A LETTER FROM CHRIS SUAREZ

REAL MEN DO CRY

5 Reasons To Cry And 5 Simple Lessons Learned At The Boston Marathon

There were tears of pain.

10 days before Boston I found myself under an x-ray machine to confirm I had a slight fracture of my right tibia. What started as a distraction when I was running, turned into an annoyance, which turned into some real pain. It takes a lot for me to go to a doctor - probably because I never like their advice. They prescribed 8 week of rest and staying off of my leg. That was 10 days before the Boston Marathon. I am not saying I made the right decision to run, but I made my decision. So naturally by mile 7, the pain was extremely present. I think the first tear of pain showed up at mile 10. The hills of Boston did me no favors, but I had made my decision. So I wiped away that tear and told myself I didn’t deserve to cry about it now.

There was a tear of fearing the possibility that I may not reach my goal.

It was probably about mile 15 that I questioned whether my body would hold up for another 11 miles. Cramping started early, but I expected that in the 70 degrees. I began to think back to past marathons when cramping literally prevented me from moving. I wondered if it would happen again, and I wondered if my friends were right - that I was really hurting my ankle for running on it against the doctors recommendation. I’ve learned not to dwell on past wrong decisions, but to learn from them.  So I wiped away that tear and told myself I didn’t deserve to cry about it now.

There was a tear of feeling that I may let others down.

At mile 18 in the heart of what is called the Newton Hills I began to feel like I was letting others down. I was running with a team raising money for an incredible organization. So many of my friends had contributed to the cause. I knew there were so many people tracking me on the marathon app at this moment, and to be honest, I was beginning to get embarrassed at my pace and slow down given the pain. I don’t like to let others down. I do what I say I am going to do. The thought of others wondering why I was slowing down, the thought of others being disappointed in me was getting in my head. At this moment I refocused and went back to my running mantras: “Your body is a machine. You were built for this. Run your race. You own this course.” So I wiped away that tear and told myself I didn’t deserve to cry about it now.

There was a tear knowing I would hit my goal.

The last big hill in the Boston Marathon is called Heartbreak Hill. I need not explain why it’s called that. But for me, it was the easiest hill to climb. The previous three were much harder and gave me much more trouble. By the time I reached that final hill, I had gone through all of the pain and all of the emotions that hills tend to bring a runner at mile 17 and 18 and 19. By the time I hit the fourth hill, I knew that I was going to finish that marathon. So I floated up Heartbreak Hill as if it was a stretch of flat pavement. I started video recording the run up the hill, literally saying that I would keep the video on as accountability to myself that I ran the whole way. After all, I’d never see the people on the sidelines again, but the video would be there to remind myself whether or not I ran up that hill. As the hill crested and I realized the hardest portions of the course were behind me, there was a tear of relief and of knowing Boston was accomplished. Yes, there were 5 more miles to get through but I knew I would hit my goal. So I wiped away that tear and told myself I didn’t deserve to cry about it now.

There were tears of being an example to my daughters.

Doing anything hard will bring us rich rewards in life. Being different is hard. Working is hard. Pushing through pain is hard. Waiting a long time for anything is hard. Reaching any goal is hard. My family has come to almost every race I have run. They experience the energy of the race. They watch thousands of people pushing to achieve - for some a life-long goal. They cheer random strangers on, encourage people they do not know, and for a day become part of that local city and community. Most importantly my children see me choosing to do something I said I was going to do. I am not an elite runner and never will be one. I end up in the middle of the pack. It means half of the people out there each day run that race faster than me and half of the people out there each day run that race slower than me. That by very definitions says I’m average. I want my daughters to know, regardless of where they show up - front of the pack, middle of the pack, back of the pack - they should do just that. Show up. Show up for when it’s easy and for when it’s hard. Show up when you feel great and for when you are hurting. Show up while winning or while losing. Just show up. I’ve been pretty average in almost everything I have done since I was a child. I’m ok with that. Where I am not average is in my commitment to show up. That tear at the end of the race as I look to find my family is a reminder of what I believe these marathons do for their perspective of who I am. No reason to wipe that tear away, so I just let it fall.

After every marathon there is a distance between crossing the finish line, and walking about another mile to get out of the crowds and to meet whoever is there with you. For me, that has always been my wife and children. It is in that space that I have re-experienced every emotion I felt on the previous 26.2 miles. It’s this space by myself that I love. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that at every marathon there are a few tears in this moment. I quickly ask myself what I learned, what I felt, what I experienced, and remind myself why I love doing this. At this moment I tell myself that I deserved the tears that got me through that race or showed up after the race. It’s during this time that they put the medal around your neck, I clear my head, and find my family. Because for me, that is what this is all about.

Chris Suarez