PEOPLE VERSUS SYSTEMS

It is often said by enlightened Christians (or any socially engaged group, for that matter) that its is people and relationships that are most important, and not systems and programs. That is to say, invest your time in connecting with humans, not in hiding behind events and processes.

And while I agree with the sentiment, I also want to put forth a truism about the opposite principle. I just finished reading Jim Collins' "Built to Last," and in it he talks about the great leaders being "clock builders, not time tellers." In other words, instead of being good at telling the time, the most effective managers put forth the effort to build a clock that would help others tell them time long after they had gone.

I was talking with a friend of mine who works for Mission Year, a Christian organization whose focus on relationships first is so important that it is in their battle cry: "Love God. Love people. Nothing else matters." And yet he agreed with me that it is important to build programs and procedures that outlast the individuals that run them.

We acknowledged to each other that it is tempting in Christian organizations or in non-profits that are social-impact driven to be focused on people. Whether it feels mistrustful to put a policy in place instead of counting a person to do something, or it feels noble to give good-hearted people leeway to use their instincts, subordinating people and relationships to standard protocols can seem inflexible and cold.

And yet -- without losing the personal touch -- such a slant is vital. I have seen too many churches and charitable groups who crumble after their charismatic leader moves on. I have seen too many big-hearted people burn out because too much of the success of their ministries and work depends on their efforts and insights. Our goal as Christians and as social change agents is to effect progress that outlives us, so we must be clock-builders, and not just time tellers.

The life of Jesus is an instructive case study of a "third way." Clearly, His life work outlived His earthly ministry. And yet how He made an impact was through relationships, through touching the lives of those around Him, and through molding twelve followers who would continue to propagate His essence and message long after His death and resurrection. May we who seek to be kingdom builders be Christ-like in this way among others: that we put people first, but that we value processes and systems that enable the cause to continue beyond our human limitations.

WOULD THEODORE ROOSEVELT HAVE BLOGGED

One of my all-time favorite books is "The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt," by Edmund Morris. The biography chronicles the pre-presidency years of my favorite president, and is as rich and saucy as its subject.

I remember thinking as I was reading it for the first time four years ago how remarkably detailed of an account it was. I was impressed not by Morris' careful scholarship but by Roosevelt's prodigious documentation. Whether it was letters to colleagues or books he wrote himself, Roosevelt produced a vast amount of writings. For the intellectual challenge, he often read up on subjects of interest, like insects or naval history, and then wrote about them, not just musings but authoratitive treatises. And he wrote early and often, to relatives, friends, and professional colleagues, allowing us a window into his values, ambitions, and convictions.

I wonder if TR lived today, whether he would have kept a blog. I'm sure he would have. Today, I encouraged a good friend of mine who is joining an innovative Christian missions movement in South Asia to continue to write about his journeys and ideas. For unfortunately, it is the road more traveled that is replete with tome after tome; the interesting stuff all too often goes unchronicled. And future generations miss out on the awesome lessons and minor miracles. I'm sure glad TR "blogged" a lot, and I aspire to be the kind of person and to write the kinds of things such that people are reading my stuff a hundred years after I've written it.

POLITICAL POSITIONS

My wife and I filled out an online survey this week where you chime in about your political positions and it shows you which party and candidate you are most closely aligned with. I encourage you to do the same: go to www.ontheissues.org.

Anyway, this sparked some really good discussion, so I figured this was good blogger fodder. Of course, if I ever run for president, my opponent will find something that I’ve changed on and call me a “flip-flopper.” Or will that be called a “Kerry” by then? Sorry, low blow.

So here are my one-paragraph comments to go with each of the questions this online survey asked, as well as the 2000 presidential candidate I am in closest agreement with:

1. Abortion is a woman’s right (oppose). Certainly, I despise the Moral Majority’s high and mighty attitude, which comes off as so anti-female and sexist. Nevertheless, in morality and in policy, I do not believe abortion is a matter of a woman making a choice about her body, as though it were like plastic surgery or piercings. (Most like: Buchanan, Keyes, Bush, McCain)

2. Sexual orientation protected by civil rights (support). I personally believe homosexuality is a sin, but then again I also believe sex before marriage is a sin. And while people who sleep around before marrying aren’t being teased, attacked, and tortured, homosexuals are. We must protect them from such atrocities. (Bradley, Gore, McCain)

3. Organized prayer in public schools (support). Some would say organized prayer makes those who are atheists feel uncomfortable. I think you can – in fact, you must – have organized times for prayer that are open enough to allow for the diversity of faith backgrounds of our children. (Keyes, Buchanan, Bush, McCain)

