Team Boots Heads to Berlin
And possibly a detour to Oktoberfest. Not possibly, likely.
by Elaine Gilmartin
The year was 2016. The month was October. There I was, running the Empire State Marathon in upstate Syracuse, New York on a beautiful fall day. The course took us around a pretty lake surrounded by trees with crimson-colored leaves and over gentle trails on a relatively flat course with a perfect temperature.
I would like to say the 26 miles were an idyllic, meditative run in nature, but alas, I cannot.
As most of us unfortunately will recall, this was a couple of weeks before the 2016 presidential election. So as the route detoured to suburban streets, passing house after house of manicured lawns, I spied one Trump 2016 sign after another. And another.
Mind you, this is New York State we are talking about. A blue state. This did not bode well and my run took on darker tones of dread that did not dissipate over the next few weeks. And on that night that no longer shall be named, when my fear became reality, I stared at the wall sleepless and dejected, muttering no, God, no, and as a non-believer, that speaks to my despair.
Life goes on as it is wont to do and I continued running because that is what runners do. They run when they are happy, they run when…
