8:04 and managed to run a very respectable mile after that.  It was simply that I reached a point at which I really couldn’t get going “fast” again.  I realize that I know many individuals who would be hard pressed to run one 8:11 mile—let alone close out a marathon with that being the slowest mile.  But it was not fast for me.

If I had it to do over again—I don’t know that I would have done anything differently—except to find a way to dig a little deeper at the conclusion.   And if I ever do get a chance to do it again, the whole goal will be to reach the last five miles and put myself back up against the test.  Looking at the last three marathons the path to 20 and what I ran at 20 was highly variable.  The paths through the last 10K were also highly variable with one slowing down but not too much—one being somewhat slow and then really slow—and one being a mix of up and down in the last six. 

Just as I didn’t know what the hills would bring that day—either while I ran them or in the aftermath—and I did not know what the hills would bring today—other than a great opportunity to present my word—I look ahead to new challenges.  Understanding them somewhat in advance.  Being on the lookout for completely unanticipated events along the way.   Making the most of every opportunity and every challenge that presents itself.  And praying to God and for St. Sebastian’s intercession that the dreams and opportunities that motivate the journeys through the challenges will not ever be swept away from me like they were for so many on April 15.  

Everything was in a Fog

It seems like I have gone on for days relating aspects of my tattoo to the events in Boston on April 15, 2013.  Obviously, I never intended to get a tattoo that would have so many symbols that would lead me to keep the events of that fateful day front and center in my thinking and in my life. However, that is what I am left with, and there is at least one more aspect of the tattoo that can be tied into the events of a bit more than two weeks ago.

When Emily was starting on my tatto she had a pencil drawing that was very detailed and very crisp and clear.  Everything didn't necessarily obviously go together but everything was drawn extremely neatly and fit together in the image quite nicely.

However, as she did the outline and began to think about how to fill in the parts of the image that were around the two humans in the tattoo and in the light, she decided to add some mysterious fog.  Mysterious fog was her terminology.  I could not make this up.  So on my tattoo in the part of the scene that is behind St. Sebastian and Irene and in front of the buildings that are in the background, there is some fog.  It does not distort any of the front images but it shows up well in the "light" and helps to remind people that things are not always the way they look and that sometimes we have to look very carefully before we can drawn any conclusions.

What is the link between fog and the events of April 15?  Well, it goes back to being just outside city hall.  Much like many other things from April 15, there will be positives that I ean focus on and negatives as well.   The positive (well, mostly positive) experience that I associate with City Hall was the free runners' dinner.  Multiple types of pasta and meet. Much bread.  Good beverages.  Salad and dressing.  And when all was said and done a nice goody bag.  

While the dinner was excellent and it was very nice to have had a second straight dinner with Rob and Christian, there were also downsides even to the dinner. It was very chilly and the wind was whipping around fiercely.  We survived dinner, but it was not as care free as we would have hoped it could be.

If that had been my only memory of city hall and government center, then I would not have foggy memories of the City Hall area but only positive ones.  But I have another memory of city hall.

The fog comes mostly from one comment made by a kid in his late teens exiting the station at government center at the same time we did when we leave the T's green line after the explosions.  We had to leave the train as it had only been planned to go to government center.  Upon our arrival we were forced to ground level and the number of emergency vehicles with sirens blaring that passed by us was quite amazing.  We were just in a tizzy trying to figure out how to get back to the hotel without walking the whole way.  We figured a cab would work and not be too expensive for any one of us as there were three of us.  But it took a while to find a cab since there were a bunch of other people looking for cabs and city hall was not crowded that day since it was Patriot's Day and a holiday after all.

In any case, as we were walking away from the exit of the subway station, we heard a kid who said, "Run, run".  That was crystal clear.  The three of us together thought it was just some kid being a complete jerk.  This was especially true since there were friends with him who gave a nervous laugh.  

However, it was what came after that that truly made my head spin and the memory become foggy. I swear that the kid said, "Oh no.  Don't bother it is over."  Even if he did not use exactly those words, the three of us in our merry band from Baltimore agreed that it was a very strange thing for anyone to say.  We just figured the kid was being even more of a jerk than any of the three of us could have imagined.

So that is where the whole thing gets foggy to me.  When we saw pictures of the accused on Thursday it occurred to me that the picture looked an awful lot like the kid who had yelled to "run".  Had the person known something?  Had he been involved.  At the time, we didn’t stop him because we really yl

Will I ever know for sure if I was on the train, or in the train station, or even on the plaza with the accused bomber?  Probably not.  Not unless someone as part of the investigation puts together more or less a play by play of the kid’s actions and makes it available to the public.  That alone would be fairly disquieting.  And enough to put my mind in a fog about the trip away from the green line that afternoon and the post race experience generally.

It it also foggy to know whether we should have done anything else at the time.  In the end, I suppose we really did not have enough information to do anything more than to wonder just how much of a jerk the kid was.  If it was the accused bomber, then that tells me just how hard it can be to take action sometimes.  And how hard to even know whether to take action.

I did at least send an email to the FBI.  It turned out that the events of April 18-19 were beginning just as I sent the email, so it probably didn't make any difference.

It just left me even more uncertain.  Why did it matter where the guy was relative to me as long as I did not get injured?  And could I have done anything even if I had know?  Certainly nothing to change any of the relevant outcomes.

I don't have any idea what I thought the accused bomber being in the same space as me would have done for me.  He would not remember me any more than anyone else on the train. I was not a threat.  

It just leaves my memory of the day (particularly the area around city hall) in more of a fog than I ever would have imagined on a sunny and cool Monday morning.

I do have to admit to a huge sense of relief when it was announced that he was caught.  Even though I was not in direct danger, I just achieved satisfaction from knowing that is appeared that the authorities had things under control.  The sense of uncertainty leads to a fogginess that I found intolerable and distracting for at least the first week.