Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

Most motorists pass them daily without a thought. Pedestrians may notice them, but not register their meaning. Dogs probably pee on their poles. Me, I can’t not touch them.

Some might say it’s an obsession. A compulsion. Actually, it’s a form of prayer. A sign of respect. A tangible means of channeling hope and goodwill to earth and sky.

They stand like silent sentries, these twenty-six signs, guarding our course and showing the way. On every run that takes us past them, PING! My hand reaches out and tags the bright blue steel. A good tap sounds solid and is followed by a resonant wavering of metal in air. In my imagination it’s as lovely a sound as the centering chime of a monk’s prayer bell.

(pictured above: Mile 1, on the Broadway Bridge over the Arkansas River)

It started about two and a half years ago. One hot summer day, following my first marathon, I was training at Murray Park. During that first race, Murray had been a sore spot. There was vomiting, crying, pain, and enough fatigue to consider laying down on the side of the path and taking a nap. Seriously. Just like your parents always want you to do on the side of the highway should you become drowsy during a long road trip. Murray Park and I were not one. It was not a happy place.

Thinking, “How do I get over this?” I gently reached out and ran my fingers along the 22-mile marathon course marker standing aside the River Trail. Right then, rather than curse the course, I said aloud, “May there be many moons of health and safe journeys here. On this course I wish only good mojo.”

I swear I’m not making this up.

From then on, I touched that little sign every time I passed. Slowly, my anxiety and self-pity waned, leaving room for an attitude of respect and gratitude to grow. As I got stronger, and made the commitment to begin training for a second marathon, I began to look forward to my little moments with that sign. Soon I was looking for the others, and repeating my little mantra at each rendezvous.

Now, as our long training runs lead us to practice on various parts of the whole course, I’ve become familiar with each one and can't pass one without that ping. They are quiet motivators for discipline during my runs. When I see them while driving, I grin. It’s like having a little secret. Each prompts a private moment to reflect on (trying to) stay positive in training and all aspects of life. Fortunately, my teammates understand, and go out of their way to ensure I don't accidentally miss any.

Mile 8.

Mile 10, on Arch Street in Quapaw Quarter.

Mile 13, halfway.

Mile 14, on Markham in front of the School for the Deaf. This one is particularly special, as I passed it almost daily during my many winter weekday outings.

Mile 15, on Kavanaugh in Hillcrest. Another favorite, if familiarity breeds friendship.

Mile 16, on Kavanaugh in front of Mount Saint Mary's.

Mile 25, atop infamous Dillard's Hill on Cantrell Road.

Mile 26, on Capitol Avenue. 0.2 to finish.

To most, these may be nothing more than metal and paint, perhaps even distractions in the city’s scenery. To me, they stand for strength...loyalty...endurance. I can hardly wait to visit them all this Sunday.

Five days to go.