4. Death penalty (strongly oppose). It says something that I think Iran and the US are the only countries that allow for the death penalty. Both morally and practically, I don’t think the death penalty should be on the table. I suppose this is (pardon the pun) political suicide, since you have to show that you’re “tough on crime.” Don’t get me started on who that means you’re really tough on – see below. (None)

5. Mandatory “three strikes” sentencing laws (strongly oppose). Seems too arbitrary, since your three strikes could be for a whole range of crimes. Isn’t the fact that a convict has had priors already built into the sentencing decision? Why require a mandatory punishment then? (Bradley)

6. Drug use is immoral: enforce laws against it (strongly oppose). While I won’t go so far as the conspiracy theorists, I will say that the “war on drugs” is a sham. Hindering the supply has only enriched the suppliers and upped the demand, and the racial make-up of those arrested is way out of proportion. (Bradley)

7. Allow churches to provide welfare services (strongly support). This really should say “faith-based organizations,” but I still support the statement. You mean good-hearted people want to help others in need? Gee, why don’t we let them? (Bush, Keyes, Gore)

8. Link human rights to trade with China (strongly oppose). OK, I’m flavored by the recent atrocities in Abu Ghraib, which make it hard for us to take the high moral ground on foreign policy issues. But even before that, I was under the impression that opening trade was a way to have a say in how a country treated its people, rather than shutting down trade until that country treated its people right. Plus I’m an avid free-trade guy. (Bush, Gore, McCain)

9. Require companies to hire more women/minorities (support). This is not inconsistent with my business mindset. I believe it is best for the company in the long run to hire for diversity: 1) for the great women and minorities that other companies might miss 2) for the broader overall perspective that a mixed team brings 3) for the reputation you develop as the kind of company that does the right thing. (Bradley, Gore)

10. More federal funding for health coverage (oppose). I’m a “market forces” kind of guy, and so even though everyone should be entitled to a minimum amount of health coverage regardless of economic status, I am generally uncomfortable when it comes to government intervention in something that could be more efficiently managed by the market. (Buchanan)

11. Privatize Social Security (support). See above. Let consumers have choice, and educate them. SS money is long-term stuff, so it’s actually safer to inject a little risk into the mix. (Buchanan, Bush)

12. Spend resources to stop global warming (support). Now here’s where there is a market failure that the government can plug with its resources. Spending money to mitigate the effects of global warming is a long-term economic gain, but one that involves short-term cost. Not a formula for the markets to have an incentive to lead. (Bradley, Gore)

13. Make income tax flatter and lower (support). The quintessential Democrat vs. Republican question. While special times (like now, for example) call for special sacrifices, and while I don’t believe that anything trickles down the way the Reaganites say, still I prefer for more money to be released into the market than held by the government. Call me a fiscal conservative. (Buchanan, Bush, Keyes, McCain)

14. Immigration helps our economy -- encourage it (support). True on a local and national level. But for the xenophobes and those who blame immigrants for “taking our jobs and using our social services,” none too popular nowadays. Still, for many reasons, immigrants are good for America. (Gore, McCain, Bradley, Bush)

15. Support and expand free trade (support). See above. The more free trade, the more everyone wins, including and especially poor nations. This is an important one for me. (Bradley, Bush, Gore)

16. Continue foreign aid to Russia, Israel, and others (support). With riches and power comes responsibility. Unfortunately, too often humility doesn’t come along. Still, this is one that is a net gain for our economy in the long run. (Gore, McCain, Bradley, Bush)

17. Absolute right to gun ownership (oppose). The second amendment was for another time. Whereas drugs are an issue of addiction and rehab, guns are just plain dangerous. Guns don’t kill people; people with guns kill people. (Bradley, Gore)

18. Parents choose schools via vouchers (oppose). Call me a fan of the local school, but this is one instance where I’m not a fan of encouraging market forces. Vouchers often mean the rich get richer and the poor poorer as it relates to schools, and I’m not convinced that parents choosing schools leads to kids getting a better education. (Gore, Bradley)

19. More spending on armed forces personnel (oppose). I’m forever changed by Sider’s Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger. The insane amount we spent on defense under Reagan has only slightly abated. Give me that money to lessen poverty, hunger, and disease, and I promise you a much safer world for America than by using Star Wars or stationing troops into the hundreds of thousands all over the world. (Bradley)

20. Reduce spending on missile defense (oppose). See above. (Bradley, Gore)

UN-AMERICAN?

