The Further Part

I am proud of myself that yesterday I was running by 9:40 a.m. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. There was no humidity and it was in the upper-70's when the run began. I tried a new tactic in that I decided to give myself 4 hours and 20 minutes to do 22 miles, rather than go out and tell myself I could run until I finished the 22 miles. I finished the 22 miles in 4 hours even.

The lack of humidity and heat made such a difference in my performance. I want to say that the run was even easy, but I fear pride becoming an obstacle to my running, so I will instead say that I felt little pain and that my pace was respectable...at least for me. It was a 10:54 per mile pace. This sounds very slow but if you consider that I take breaks to re-apply sunscreen and to fill up my water bottles and to walk here and there, it is a decent pace. I would imagine that I ran a 9:30 actual pace when I was in fact running.

One other thing which slows me down considerably is that I always think I have to urinate even when I do not. I feel like my bladder is full and I cannot run with anything at all in my bladder and so I stopped 6 times to use various restrooms along the way. What I do is I go inside and I sweat all over the restroom and I do not have to go at all. I have accepted that I have some kind of psychological issue surrounding this matter. I know that I do not have a physiological issue because this never happens when I am not running.

Thankfully, I do not have time to over analyze this, because I fear what I might learn. I think it will not be an issue for me in the marathon because the race atmosphere trumps my little psychological issues. I have never suffered this malady in the 4 mini-marathons I have done.

When I run I experience the luxury of pure stream of consciousness. My malady got me to thinking while I was running about how the body can often trick the mind which then got me to thinking about a long discussion I had with one of my former clients who had been on death row for 25-years. He had a genius IQ. I knew him only in the last 5-years of his life, which means I knew the integrated, fully remorseful, humble, self-actualized man.

He was well-read and fluent in 4 languages. The very first time I met him was during an attorney visit to the death row cage in early 2000, when he came fresh off of the rec yard. He was sweaty and gross because he had just lifted weights. He was vibrant and strong and instantly he flashed his intelligence my way. He had to put me in my place right off the bat.

My first discussion with him was about his weight-lifting and how his muscles often trick him into thinking they can lift no more, but how he knows this about his muscles, and he pushes them further because "the further part" is where he gets the benefits from weight lifting. I assumed he was controlling our discussion with this weight lifting nonsense to avoid discussing the merits of his case, and so I did not really listen to his words.

This went on for about 2 years. It was a dance between us, with him speaking in blind metaphors as I sought out the concrete in an effort to do my job. He blocked every attempt I made to do my job and finally we came to blows. Being that he waived his attorney-client privilege with me prior to his death, I can share that I finally laid it on the line for him. I told him that he was sabotaging my efforts and that I could not save his life if he continued to throw road blocks my way.

He became angry and told me that it was not my job to save his life. He told me to "get off the cross" and to get down to the business of being a human being. He told me that this case was My Client vs. the State and not me vs. the State, and blah, blah, blah...

I was certainly disarmed. A couple of days later I received an apologetic letter from him.

And so for the next 2 years he allowed me to play lawyer, within limits. If I crossed his boundaries, he let me know. I have never been so frustrated in my professional life. That said, during that next 2 years a mutual friendship developed between me and him which was based upon respect and understanding.

The final year of his life was most beneficial to me. I fought as best I could in my lawyer role to save his life, but I was drowning in a sea of helplessness. This case was over well before I signed on as counsel. I spent countless hours talking with him, in an attempt to gain more trust from him with the hope it would provide me with the keys to pull a last-minute legal maneuver for victory.

That would not be. He continued to speak in blind metaphors, but during the final year, I really listened. A dervish, this client whirled about in my life. I paid attention to what he was trying to move onto me and into me.

It was an overwhelming period, those few months before he died. He had much to say and my capacity to absorb was greatly compromised by my own limitations.

I watched my client die on March 10, 2005.

Since that day, there have been many times when I have deciphered his words to and actions towards me. I have also deciphered the words he failed to say.

Often, as with yesterday's 22-miler, I think of him while running, not only as he was at midnight on March 10, 2005, but as he was before the needle and gurney. But yesterday, somewhere between miles 18 and 22, I understood for the first time that there really never was for me this client without the needle and gurney. This is because it was the needle and gurney which caused him to teach me in his own way about the "further part."

His lesson began on day one and continues now for me.

I am still learning about the "further part" in running and in life and he is with me every step of the way.

I don't know why that client came into my life, in the professional sense, but I do now understand why our paths crossed in every other sense.

If I could talk to my dead client about yesterday's run, I imagine he would grin, as he always did, while hunching over with an ornery look. He would mix in Pascal, Hegel, or Dostoevsky as he discussed the run. He would then likely tell me that I should push myself harder next time...that I should increase my pace and go to the place where I will benefit from the "further part" because, as he knew, our bodies can trick us about limits.

He was, of course, right. I am thankful he knocked me off my cross and into the "further part" of life.

I imagine him at the end of the long road, waiting for me at the end of my longest run. He will greet me as he always did. We will banter and perhaps even argue.

That is where my dead, executed client exists for me. He taught me to run with honor.