We call it “The October Romp,” this event we have run/walked in, starting 20 years ago. I’m talking about this weekend’s Twin Cities in Motion run/walk lollapalooza of a movement celebration.
For my family and me, our story started those two decades ago when I was about to turn 70 and a nephew, 40. Why not, we asked, celebrate our October birthdays by doing the Twin Cities Marathon? We did, and my daughter, then in her 20s, joined us. As I recall, I was one of the last to finish, the sweeper right behind me. I don’t have the body of a runner; I don’t look like a runner, but I do something that gets me down the road. Suffice it to say that daughter and nephew, both real runners, finished hours before me. But oh well, we all felt terrific, full of joy, unity, connection. Love.
After that marathon, I returned for a 10K (6.2 miles) to mark my 80th birthday. I can still see my daughter, leaving her 7-month-old son with his grandfather and other family members, sprinting down Summit Avenue as I made my way up the other side. There’s a turnaround, and she was homeward-bound.
And now, various family members and I have returned the last 10 years to either run, walk or both in the 5k (3.1miles). That’s what we will be doing on Saturday. I will trot/walk in the back of the pack, a fine place to be even if you don’t gasp in disbelief every time you write your age. My family of runners who will be out there: two nephews, 60 and 62, both with October birthdays; my daughter, 46, and her sons, my grandsons, 11 and 8,
So. Are you looking for joy? Unity? Optimism? Who isn’t these days? Come join my family and me for Saturday’s event, or choose another this year among the many offered by Twin Cities in Motion, amazing purveyors of organized fun. (Kids are free.) Just try staying bleak as you run, walk, jog up and down Summit Avenue and then sail (some of you) into the Capitol finish line. Try hating your neighbors’ politics as your fellow Minnesotans on Summit come out with drums, music, chants and dancing to cheer you on. I challenge you to not feel the beat — the compelling beat — of all of us helping each other down the road. I’m talking here, of course, about the more leisurely participants, not the gods and goddesses out there setting records. It’s almost like two sports: that of the front of the pack and the back of the pack. (I’d love to see a few more little old ladies out there.)
Of course there are the endorphins — the feel-good buzz from exercise — and I’m here to thank Twin Cities in Motion for my drug all these years. I’ve been a Minnesota fan forever. (I grew up in Red Wing, and now live in Wisconsin.) I want to thank your state for what feels like enduring joy and optimism, despite some horrific, indescribable heart-, body- and soul-rending incidents. Racism is a huge and complex subject that has to be addressed thoughtfully and meaningfully, of course, but I fantasize, perhaps naively, about more people joining the moving throngs of runners/walkers. If they run and walk together, breathe together as they make their way, maybe we can learn to better understand each other.
In a political climate in which the word (and the idea of) joy is being demonized, I commend your Gov. Tim Walz for daring to announce, “We’ve got a chance to spread joy to this country.” He, as a candidate for vice president of the United States, unabashedly evokes the emotion often. As does Kamala Harris in her run for the presidency. “I find joy in optimism,” she has said. And “I find joy in building communities.”
This is a moment for me in which I sense an almost cellular craving for collective joy and optimism. The “audacity of joy?” Yes. Coupled with President Obama’s “audacity of hope.” And I even think back to the 1960s, when I was women’s editor at the St. Paul Pioneer Press and Dispatch, when President Kennedy chided us about our lack of “vigor,” only he said “vigah” with that Boston accent. He, in another American collective moment, said our lack of vigor showed in the fact we probably couldn’t walk 50 miles and dared us to do so. I did, with my Pioneer Press colleague, sports editor Bill Boni — who then walked an extra two miles because he was 52.
Our bodies are meant to move. Movement connects us, enlivens us. As we lament our lack of a shared reality, a run/walk gives us one. Together we pump up the hill, handed to us early in Saturday’s 5K, and then we breathe together, making our way, individually and together. The finish line beckons and our breath quickens. And then … we did it! Victory.
Obviously I am viewing our upcoming event as a metaphor for our sought-after unity. I also view run/walks as a metaphor for life, with hills and valleys, hard and easy moments, and then, that finish line! That is one thing, for sure, we all share … the finish line.
But meanwhile, let’s romp!
Margaret (Belden) Crimmins Mason, women’s editor of this paper in the 1960s, grew up in Red Wing and now lives in Appleton, Wis., with her husband Carlyle. She formerly worked as a reporter and editor at The Washington Post, finished (slowly, but happily) seven marathons, and loves teaching yoga.
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