The Great Equalizer

If you ever want to internalize the basic truth that underneath it all we’re just human, do a sport. I’m talking about a level of activity where folks aren’t expert but doing it to expand themselves with serious commitment. This is where you'll find people from all walks of life come together, put themselves on the line, and with great cooperation work together in the same boat. I was a runner for many years and swam some. I saw how easily we can drop our pretentions, forget our differences, dissolve our social strata, and meaningfully connect with others for the sole purpose of realizing a shared, mostly inconsequential, but dearly held dream.

There are as many drivers of this as there are sports. In the case of running far in the mountains, this includes relieving yourself behind the bushes, sweating and stinking like a trash can, suffering physical duress in the open, and failing miserably--all of it among other folks doing the same. I can promise that these experiences will erase any pretense or exclusivity, inferiority or self-doubt you might have been apt to employ in your non-running life. These are some of the many aspects of sport that will bring you to your bare, human core and to a place of equality with your fellow participants. From then on, you’re in service to each other and bonded for life.

If you haven’t engaged in sport to such a degree, you might not know this feature of the pastime. But if you have, you well know that perhaps the most valuable gift sport can give you is this bit of lifelong wisdom: when a group is stripped down to its elemental creaturehood, with its needs out in the open and quite real, it begins to function as a loyal and cooperative body of support. And it’s a loyalty blind to where you came from, what you believe, or who you are in your ‘regular’ life. I can’t tell you how hopeful and helpful this is to discover.

With distance running, at times our creaturehood shows up in anger, stubbornness, despair, worry, and resignation.

But longevity in the sport will ultimately require a development of key traits: flexibility, humor, charity, trust, courage, humility, and acceptance.

I’ve noticed that even though the various sports differ quite a bit from each other, they share a reverence for certain ethos that develop according to the environment or process that the sport requires. For trial running, one of the deeply held ethics is to have as little impact on the trail as you can. I know this holds true for hikers as well. ‘Pack it out’ means you are loathe to drop any smidge of litter from your person, although if you should do so accidentally without realizing, then the fellow behind you will gladly pack it out for you instead. It's a value that is directed to something external to the person. It’s a willingness to take care, and it creates a common ground based on something neutral but decent. This is an equalizer.

To an outsider of sport, the dazzling feature of any sport is often the arduousness of the activity or the skill that is required to participate in it. But to the athletes who’ve practiced the sport long enough, the sport’s identity is more about the team allegiance and camaraderie that develops from shared challenges. You can readily see this in runners, basketball players, swimmers, soccer players, gymnasts. The list goes on.

I was part of an ultrarunning community in Virginia for many years. To an outsider, the sport might seem mindboggling due to the distance the runners cover at one time. This is what stands out. But to the runner in that community, the distance is barely noticed. It’s true that covering a long distance sets up the very difficulties in front of you. However, what floats to the top of your memory over time is the valor, kindness, and encouragement shown by friends and strangers on the long journey.

Yes, it’s tough, but it’s also extremely beautiful to be in the woods under an autumn moon with friends, each of you silent and contemplative, making your way down a challenging trail. And you use this type of support system in the heat of a summer day in the middle of nowhere, when the others are yakking and laughing preposterously over some ridiculousness, because this buoyant mood easily distracts you from the arduousness at hand. And when a near-stranger by your side in a race emotionally pulls you along to the next aid station, dedicated to you in those moments as much as they might be to their best friend, you will recall that kindness long after any memory of the rest of that day fades.

At long-distance trail races, everyone shows up having trained very hard for months, bringing great hope for a good performance, whether that means finishing in the top or finishing at all. Yet, it’s the norm for any of those runners to halt their progress to come to the aid of an injured or troubled runner, sometimes turning to run back towards the start—adding on time and distance--to get help from a prior aid station. There isn’t a second thought given. This is equalizing. This is being in the same boat.

What I learned from all of this is that we have the potential to see anyone as worthy of our best. This is cause for hope when things seem sticky and problematic in my local circle of people, in my country, or in the big wide world. Even when folks don’t end up finding common ground, at least I harbor a tiny powerful secret: they had the ability to do so.

I don’t run anymore, for better or worse, but I swim a little. There’s a group around my area that gathers to swim in the local waterways. The fellow who runs the summer swims is an ex-Navy SEAL and he has a man who helps with administrative details who is the father of one of the regular swimmers, a young woman who is a medalled Special Olympics athlete. From what I can tell, the swims draw four types of folks. Triathletes, Special Olympics athletes, long distance swimmers, and people like me who are out there looking for a little adventure on a Sunday.

We will gather on a pier and listen to the Navy SEAL tell us a useful but repetitive announcement as we adjust goggles and wipe sunscreen or various other goop onto our bodies. Then we descend the pier’s ladder and off we go. We swim big loops around a set of large buoys. Volunteer folks in kayaks keep an eye on us. It’s a vibrant and cheerful scene.

My favorite part of the swims is seeing the little blurs of small, inflatable, brightly colored buoys dancing atop the water around the loop. These are attached to the backs of new open water swimmers if they prefer. For whatever reason, it gives me great comfort knowing that people are under those buoys. Otherwise, you can’t see anyone at all the whole time, save for a patch of splashing that gradually moves along the surface of the water. It’s nothing like trailrunning, alas. There is no yakking or bursts of laughter. There is no verbal encouragement of each other. There is only silence, save for a constant sound of bubbling past your ears. Yet, still there is a feeling of, how shall I say, being in the same boat.

When our time is finally up and we’re pushed to the shore by the kayaks, we will pull our bodies back up the ladder and onto the pier to dry off with towels. Folks mill about getting their belongings together. Some set off to the coffee shops nearby to visit for a while. A few of the triathletes prepare to hop on their bikes. And then there is me and the famous swimmers from the Special Olympics putzing with our stuff. We chat aimlessly, and I learn as much as I can about what it’s like to travel to faraway places and swim in such a big contest. I ask questions about open water swimming, about gear, about any old thing. And they share with me anything they know and anything they want me to know in that moment. I look at their faces and think about how much they must truly love to swim, and how proud they are, and I feel a welling of inspiration. I see what amazing human beings.

This is an equalizer.

My youngest son coached soccer during high school. He allowed me to help by being his admin assistant. I handled all the emails to the parents of the 8-year-olds on the team. Over the seasons, we got to know three different teams of little boys and their parents. What I noticed back then was not lost on me. Even at that early age, the kids would give each other high fives during drills and on the sidelines of their little Saturday games. Even then they knew to support each other and to congratulate, to care when there was difficulty, to deflect when there was frustration. It would break your heart with bliss if you saw it.

We’re so good at supporting each other. We’re naturals at creating circles of help. When real trouble comes, we will offer a helping hand in a heartbeat. I find, too, when I offer that hand to myself, I have the foundation to offer it out to others. But then the reverse is true. When someone steps up to help me, what’s the first thing I want to do? Join the circle.

Have an inspiring week, friends, in whichever of your circles.