All Gods critters have their place in the choir,
Some sing low, some sing higher.
Some sing out loud on the telephone wire.
Some just clap their hands, or paws, or anything they’ve got, now!
This is my mantra and I repeat it over and over. It is my “little engine that could” and it keeps me traveling forward, first with my left foot, then my right. It helps move me. It’s not a lot, but it is enough.
It is a deceptively simple song called “A Place In The Choir”, written by Bill Staines in 1978. It starts with the chorus and has just five verses of four lines each. However, I only repeat the chorus, mostly because I can’t remember all the verses, but also because it’s too hard to think through the haze that stands between remembrance and self. My daughter, Lauren taught it to me when she was ten years old. She in turn heard it as a campfire song at Guide camp. I liked this quirky, innocent song, so I went looking for it. I found a guitar tab on the Internet and reformatted so that both my daughter and I could read it. It’s one of the many songs we perform for ourselves at home. We are a guitar and ukulele duo, accompanying an unlikely duet. One has a beautiful young voice and the other, an older, straining one.
This song is just a tool and I’ve been saving this particular tool for the difficult parts. It’s silly, but infectious rhythm seems to work for me. No matter how hard or diligently you train, you still have to get over, around or through the parts when the going gets tough. It helps focus my thoughts on something other than how tired my thighs are from the effort, the burning of my eyes from sweat or the distance I have to traverse before I can stop. I retreat away from the world around me and allow myself to be caught up, driven by the internal beat. I push past the pain with ease, past the little voices that tell me to slow down, to give in, to quit. The voice of the song is stronger than that of the voices of defeat. The song is the voice of victory, lifting me when I feel weak.
I don’t actually sing the song, I sort of mouth the words at the back of my throat. My strained breathing does not permit me to give voice to the simple lyrics. I do manage to pay them lip service as they stumble about the edges of my tongue and swirl around inside my head. As I repeat words in my mind, I punctuate each beat of the song with the strike of a shoe against the pavement. I imagine it as a dance of sorts, a strange dance to a strange song. It’s also a simple dance with only two steps, both carrying me forward. The dance sets a steady tempo for my arms, legs and feet. It moves me. I allow the rhythm to sweep me up and drive me faster than I would move without it. It is a cadence set by an invisible drum major, a pulse driving the beating of my heart and the rhythm of my labouring breath.
Another runner notices me chewing my words and matches pace. Maybe she hears some snippet of tune that has escaped my teeth. Perhaps my moving lips have caused a curiosity that echoes with her own mood. It takes a few moments to gather the courage, but she asks what I’m muttering. The request breaks my thoughts, my rhythm and it takes a moment to process the request and convert the sounds into words. I reply simply, “Singing a song to myself to help me run.”
“You too?” she says. “I have one too.” Then, she proceeds to sing her personal running mantra for me.
I respond in kind. We smile and nod, knowing that we each share a secret that makes us stronger.
We soon part company and I am once again alone in a crowd. The mantra beckons and I have to work to find the rhythm.
The song soon draws me back to the now. My chant anchors me to this instant in time, this bit of road and these beings around me. This simple melody helps me to forget about how good I felt a half-hour ago or how bad I’ll feel in thirty minutes. For a short while I live in a state of eternal now. My whole being is here and centered in this one shining moment, balanced between the unforgiving past and unknowable future. A funny little tune becomes a powerful hymn that for a short period, erases the existence of both certainty and uncertainty. In this place of peace, this Zen moment, I am a mindful being, undistracted by the external interferences of life. No phone, no pager, no meetings, no bills, no promises, no deadlines, no commitments, no wants, no desires, just here and now.
I pass the twenty-two mile marker. I have only another four miles to go. I ponder all of these things and more.
I can ignore the pain, it is only temporary. I can refuse to give into the fatigue, it too will pass. I won’t think about how far away the finish line is, I will arrive there in due course. I will concentrate on the task at hand. I will concentrate on moving forward.
So, in silence, I sing my mantra. It keeps me going. It keeps me focused and on track. It is enough.
All Gods critters have their place in the choir,
Some sing low, some sing higher.
Some sing out loud on the telephone wire.
Some just clap their hands, or paws, or anything they’ve got, now!
Notes: This was written about my experience during the London Ontario, Forest City Marathon in 2000. It was a great, well run race. The organizers dropped the marathon distance a number of years ago, but they still run a great half marathon and shorter distance race during the weekend. For the record, my log book lists my solo finish time at 3:46:01, but due to water on the course, the rejigged marathon route was 680 meters long.
By Mark G. Collis
Revised December 24, 2003