50,000 stories

50,000 stories

... that said on TV about the nearly sixty thousand participants in the 2016 NYC Marathon.

Athletically, I'm not satisfied because during the first three thirds of the race, I was comfortable to finish in 3h 30', but on the ramp up to the Bronx Bridge, the last one already, the damn cramps appeared on both legs. I had between 10 and 12 k to finish, so the first thing I thought was: quit, you cannot run so many miles in these conditions. Soon, another kind of force was set in motion with the memory of Ana's smile, with the generosity of Rosa, my friends and my family, with my new brothers from Berkeley Springs, with the eyes of Luna and Ulysses, with the magic of Sheima. And with this force that has nothing to do with the muscles, I kept trotting, like a lazy wild boar, to the goal.

I scored the same time as in my first marathon (Sevilla 2015): 3h 47'. But this small disappointment was immediately forgotten in the goal, when I cried happy tears hidden under my blue poncho. Two years after starting to run, two years after thinking about this dream, this tribute to Ana Santos Payán, la Gaviera, had finally come true. There I was, walking down Central Park West with a procession of blue zombies, all of them caressing their medals. I cried like a fool, and I was squeezing the tattoo: you are in Carthage.

I walk slowly and cry against the icy wind and smile at the same time remembering.

During the first workouts two years ago, Diego, my brother-friend, forced me to run a 10k. The suffering of that distant day has been the same as in the last 10k in Manhattan. Our Buddhist motto, Diego, pain is inevitable, optional suffering. Despite the short time you had, she learned a lot from you, you must be proud. A shattered vase, a rattle found on the street, a suicidal cyclist, snow rides. The last time we went out together to run on the mountain I asked you what is behind the last mountain. You told me, another mountain. She stroked the paper.

Only ten minutes to the start, but the fences are still closed. I am sitting on the grass, relaxing my muscles, next to three Cantabrian athletes with whom I shared the bus ride. Someone crouches in front of me to tie the shoe. I look at his face. I know who he is but I cannot believe it. There, among 60,000 people, it is impossible. I doubt, and I look better, and finally ask: Luis?  People stare at us because we embrace as if a war is over. Luis is a friend of Spain, and he is the little brother of my best friends: María and Juampe. I couldn’t believe it. Luis, Juampe, and María: thank you for being at the start with us. Friends-brothers, making everything we dream come true: we live, a valley flooded by the thunder of the bagpipes, jump bare naked to the river, lie on the road to see the stars, Chicago, see it?, see it?, you will see!

-Luis? (I on my back with blue raincoat).

Starting gun.

Rosa, here I have the blue bow. Your mother, Ramona, has run with us too. A blue bow pulled on my wrist when I wanted to stop myself. On the first day of 2016 we crossed a bridge together. An old stone bridge. It was night and thick fog covered everything. We are always safe on our own shore, but if our bridges fall, we understand that they are defense and embrace. And we miss them. Rose, your generosity has made possible to fulfill this dream. Your close voice makes the sirens smile because now you are the bridge.

I arrived at 65 where I had stayed with Sheima, but it is such a crowd that we are not able to meet. An American woman is waiting for another runner, a Japanese friend.  I beg her to use her cell phone to call Sheima. I call her and tell her where I am. While she is coming, I talk to the woman. She tells me that she has preferred to follow the first two hours of the race on television, and that she has loved the personal stories of each runner. She tells me that the journalist has shouted: today the city of NY does not have 50,000 runners, it has 50,000 stories in its streets! Then she looks at me and asks me: Do you have your story too?

[Thanks to Linda Crawford, Sherry Hartman, Kate Stotler, Teresa Yost, Chus Thomas, Miguel Vos, Mercedes Vico, Patry Madden, Tonya Stotler, Chris Stotler, Mitch Nida, Angie Hott, Kristin Willard, Diego de Haro, Luis Suarez, Paco Pérez Montoya, Kika Martínez, Alex Uñas Negras, Antonio Barefoot, Rachel Hopkins, Bonnie, Wayne, Rosa Pérez Machado, Luna, Ulises, Sheima. Without you, would not have been possible this tribute to Ana, la Gaviera].

Pedro