On the subject of the prison atrocities in Abu Ghraib, the comments with the most emotional charge seem to be the ones condemning such abuses as "un-American." The patriots, who have taken the high ground in calling the war on terrorism the kind of fight for liberty that the US stands for, have expressed moral indignation that this small minority of prison guards and military officials would do something so base.

Whether or not you find the words of Bush and Rumsfeld inspiring or hypocritical, I want to call attention to the concept of degradation as un-American. On the one hand, we are a nation that stands for dignity and against barbarism. I am proud to be an American because I believe it means I stand for things greater than myself. I am proud of America because it stands for the right things, its national DNA encoded by documents such as the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and the Gettysburg Address.

But there is a difference between what is American in an ideal sense and what is American in a historical sense. Historically, America has had its dark moments. The 19th century, a century of progress and industrialism in the US, was largely built on the backs of Chinese, Mexican, and Irish laborers. Black people by the millions were enslaved and in most instances violently kept in place by their masters. Parade Magazine, a paragon of friendly, non-threatening medical advice, uplifting personal stories, and celebrity gossip, ran on its cover today the story of the massacre at Wounded Knee, just one of many instances of white Americans murdering native American men, women, and children.

And let's not just limit our spotlight to the past. Institutional abuse goes on today in our prisons, hospitals, and mental institutions. The legacy of slavery in America continues on, in the form of savage inequalities in schools, police brutality, and other blatant as well as subtle forms of racism against African-Americans. And almost 100 years after Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle," we can still find unsafe work conditions in our food manufacturing and processing plants.

I personally do not argue with people who say that the prison abuse in Iraq is un-American, because such atrocities are indeed unlike the ideals America believes in and fights for. But let's be clear here: just as we Christians desire to be without sin but must admit that we sin, so we Americans ought to desire to be morally righteous in our treatment of others but also admit that we too are guilty of the vilest of deeds. The Bible does not forbid us from judging, but rather from judging without adequately judging first ourselves. And so we ought to continue to fight against human rights violations around the world, even as we are realizing that we are among the violators.

STAYING SANE IN THE CITY

The thing that can be hard about working for justice in the inner city is that you wonder sometimes if all of your efforts are making any sort of difference. Injustice and evil can seem so entrenched that it can be hard to see and celebrate progress. Political corruption in Philadelphia has chewed up and spit out people far nobler than me for the past fifty years. Brown vs. Board of Education was fifty years ago, and yet our schools are going backwards in being integrated or equal. Poor kids on the margins of a booming economy grow up and become poor adults, just as marginalized, just as unfairly as fifty years ago. If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, waking up each morning in the city and tackling these injustices can make a person go mad.

What keeps me sane (not to say I succeed every day in doing so) is to remember that my job description as an urban Christian is not to effect these necessary changes. It is on God to be God: to rule in our hearts, our relationships, and our systems; to redeem, to punish, and to forgive; and to show us facets of His Kingdom here on earth while He prepares us for His Kingdom in heaven.

It is not my job to be God. It is my job to be faithful to God. What keeps me sane in the city is to realize that while I might wake up, work for justice, and go to bed and not see any measurable progress that day in the things that matter to me -- while I might work for an entire lifetime and see things get worse -- I can say that I served the purposes of God in my generation.

It is a subtle idol, but an idol nonetheless, to kneel at the feet of ministry success; to measure the worth of one's life and the utility of one's work by the tangible, measurable progress it helps create. To need to be successful, even and especially in the noblest of causes, is still a false god, inferior to worshipping the true God and doing His will without needing the validation of success to keep you going.

What will be most pleasing to my God is not that my work is met with smashing success. Nor that I slowly go insane if my work produces dulling stalemate. What will be most pleasing to my God is that -- whether the fruit of my labors is smashing success or dulling stalemate -- I have been obedient to do and be as He has willed for my life. That's what keeps me sane in the city.

"And let's not grow weary in doing good, for in due time we shall reap if we don't grow weary." -- Galatians 6:9

I WISH I GOT TO BE THE YANKEES FOR ONE DAY

Ever since I've taken on "COO" responsibilities at the small non-profit where I've worked for the last nine years, I've fancied myself as not unlike a Billy Beane. For those of you who aren't baseball fans or who haven't read Michael Lewis' best-selling book, Moneyball, Billy Beane is the General Manager of the Oakland A's, a low-budget organization that has consistently fielded a winning team for the past few years.

