Final Thoughts Before Race Day
I recently wrote about letting go and why it’s so important. On its face, it sounds like a melancholic meditation, something one does when they experience heartbreak or tragedy. Perhaps it is, but that is not necessarily the spirit in which I embrace letting go. Nor is it the context.
Letting go can be (and often is) an act of joy. In a very deep sense, it is how I play.
When I step on a stage and the curtain rises, I am at my best if I have let go of the fact that there are a hundred or more faces staring at me, waiting to hear what I’m about to say. I’m not in the scene if I can’t let go of that.
By letting go of that pressure, putting it in a box and setting it on a shelf, and focusing on what I want in this moment from my scene partner--what we call our ‘objective’ in acting—is what my job actually is. Letting go is what allows me to play, be fully present, and enjoy it.
And I let go before I run.
A marathon is a lot like opening night. Over the years, I’ve cared less about pre-race nerves and more about running itself: pacing, feeling the road, watching the sun rise during training.
I’m 38, alive and well, and one day I won’t be. When I understand this, a run becomes a privilege—each day a gift, a celebration, even a dance.
I don’t care about finishing time or pace. I care about the process, the practice, and the joy of the act. You can’t rush art.
There are supposed to be 50,000 people at the inaugural edition of the Sydney Marathon as a World Marathon Major. It’s a hilly course, so I'd better steel myself for a tough go, especially on that last 2k as we pass by Ms. Macquarie’s chair. The world's fastest athletes are running this race. It’s kind of crazy to know I’ll be on the course at the same time as Sifan Hassan or Eliud Kipchoge. Titans of the road.
But if I’m being honest with you all, I’m just happy to be here
