Dearest Rachel –
It feels wrong, almost like cheating, to write to you about something I didn’t do over the past weekend. And yet, there’s been this sense that I owed you (or somebody) an explanation for this choice of activity – or rather, inactivity – this weekend, as I’m not out cheering the runners on throughout the Chicago streets like I’ve been for the past few years.
Sure, I could offer the stock excuse of having the responsibility in the booth, but I knew this was coming – it happens every year on Columbus Day weekend, after all – and would have had plenty of time to block it out on my schedule so I wouldn’t be assigned to work over this particular weekend. Heck, even Junior took yesterday off to cheer on his wife (wonder if he wore that same shirt he had on when I ran into him a couple of years ago), although he did do a turn at the lectern on Saturday – which I missed due to the road trip down to Macomb, which my producer and his boss graciously allowed me to skip if I couldn’t make it back in time (and to be honest, we didn’t, although the service at the Des Plaines campus was still going on when we dropped Kerstin off and headed home).
Not that the road trip would have been a suitable excuse, either; Erin came with us to the memorial service, and she still managed to line up with the second tranche of runners the next morning (and completed the course in under four hours yet again, too!) Given that the chase around town from one checkpoint to another is far easier than actually running through the city (although it does pose its own logistical challenges), using the trip as an excuse doesn’t seem satisfactory either, even though I could argue that driving and riding aren’t quite the same (and everyone else in the car would be likely to let me get away with that argument, for that matter, given that no one else really seems to like driving like I do).
Bottom line, my heart’s not in it the way it once was, and I’ve sort of walked away from the runners. Oh, if I hadn’t been scheduled in the booth, I might yet have gone, but that’s all hypothetical at this point. I’m pretty sure I’m as into the whole event as I used to be.
It might be due to a certain amount of growing discomfort with the charity under whose banner most of the participants from our church run (and, additionally, the fact that Erin didn’t run with the team last year, although I guess she’s back with them this year, if I understand correctly). I’m not doubting that they do noble work – certainly, there’s no end of wells that need to be dug to provide clean water for every village in Africa (which is a big continent, after all) – but I begin to wonder about the behemoth organization that it is; is there a point where an operation gets too big to be nimble enough to address problems?
It doesn’t help that I’ve heard that the money they bring into certain countries in order to do the work they set out to accomplish represents nearly half those country’s GDP (although to be fair, these proportions may be outdated by now). Between the influence they have because of that, and the expectation of perpetual support imposed on it from the nation itself, that can’t be healthy. These nations are effectively living on (and expecting) what amounts to handouts, rather than learning to take care of themselves and their people. I’m not saying there’s any corruption within the organization, but its size and wealth breed power in places, and that’s a perfect petri dish for that sort of thing. Now, you have to understand that none of these misgivings should be directed at the runners themselves, but you can understand why I’m not as enthusiastic about offering my support.
Interestingly enough, the Honduras mission runs on a principle of giving “a hand up rather than a hand out”; and I mention this because they’re fielding runners this year – including Junior’s wife, as it so happens. Now, this might be a reason for me to be more enthusiastic about supporting this new team, but with other friends and acquaintances running in each of several different teams, it felt like having divided loyalties.
In the end, I simply didn’t bother to block off the weekend, and let those in charge of scheduling decide whether I would go downtown or not; given my usual situation, it would be a fifty-fifty chance either way. I drew the assignment for the weekend (along with another assignment in two weeks – which means I might be free to look up “Lee” this coming weekend, if she’s free), so the decision was made for me. Any further explanations or excuses would just pile on from here.
At the moment, though, it feels like the end of an era; an era you never even got to see. Then again, there’s no reason I can’t be back at it next year – that phrase is, after all, a Chicago tradition (which we’ve just had to use yet again in the latest bit of sportsball) – so for now, we’ll just have to see how things go. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d continue to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, as I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 