Markers

I happily straddle the digital and analog worlds when I run. Thanks to triangulation with silver geostationary birds floating a few hundred miles up in space, I can rely on my old Garmin 235 to record my distance and pace. I get as anal as the next person about letting the satellite-tracked data guide my effort. If I am .05 of a mile short of a distance goal there is no question about adding extra steps to get the digits to hit an even number. If my screen says my lap pace is slower than planned, I am going to speed up even if I feel winded.

But non-digital tracking also plays a frequent role, especially when I am doing some type of speed workout. The top of a hill, a big rock, an oak tree, a warehouse, a parked red car, a telephone pole, a highway overpass, a painted line on the track: these are the kind of markers I love to shoot for. 

The other day I was doing a four-miler on a rail trail. The plan was to go easy to the turnaround at the Really Big Rock (2 miles, exactly) and then alternate sprinting and jogging every quarter mile all the way back to the car. I didn’t need to check my watch because some very kind soul had spray painted white hash marks every quarter mile on the side of the trail. Those little lines are surprisingly easy to see from far away when you are looking for them. 

As I finished my last sprint I slowed to cool-down pace and began shuffling my tired legs to the parking lot. That’s when I noticed that I was walking over the remnants of a swastika painted by some very unkind soul. I hadn’t noticed it on the way out because someone had done a pretty good job erasing it, although their graffiti-removal effort had more or less preserved the general shape of the offensive original. 

I’ll be heading back to the trail this weekend for some more sprints. But I’ll also have a spray can of black paint in hand to finish the job of erasing this analog sign of hate, making sure it can’t be seen from far away or right on top of it, by those who aren’t looking for it and those who are.