reflection

A couple of weeks after the Arizona half-marathon, I got an email from Action Sports International, the official photographers of the event. They offered pictures from the finish line, using the bib number for identification, and of course they charged a small fortune. With shipping and such, one set of two 4x6 prints cost almost $25.

Outrageous, of course. I decided, vanity and all, that I did not need to stare at myself at this price. But I found myself opening the email more than once, always checking the same image.

It was a close-up, with my face in clear focus, and I found it unconceivable that I looked so together, so collected, so composed. I must have strained, after the last of those 13 miles, but my features bore no trace of effort or exertion. My face had a dreamy, reflective quality, as if absorbed inward, as if this encounter between myself and the finish line was more an imaginary attainment than an actual event.

I ended up buying that set anyhow. I wanted to remember that I could look like this, I wanted to believe that this was me, this dreamer carried forward by sheer inner thrust.