Archive for February, 2010

A runner notes

Posted in My daily dose of blogging on February 15, 2010 by chicken little

I am always a runner..

That’s my thought when I witness the Rotterdam Marathon of 42 kilometers.

This year’s participants is 13.000 people, most are Dutch.
It last like 6 hours and I can see that these people are running not only for the money.

Some of the runners are physically handicapped, some are very old, some are women and some are very, very late. But they did not stop and decides to take Metro subways or tram.
They just want to finish it.
I somehow understand it. They have their own mission.

I am not good in sport, no matter how hard I try.
For example, my serves can never pass the net in volley ball.
I could stand playing badminton less than ten minutes and tennis even less than that.
I could not swim and I get the worst score in my athletic class.

My sport teachers give up and made me do some clipping and sport reports instead.
But I am always a runner. I like running and I respect people who keep running even they know they are outperformed.
My running is not the fastest, nor the longest.
But at least I could force my legs to move.

I guest this is why I still running until now. I have been a natural runner since childhood.
It bring back memories, most are bitter and childhood fear. But beneath it I could always leave those memories behind, until I could see nothing but lights and hear nothing but my heartbeat.
After that, I feel like reborn.

I don’t remember my first run, but my mother told me that the first time I could walk, I don’t walk. I just run. At that time, my mother used to tell me not to run because it is dangerous, but mostly I don’t listen to her and I end up bump into anything.

I remember running in my junior high school.
Not in the running track, but along the school hall to buy the exam papers for my class (in that school, to follow exam, you should buy exam papers).
I was the smallest, and once the dumbest.
My classmates are a bunch of rich and the richest who value other by their cars, branded stuff and possessions. So, in order to fit in, I just have to do as they told me. I have to buy the exam papers for the class while others are busy reading the last minutes exam material.
Did I feel sorry for myself?
I run very fast so they have no time to read anything anymore. Later I think, perhaps I did run to rebel from their tyrant.

I was always running when I come home from school. My school is far from my house and I have to walk to get there. Along the streets, I see many things. Animals and people, both are mostly unfortunate. I think of them and question myself. Are they wasted?
Are these people wasted? Are they live they 50 years of life, or more, to become poor?
Allah is not sleeping, said my mother every time I asked her this.
This answer is indeed able to comfort me.

Lately, when I run, I remember my father.
Before I go to Netherlands, I always run with my father during weekend. Not far, just in my residential area, around Lebak Bulus stadion.
My father..
I guess in my eyes, I will always see him as a runner himself. Not as a champion or anything, but in a kind of sad ways, more like a defeated hero.
My father, he tries very hard in his life, but this world has been cruel to him. That is just the perfect words to describe him. I guess, this is why sometimes I picture him as a beaten soul. To me, he is like a stubborn looser, in a kind of heartbreaking way.

Only when we run together, I sometimes could catch that flame in his eyes, his faded dreams, hidden somewhere in his fragile pride. He will tell me about his magna cumlaude, his Nestle and Stanpac interview. He will tell me about his jobs and presentations. The one he could achieve long time ago before his series of dark ages.
In his life, he has nothing to be proud of, but only me and my sister.
He told me this again and again. Again and again.

My thought aren’t renewed, I will always see him as the little fragile thing of mine.
But my running contemplation sort of changed me, for now as I grow wiser, I slowly accept him wholly. As the matters I didn’t knew before, now as clear as crystal.

People always run in their life.
What matter is whether they are running from something, or running to achieve something?
This philosophical side of me sometimes dramatizes my running process, as If I see drama through my eyes while running. I see couples in love, I see hatred and i witness sadness. I see people younger then me, older than me.
I watch the leaves are falling from the trees, i see clouds in blue sky. I see life.

I then begin to questioning the end.
Do I run to Allah?
Do I selfishly running from Allah?

You can say that I am such a melancholic person, but I am the kind of person who always feels lonely. I am not spoiled that I feel miserable with this feeling. In contrary, I do ‘use’ this loneliness to get me out of any kind of dependence, humanly bond, or possession over something or someone.
It is not eternal, anyway.
Nothing is matter but Allah.

By running I contemplate this feeling, my fear, and my hopes.
By running I constantly remind myself, that I am alone.
When my runnings are faster and faster until I hear nothing but my heartbeat, I am becoming a loner in the crowd. Like it’s just me and Allah.
Then I pray to Allah when I run.