Like a savvy value investor, Beane is able to cobble together a winning team because he sells players that the market overvalues and buys players that the market undervalues. For example, if an minor-league athlete is, well, too athletic, the scouts will like him too much, and Beane stays away from him; but if the athlete is fat or throws funny or can't run, but all he can do is play ball, Beane wants him. Because he knows that in baseball, it's not a Mr. Universe contest: fat, funny-throwing, slow players, while cheap, can consistently beat over-priced studs who may or may not have as much baseball talent.

Now I'm obviously not suggesting that my employees are fat, throw funny, or run slow. But I do feel like Beane in that I have a third of the Yankees salary and have to field a winning squad. Somehow, I have to find extremely intelligent and driven people who are willing to jump into the fire, be their own secretaries, and work for pennies on the dollar of their true market worth. And, like the rush I'm sure Beane feels when he kicks the Yankees' butt, it is very cool sometimes to look around at work and take pride at the beautiful, magical, special people that are assembled together to say no to the world's treasures and say yes to important economic development work and urban innovation.

But sometimes I long to be in Yankee pinstripes. (And believe me, growing up rooting for the A's, that is a hard statement to make.) I wish I could afford to pay these great people what their blood, sweat, and tears merit, to surround them with the support staff and physical resources they need to work even more magic. But we serve in an underresourced community, so by definition, we lack resources in comparison to other places not far from us geographically and intangibly. It is a truth that drives us to work where we work, but that makes our work harder too.

I'm glad I'm like the A's, because there's something special about being the underdog, about assembling the fat, funny-throwing, slow guys that no one else wanted, and turning them into champs. But every once in awhile at work, I wish I were the Yankees.

SCARCITY OR ABUNDANCE

One of the really hard things about working for a small non-profit and about serving in the inner city is the huge disparity between the vastness of need and the dearth of resources. There's so much to do and never enough horses. My ambition is great but the bank accounts of the organizations I serve in are so miniscule. The harvest is plenty but the laborers are few.

Whether it is as an executive vice president of a business development center, or as an elder of an urban church, or simply as a young Christian living in the city, I always feel like I have to feed 5000 with five loaves and two fish. Everyone under me at work is severely underpaid and overworked, asked to accomplish big hairy audacious goals with minimal or even non-existent budgets.

Meanwhile, at church we labor to keep up an old facility, nurture a growing cadre of young'uns, and fulfill the grand missions God has laid on our heart. But for as cheaply as we do everything, and for as generous as we are as a congregation, each year we spend a little more than we bring in.

I once heard a colleague of mine talk about "the abundance mentality" versus "the scarcity mentality." He argued that it is so easy to think that resources are scarce, and that when you think in terms of relative abundance, you can get down to the business of doing great things.

And I want to believe him. But I wonder sometimes. In following Jesus sometimes we end up in under-resourced communities, which, by definition, don't have enough to go around. God's miraculous provisions in such situations are, again, by definition, the exception and not the rule.

To be sure, it is a wonderful thing when God sends a grant in our direction at the last second, or a deceased congregant bequeathes her life savings to our church. But I wonder if God sometimes doesn't answer our prayers for miraculous provision so that we will learn to trust Him in times of scarcity, too.

In other words, maybe it's OK, instead of thinking, "y'know, we really do have it abundantly here," to sometimes just say, "y'know, we really are dealing with scarcity here." Sometimes, God does turn five loaves and two fish into dinner for 5000. But sometimes, I think, He just wants us to bring those five loaves and two fish, and know that even though they might only be enough for a handful of people, we're still willing to give them up for His purposes.

READING THE BIBLE THE FIRST TIME THROUGH

I'm studying 1 Kings right now in my morning devotions. It takes me back to a time about ten years ago, when I first read 1 and 2 Kings. Concurrently, I was part of a Bible study that was going through the gospel of Mark, and I remember how John the Baptist fancied himself a forerunner for Jesus, an evolutionary Elijah. As I concluded 1 Kings ten years ago and headed into 2 Kings, I predicted to myself (since I was a relatively new Christian and really didn't know a whole lot of what to expect in 2 Kings) that in the same way that my Mark study had revealed similarities between John and Elijah, that my reading of 2 Kings would show similarities between Elisha and Jesus.

