If the maximum fetish of the white man has been somewhat entered in years is running a marathon, running Boston, which takes place next Monday (21), is the maximum fetish elevated to the last power.
Boston, after all, is the longest of marathons, carried out scrupulously since 1897. The only exception was in 2020, because of COVID-19, but there was a “virtual” version. The antiquity of the thing is such that the event needed two decades to see its official distance of 42 km and infernal 195 meters.
Tradition has weighs, but it is not the main criterion of excellence. Boston requires proof of eligibility: to have completed a previous minimum time marathon determined according to gender and age group.
Skeleton: People who have long doubled the storm cable, like this 58 -year -old columnist in the loin, need to record up to 3h35min, which, let’s face it, is for a few; But it is really for the same time the required time of the 40-44-year-old: 3h10min. For women, cutting time is less spartan.
Participate in the Boston test, and conclude it, therefore, changes the status of the comrade. Everything is vanity, already teaches the ecclesiastes, but few subjects are more vain than the marathon runner.
It can be said that the quintessence of humility is to return from Boston without cracking his own. A hypothetical corridor that proceeded would be just below Dom Helder on the beatific scale.
Mineiro Nilson Lima, 72, 13th participation in Boston this Monday, may be this subject. After all, the guy approaches the 400 marathon, being race in May in his hometown, Uberlândia. The Minas Gerais test is called, by the way, a marathon Nilson Lima, and the prerogative of having his own name to baptize a competition of 42 km was never granted to any other Brazilian.
What I mean: you can relativize Boston.
What he did not relativize was the climate of intimidation and distrust that plagues the United States under Trump II. “The seizure has started at the airport. I have been to the United States since 2004, and this time I made a point of bringing all old passports to not risk,” Nilsão told me.
“Almost three hours in the migration line, I lost my New York-Boston connection. I never saw the same.”
At least he had no problem with the immigration agent, but in the city of Worcester, in the outskirts of Boston, where he is, reports what he saw and heard: “Some Brazilians who had informal jobs abandoned them and wait at home the storm to pass.”
The problem is that, a classic consequence of exception regimes, the will has been capitalized, and the uniform man gained power. My colleague Sheet Conrado Hübner sang the stone in his last column. “Since the White House published the order ‘protecting the American people against invasion’, the guard of the corner has entered into a state of permanent enjoyment. The law enforcement agents are empowering the autocrat,” he wrote.
If every marathon runner had a reason in more cordial times to consider Boston the point of his career, now it has taken airs of epic. Not being retained at the airport and reaching the starting portico in Hopkinton seem to be much more marked missions than traveling out of the 42 km of the race.
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