What running taught me about death

See if you can spot the parallels between running and the day of judgement

I made you this voicenote incase you want to listen along.

I took up running several years ago. And you’d be forgiven if you thought that I loved it because I recommend it so enthusiastically. The truth is I don’t love running, I just love what it teaches me.

Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Whether or not you run, I would highly recommend signing up for a big race in the city - especially if you’re a Muslim.

On the day of the race

You are herded by an official according to your level of training and rough finishing time.

People who you don’t know, and who are not running have been assigned jobs, and they are at checkpoints telling you what to do. You follow orders or you don’t compete. You don’t question, you don’t push back. You just hand over all your extra possessions, crammed into STRICTLY one bag. So you’re left with whatever is on your person, including your choice of running shoes and your distraction mechanism.

You get a tag and you attach it to your shoe of choice. This tag tracks your every move and has been assigned to you. You have to wear it until you’re told to stop.

This is now how you’re identified by the organisers, that and the number you pin to your chest.

Your number is on your front, your declaration is on the back of that number. You declare and sign that you bear witness that you understand what you are about to undertake, that you are of sound mind and that you understand that you are responsible for your health and wellbeing and nobody else is responsible for you.

This declaration is in contact with your vital organs throughout the entire experience. Once you have signed this, you’ve understood the rules of engagement, you have the free will to do as you please.

The queues are silent

Even though you’re amongst thousands of people in every direction, nobody really speaks to each other. Even though you are all about to do the same thing. You’ll see everyone in their own heads, silently grateful to the previous versions of themselves. The one who woke up before the sun to run on those pitch-black nights. Or you see faces filled with regret, knowing that this will be harder than it needs to be.

I exaggerated - there is some chatter, mostly those who might have come as a group. Although you spot the matching outfits, you realise they’ve been split up according to what they each predict in their attainment as well, a few might still be together, but you know this will not last. They are also preoccupied with what they’ve put forward, you know because they discuss this loud enough for you to hear.

The queues move forward slowly from check point to check point, then to the starting line. More time to mentally rehearse, maybe visualise things you did and didn’t do. Try not to regret missed opportunities even though they’re the loudest noise in the crowd.

The elites

They have already completed the race. Their fanfare is being broadcast live on huge screens as you inch forward. And as you are a regular person, you get to watch their celebration ceremony.

You are suddenly aware of how unfit you are in comparison to these super humans. No matter how much you practised, you realise they just did more. But you make excuses as to why you’re not on that screen, why you’re in this queue instead. And as you do this, you realise the only difference between you and them was that they really REALLY tried, every day, and you had just as many days to do everything they did. The only difference is that they did it.

Still, you watch this. While you unconsciously rehearse all the things you’ll do when this is over. But only you know what you’ve practised and how much this will hurt you. And only you know how strong your legs have become over all these runs. Secretly though, you’ll always wish you did more. You’ve reached the start line.

The siren sounds

And you begin to run.

Thousands of you are all in the same direction. You’re running on streets that are usually described as “bustling”. They’ve all been scrubbed of regular users and completely shut down for this event. Every single person and car that you could have sworn would be there every day for the rest of time is now elsewhere.

You’re all going in the same direction because you can’t go back. If you could somehow stop and turn, then the droves of runners would run you over, and if they don’t, then the organisers would force you to head forward. There’s nothing for you back there anyway.

So you carry on.

Some people are cheering you on from the sidelines. You don’t know them, you’re only interested in glancing at your own loved ones to motivate you to push on. You see them, it works momentarily, then you’re on your own. You and the training left in your legs and lungs, You carry on.

The tag on your foot is measuring every step you take, as well as everyone else’s. You contemplate the amount of organisation and preparation that has gone into this accurate gauging of performance. It means you can’t cheat, but there’s no glory in cheating anyway. So you carry on.

The sidelines are now mixed with competitors who overestimated their ability and momentarily collapsed. The organisers help them recover and get back to the race, it’s the right thing to do. Even though the running is getting harder to maintain, you’re grateful that’s not you. So you carry on.

The crowd that was so tightly packed has dispersed across the trail, and each person has their practice to thank for their exact attainment. It gets lonelier towards the end, but at least it’s towards the end.

So, you carry on.

There are signposted milestones

You’ll know you’re making progress as each mile has its different trials. As you carry on, you’ll continue to see occasional projections of those who have completed. You’ll hear cheers to help you continue. You’ll smell your own sweat, and feel your heartbeat speed up uncontrollably as everything starts to hurt. All of this, and still, you know only your practice is what’s helpful.

Eventually, you’ll taste the sweet success of the finish.

You’re greeted with congratulations

You’ll get a medal, and before you know it, there is somebody at your feet to remove your tracking tag. You receive water and food, and you marvel at the organisation again. And these are just humans. As you’re taking in life after the finish line, your phone rings with a personalised message with your exact attainment. The time you started, the time you finished, and how long that took. Undeniable.

You look for your loved ones in a sea of people. It’s a beautiful time. You’re glad you finished, but somehow you wonder if you could have done better if there’s a next time.

They’ll ask you how it was. You tell them it was hard and you disliked most of it.

You ride the tube home, and you feel like you know a lot more about judgement day.