Sure enough, as I got into the meat of 2 Kings, themes from Jesus' life, which were fresh from my mind from my group study of Mark, started to pop up in the life of Elisha. There was opposition by mean men, tenderness towards women, and a sense of divine anointing. Even the details of the miracles seemed to run parallel: supernatural multiplying of resources, cleansing of lepers, and resurrecting little children. My heart practically leapt every morning as I read such things, and I even had a little trouble falling asleep at night because I was so excited to wake up and see Jesus in the prophet Elisha.

Alas, ten years later, like many Christians, I don't have such a freshness when it comes to morning Bible study and prayer. Oh sure, there is realness: I have many things I want to bring before God, and there is substance to my desire to truly have an authentic "moment" with my Maker. But there is less zest, and it is not because it has been replaced by a quieter, maturer love. LORD, may every read of Your Word arrest me with affection and seriousness as the first time I read it through.

GOD IS MY CO-PILOT

I had a dream the other night. It was one of those, “I’m in a foreign situation and I’m panicking” dreams. You know, the ones where usually the setting is your high school or college classroom, and the test is being passed out, and you haven’t studied? Dream interpreters out there, what does it mean that I have that dream a lot?

Anyway, this time I was sitting in a cockpit. We were on the ground, but I could tell from my adrenalin that we were about to take off. And as I surveyed the complicated controls, I knew there was no way I would be able to get this thing off the ground. I didn’t know the first thing about any of the gauges, levers, or buttons. And I started to panic.

And then God sidled up next to me and buckled Himself into the seat next to me. And all of a sudden, my panic turned to peace. I didn’t need to know how to pilot this plane, because I had Someone next to me who was more than able to get us off the ground.

And then I woke up. And I knew immediately what the message of the dream was: God is my co-pilot. Though my life complicates and the controls are foreign to me, I need not panic. I can have peace. If I can recognize that there is Someone next to me who knows what He is doing.

BROAD STREET RUN

I participated in my first ever Broad Street Run this morning. It’s the 25th year Philadelphia has hosted this ten-miler, which has become the second largest race of its kind in the country. This year, 12,000+ runners competed! What a spectacle. Some highlights from my morning:

6:00am. I groggily roll out of bed and my legs still feel sore. When you run regularly, they never really do feel good, do they? And yet I was hoping a good night sleep and a pasta dinner would put some spring back into them. No such luck.

7:00am. Having packed all my stuff the night before, I head out of the door and slowly make the ten-minute walk to the subway station. Halfway there, I realize I had thought about packing a towel but never actually did it. Drat! And it’s supposed to be humid today. I’ll just have to live with my own sweat for the whole morning. So will everyone else around me. I haven’t showered, shaved, or even put on deodorant, because I figure, why mess with my usual pre-run routine?

7:30am. I make the transfer from the Market-Frankford Line to the Broad Street Line at City Hall, but three straight Express trains zip by me and several other runners without stopping. They’re all full of runners, who drove their cars to the finish line and are getting a ride to the start line. Finally, a very full Local train stops, and all of us disgruntled runners mash our way onto it. Being a Local train, it makes all eight or nine stops. I think I’m getting queasy from all the body odor, lurching, and this one tall guy who’s cracking a bunch of jokes that are getting less and less funny.

8:10am. Finally, we arrive at the start line. I have to pee, change, drop off my bag, run a little, and stretch. Since there’s a line for everything, I quickly realize I won’t have time to do everything. But I know I have to pee. The lines are so darn long, though. I notice a bunch of guys urinating against the wall over on the side and decide to join them. “No line here,” I crack to the guy next to me. He doesn’t say anything.

8:25am. Five minutes to start. I hurriedly stretch, worried that my muscles won’t respond to stretching cold. I worm my way to the “8 minutes per mile” section, only to hear the announcer say there’s a fire truck a couple miles ahead, so they’ll have to delay the start. I take the opportunity to sprint off for a minute or so, sprint back, and then re-stretch. I know: I’m a freak.

8:45am. And they’re off! I’m shooting for 80-82 minutes (i.e. a little over 8 minutes per mile), and I know I’ll be tempted to go out too fast. So I try to keep it cool. But being a loner runner, I’m just not used to running with so many people, and the adrenalin starts to kick in. I hit the first mile marker at 7:53. It’s a tad too fast for my liking, but then I decide, let’s see how long we can hit 8-minute miles. For the people I pass, I wonder why they decided to line up ahead of me; obviously they should’ve been in a lower “minutes per mile” section. And for the people passing me, I tell myself that I’ll be passing them eventually. (Of course, 5-6 miles from now, I’ll be thinking the opposite: as I drop back and people pass me, I wonder if people are thinking I went out too fast in the beginning, and as I pass people, I wonder if I’m going to be passed by them in just a few miles.)

