I saw this post on Facebook just now about a woman who was killed last year here in Bucharest, while jogging, by stray dogs. It was a bizarre, ranty, angry post going on about how the system doesn't care about this great injustice, and how it's somehow the government's fault. Not the fault of the people abandoning or hurting these animals, and certainly not the fault of said jogger who insisted on running in an area well-known for its violent strays, where she had been attacked before. I mean, as sad as the particulars of the death may be, I still believe we owe the universe some personal accountability, you know?
(There's a lot of that about - a total dismissal of personal accountability. Now, whatever happens to us must be someone else's fault. It's never reckless, or heaven forbid, stupid of us to go tempting fate. Though I remember quite clearly that used to be an option on the dashboard of life.)
Anyway, what caught my eye was a phrase used by this impassioned ranter about the lengthy marathons this lady used to run, and how the government wouldn't even bat an eye at those.
I thought, I'm sorry, was she running for the Prime Minister?
Whence this bizarre entitlement? Why should I, the PM, or anyone really be impressed or in other way particularly interested in some rando's choice to run 50 km?
Obviously, good for her. I think running is good exercise, I have friends who run, and if one of them were to talk to me about it, I'd be as supportive as with any other form of physical exercise.
Personally, I'm trying to level up my splits this year (carry over from last year). When I achieve that, I may boast to a couple of people I know. May talk about it with a fellow yogi. But I don't expect the universe at large to give me a round of applause. Certainly don't expect the minister to be impressed. I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it for me.
While it's natural to be proud of your physical achievements, some people take it to the next level, and a lot of runners have this tendency. Lionel Shriver captures this arrogance wonderfully in The Movement of the Body Through Space, a lovely little tale about an older man who decides to take up running as a sort of answer to a mid-life crisis. Within weeks, he's taken over by this amusingly infuriating zombie brain where nothing matters more than his runs, all he wants to talk about are his runs, and he predictably expects a round of applause after every lap. Much to the chagrin of his wife who, albeit a lifelong runner, has never bought into the trend of running. Sort of ran before it was cool type.
It pokes great fun at people taking themselves too seriously, and also at how eagerly we latch on to any and every movement, idea or trend in an attempt to define ourselves.
Much as we might enjoy certain sports, diets, or hobbies, they don't actually encapsulate our entire personality. And while our progress ought to be a source of personal pride and satisfaction, it is not something watched on the big screen by large swatches of the population. Nor should it be.
Obviously, it's not just runners. Gym rats and many other enthusiasts have also adopted this feeling of entitlement. What chafes about it is that somewhere underneath, there's the impression that they are doing it (running, lifting weights, etc.) for some invisible spectator.
What's happened with the strength and self-assurance to stand on your own two feet, say "this is important to me", and be content with it?
You're the only person you're running for or jogging for or lifting weights for or learning the splits for. The minister doesn't need to know. Or care. But perversely, our entire spectator-culture seems to think they should. After all, we spend so much time observing what random strangers are doing through an online lens. If you look closely, our butts seem to have scooted surreptitiously backward, and there's always some breed of fizzy drink clutched tight in whatever hand isn't holding the remote. The Homo Observer is advancing in vaguely sluggish strides towards the 21st century, as the next installment of our little soap opera called The Human Species.
I've never understood things like marathons, personally. Never was interested in stopping and just gawking at them. If you're my friend and running in one, obviously, I'd come support you as presumably it matters to you. But I'm not gonna stand around and look at random people running. I mean, good for them, it's probably great exercise, but it seems bizarre. It becomes more about the show than the exercise. After all, you don't stop a random stranger jogging along and hoot and pat them on the back? Wouldn't wanna be considered a perv or weirdo trying to chat them up. And yet, they may have, that very day, achieved a new goal in their private, running journey. So it's entertainment. How could it not when these events rely heavily on masses of strangers standing around, clapping and cheering? It's the definition of entertainment.
And I don't think our personal achievements should be viewed as other people's entertainment. Seems a dangerous way to measure your worth.
And it is what you're doing. Most of the strangers who'll whoop or pat you on the back after a marathon don't know you or care about the many hours you spent working towards this goal. They just want something to do on a Saturday afternoon, you know, and you've given them that. The pat on the back is seldom a "well done, all that grueling training paid off, I'm so proud of you". Mostly, it's "good show."
And is that really the best you can define yourself as? Someone else's show pony? Seems to be, otherwise we wouldn't expect random strangers to care about our personal, physical progress.
