I wanted to do this with sprezzatura – an Italian term for the smooth, nonchalant, princely way. I wanted to do this with elegance and effortlessness. I didn’t aim to drag myself to the finish line, weary and out-of-breath. I wanted to slide with it, to be carried by it, to reach the end with reserves to spare. It was not realistic, but it was a beautiful goal to focus upon.
Here I was, pudgy and flaccid, my muscles rigid with exertion, my lungs darkened by smoke. And I was thinking of the Boston marathon, and how I would run it one day. Run it, not win it. I posses some measure of sanity after all.