9:01am. I hit the second mile marker at 15:55. Awesome: almost exactly eight minutes for mile number two. City Hall, the halfway point of the race, still seems impossible far away. How long will I be able to sustain this pace?

9:09am. My next three miles are at 8:03, 8:00, and 8:01. I hit the halfway point of the race at 39:59. But as we bend around City Hall and get back onto Broad Street, I realize how helpful of a psychological marker William Penn at the top of City Hall had been for me. There is no equivalent marker to tell me how far off the finish line is. And my legs are really starting to hurt. I’ve run ten miles before, and I’ve run at this pace before, but I’ve never run ten miles at this pace before. It’s around this point in the mileage that I’m starting to head into unchartered territory for me.

9:33am. My next three miles are at 8:05, 8:05, and 8:10. I hit the eight-mile mark at 64:19. I’ve decided during this stretch that I’ll give myself a 30-second cushion above the 8-minute mile pace, and make it back up by sprinting the last half-mile at 7-minute mile pace, which is my usual length and speed for intervals (half-miles at 3:30). That’s my strategy for hitting 80 minutes even. Of course, I’ve also decided during this stretch that my legs are really killing me.

9:50am. These last two miles are painful. I can’t keep a grimace off my face, no matter how many water cups I douse myself with or how many cheerful spectators offer their support. I hit the nine-mile mark at 72:29; another 8:10 mile. At this point, I’ll have to turn up the speed a notch AND sprint the last half-mile at 7-minute pace to get under 80 minutes. Sounds good in my head, but my lungs and legs have overruled: the goal at this point is just to finish.

10:00am. I’ve decided that I will make one final sprint, but only once I’ve seen the finish line; not before. I see what I thought was the finish line banner, and kick it into another gear. I hear a bunch of “attaboys!” and “nice kick!” that keep me going. But when I get closer to the banner, I realize it isn’t the finish line. Even worse, while I know I’m in the last half-mile, I can’t pick up the finish line in my line of sight. And if I can’t see it, I’m not sprinting.

10:05am. Finally, I see the finish line, and my brain sends a signal to each leg to pick it up. They grudgingly obey. I cross the finish line, hit “stop” on my watch, and look down: 80:31. I closed with a 8:02 mile, just about as fast as I could’ve willed my body.

10:06am. I try to keep speed through the chute, but when I get to a clearing and notice signs for turning in the plastic chip on my shoe that has electronically recorded my time, I decide first to pull off to the side for my usual post-run stretch. It is at that point that I lose all of the adrenalin that had kept me going for those last two or three miles, and my body is left to feel all of the aches and pains that the adrenalin had blocked out. I immediately feel a sharp throbbing in my left knee, left ankle, and left second toe. I go through the motions of stretching, but really I’m just trying to keep from blacking out from fatigue and exhaustion. There’s no post-run runner’s high this time, just a big sigh of relief from every part of my body: “thank God we don’t have to go any further.”

10:15am. I finally get back into the flow of people, and we are spit out in the runner refreshment area. One volunteer yells out, “Water!” Another: “Gatorade!” Still another: “Yogurt!” I think I’m in heaven. I grab a bag of goodies, and one of everything free, and start chomping on an energy bar.

10:45am. The area where you can pick up your bag which you dropped off at the start line is ridiculously far away, but as I limp towards it, I convince myself that my body will be thankful for the cool-down. After I pick up my bag, I make my way back to the field where all the action is, and plop myself down for another stretching session. Realizing that the more I stretch now, the less I’ll hurt tomorrow, I stretch, on and off, for a good thirty minutes.

11:15am. By now, I’m not really stretching as much as trying to summon up the energy to make the long hike back to the subway station. I hear a rumor of some shuttle bus, but after getting sent from one place to another and seeing the pile-up of cars not moving, I decide that more post-run walking is what I’ll be doing.

11:45am. There are quite a few of us who have said no to the shuttle bus and who are limping slowly across the interstate to the stadium complex where we can pick up the subway. One fellow runner asks me, “How do the legs feel?” Wearily, I reply: “I don’t know: I can’t feel them. Ask me tomorrow.” As we wait for the train to arrive, I quickly go through yet another stretching session, since I feel like I’ve walked another two or three miles since I reached the finish line of the race, and since my legs are already starting to feel tight. I think to myself, I am going to be in some pain tomorrow.

I can’t wait for next year’s race.