The 30th Annual ESB Run-Up!
Dear New York Road Runners (NYRR),
I am writing to request an invitation to the Thirtieth Annual Empire State Building Run-Up. Your website promises that “selections [will be] based on athletic ability and background.” Simply put: my “background” as a smoker ideally qualifies me for the event.
First of all, I am no longer a smoker — I quit nearly one year ago. Since I was seventeen (I’m now thirty), I smoked a pack a day, sometimes more. I’ve spent a lot of time, recently, trying to discover why I smoked for so long, and have come to this conclusion: it was the person I wanted to be. Why? To defy perceptions I held of myself; to defy other people’s perceptions; to be unconventional; to deny my fear of death; and to mimic those people — be they celebrities or friends — whom I believed had already accomplished the above.
Luckily, I’ve matured since then (“then” being when I was seventeen; or twenty-three; or a year ago, today). I’ve discovered more constructive ways to challenge the norm. As for my fear of death — well, I’m still scared of death, but that’s just practical.
Of course, quitting required a great deal more: besides ending my chemical addiction, I needed to substitute a new identity for this “smoker” persona. I would learn, though – and to my great surprise — that I wasn’t such a different person, whether I smoked or not. I do sadly report the dissolution of one friendship, but now wonder whether that relationship wasn’t already fragile to begin with.
Anyway, you may be asking yourself how all this qualifies me for the Run-Up. Uh –
~
Dear New York Road Runners (NYRR),
Webster’s Third New International Dictionary defines “courage” as, “mental or moral strength enabling one to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty firmly and resolutely.”
But when I think of courage,
~
Dear New York Road Runners (NYRR),
Suppose you become deeply religious at sixteen: how do you expect people will react? Some will be angry. Those who aren’t angry will express doubt. How can such a monumental change occur — seemingly overnight — and still be considered rational?
Then, there are those who will encourage you — and how does one normally respond to encouragement? Between the angry people, the dubious people, and the encouraging people, whose company would you prefer?
Now reverse the proposition: suppose you stop believing in God, and the encouraging people turn angry; the formerly-angry people provide encouragement; and the dubious people? They remain as dubious as ever — more so than before, in fact.
This is a question of self-definition — defining oneself for oneself — but I must admit it has nothing to do with climbing the Empire State Building. Unless you also happen to be King Kong.
~
Dear New York Road Runners (NYRR),
I write to request an invitation to the Thirtieth Annual Empire State Building Run-Up. So there will be no secrets between us: I was a smoker until recently; and while I won’t bore you with the details, I can assure you I’ve quit for good. I’m not sure if there’s a test you can administer, or have someone follow me around, but I wouldn’t be averse. Whatever satisfies the skeptics among you.
Anyway, when I first learned of the Run-Up, I assumed that being a reformed smoker would practically guarantee me an invitation … until this sobering thought occurred: how many other non-smokers have lobbied for inclusion? If you will allow an anecdote:
Many years ago, I worked at a women’s magazine. This magazine sponsored a contest called “Haircut Horrors,” and it was my responsibility to sort through the many hundred entries. It wasn’t long before I read of an applicant who explained, in so many words, that she’d recently been diagnosed with cancer, and had undergone chemotherapy; as a result, her hair had fallen out. This was her Haircut Horror.
Jesus fucking Christ! I thought. Clearly, this lady had to win; how — in good conscience — could we award top prize elsewhere? But then another applicant crossed my desk: she, too, had been diagnosed with cancer; she, too, had undergone chemotherapy; and she, too, had lost her hair. However, this lady included a funny story about going shopping for a wig. Now I was certain she’d win — since, in addition to the terrible bad luck of having cancer and losing all her hair, she’d managed to retain her sense of humor.
Long story short: I read, like, two dozen chemo-related applications in the span of a week, and lost my hard-on for cancer. Maybe if we’d held an alternate contest, strictly devoted to survivors, they’d’ve had a better shot. But, what if you’re in the same boat? Or if I’m in the same boat with all those Haircut Horror ladies? What if you’ve been deluged with applications from former smokers?
So, in an effort to distinguish myself, I’d like to make this pledge: if you do not select me for the Thirtieth Annual Empire State Building Run-Up, I’m going to start smoking again. Because, seriously, how many people are we talking about? Maybe a hundred? Somebody’s gotta come in last, and that somebody may as well be me. Otherwise, I’ll claim that the New York Road Runners don’t care to promote a healthy lifestyle: your corporate sponsors will just love hearing that. Believe me, you can’t read thirty first-person accounts of chemotherapy without picking up a trick or two.
I eagerly await your response.
