I am The Runner and I throw my Dixie Cup in the Trashcan
during a race, but I empathize with those who drop it on the ground.
Any long distance race is populated by glistening runners, striding
with clapping feet, and intense, nail-sharp, tortured faces. Up ahead, a patch of brightly shirted
volunteers, fill small wax paper cups, frantic water splashing their hands and
legs. They face the oncoming riot of competitors, right hands clutching the
Dixie Cup, and left hands with another cup at the ready.
The runners, reaching toward the cups, like a drowning man
grasping for a patch of land. They clasps the cup, splash water on their faces,
with the general hope that at least half of the water lands in their mouth. The
other half dousing their faces, and shirts, like a benediction.
Some runners then drop the cup like it bit them. Some throw
the cup to the ground like it just cheated on them, and they are appalled that
it was ever in their hand in the first place. Some drop the cup politely at
their feet, feel guilty about it, and say “thank you” to the bright shirted
volunteer.
Some throw it in the trashcan. It’s a decision.
At the most recent race I ran in, however, I had a change of
thinking. I had taken my first cup from the first pack of bright shirted
volunteers, and after drinking it, found myself at the “trash-can-or-on-the-ground”
decision crossroad. I chose the trashcan. I decided to always choose the
trashcan.
When I first made the decision to throw the cup in the can,
I was very dogmatic about what one
should do with their cup…indeed, when I first starting writing this piece, I
was dogmatic about it.
My stance has historically been: unless you’re winning the
race, you have no excuse to toss your cup on the ground.
And/Or: unless you’re dying, throw your cup in the can. And,
if you’re dying, hopefully the white shirted people at the first aid tent will
help you. And good luck, but don’t worry about the cup, we forgive you.
Upon further consideration, however, I have become more
sympathetic to the cup dropper. Here is why:
Running Distance
Races is Difficult On Many Levels:
There is a physical, emotional, spiritual and chafing pain
that comes along with running a race. During a race, the runner is engaged in
an intense competition against his own expectations. In addition, the runner
has an entitled feeling that says, “I paid for this race, and until that bright
shirted volunteer comes over here and runs 20 miles like I just did, I will
throw this cup, and ANY cup anywhere please. Damnit.”
With these feelings, it’s difficult for the runner to think
about anything other than race, let alone where to throw a wax cup.
Dropping the Cup is
Exhilarating:
We’ve all seen the scene in movies, where a runner grabs the
water cup from the doting young, bright shirted volunteer boy working the water
station. An unspoken (often slow motion) moment passes between the runner and
the brightly shirted volunteer boy. This moment is accompanied by a tastefully,
appropriate, yet over-the-top ballad. The unspoken moment passed between the
runner and the brightly shirted volunteer boy oozes with influence,
inspiration, and moxy.
Because of this moment, the brightly shirted volunteer boy will
surely become a lawyer or an artist. The movie star runner (a little back story
here: the movie star runner just lost his best friend in a tragic accidental helicopter-skiing
accident, and although the movie star runner couldn’t have saved him, he blames
himself and has since been drinking and running a lot…an obvious attempt to
drive out and escape from the pain in his movie-star-runner heart) then
haphazardly tosses the cup on the ground, as a metaphor for his own crumbling
life, yet he throws it vigorously and victoriously as his future. The cup
splashes and rolls on the ground. The movie then cuts to two years later, after
the runner has adopted the brightly shirted volunteer boy, and fathers him
toward becoming a lawyer or an artist. The world’s youngest boy lawyer. Or artist.
Dropping The Cup is
Rebellious:
In our everyday lives, littering is illegal. With these
legal restrictions binding us, it’s understandable that, given the permission, we
feel a rebellious satisfaction in throwing garbage around the streets.
Dropping The Cup
Fulfills Our Emotional/Physical Connection:
There’s something viscerally connected between throwing
things and your emotions. How many times have I been angry and wanted to throw
something down on the ground? Or up in the air, in a moment of complete joy?
All of these things considered, I throw my cup in the
trashcan. Putting the cup in the can is a perfectly legitimate and effervescent
way of taking a brief break on the course. If you’re drinking water, you can
write off any snotty looks from fellow runners who think it’s lame to stop
during a race.
There are two arguments that I could pose in favor of
throwing the cup in the trash can:
We Need Order In Our
Society:
In order to maintain an etiquette-driven, civilized,
civil-minded society, you should just throw your cup away.
Think About the
Children:
Most people staffing the water stations are exhausted brightly
shirted teenage volunteers who, just hours ago, were spaced out in a haze of
video-game-gun-fire and Cheetos dust. A large majority of them are volunteering
for purposes of fluffing up their college application.
A pack of runners drop their cups, then the brightly shirted
volunteer boy drags his feet, while scraping a big rake on the asphalt moving
the cups into a pile and throwing them in the can. A monumental task for most reluctant
teenagers.
Being a high school teacher, however, I say: put the kid to
work.
Some Cups Get Left
Behind:
Others will say that, after the marathon/carnival moves out
of town, we who live in the city that marathon/ carnival just left are stuck
with your cups in our trees and in our parks for days and weeks to come. And
all because you want to litter.
And that’s why I
aim in favor of the trashcan now. It’s a type of karma, I belive.
Throwing the cup on the ground is part of the experience of
the race. Like hanging on the rim after a slam-dunk. Or spiking the ball and
dancing after scoring a touchdown. It’s a tradition. But, all I ask is that you
make your best decision.
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