If you have already participated in a longer race race, a marathon, who knows, has probably been called a warrior by the sidewalk guy.
“Bora, warrior, let’s go, a little while.”
The admirer – that’s not even taking why he is – uses this very war vocative, perhaps somewhat religious, as a 100% sincere incentive.
(The “missing” is generally less sincere.)
For a moment we turned the possible hero at hand, prêt-a-porter, from the sidewalk’s uncle.
When the admirer speaks “warrior”, he demonstrates that people continue to associate races, especially those of resistance, the sacrifice. It’s not alone: words like “delivery”, “challenge”, “fight” and, of course, “pain”, pulling in the lexicon of race and physical activity in general, much more than “pleasure”, “fun”, “relaxation”, “Buena Onda”.
It is understandable: physical exhaustion has a foot in the transcendent. Debts and agreements with the divine are celebrated and paid with processions, pilgrimages, climbing, unusual efforts. In a word, with sacrifice. God is easy figurine in running races.
For I say: There is no, or should not, heroism, belligerence, pain, sacrifice in the race, whatever the distances.
At first, there is the very comfortable situation that the corridor has chosen on his own running. They did not put an automatic in our temples, we were not required to do so, as in the case of the Maton -founding myth soldier in antiquity.
The idea that only the effort brings results is supported by many physical educators, who, in fact, are not at all wrong. The increase in conditioning comes when the body responds to different stimuli from those to which it is already used to. As Murakami would say, the writer, marathon runner and eternal loser of the Nobel Prize, our thighs are burdens of load and respond or relax according to the demand.
But it is possible to finish a long race, and gradually increase its distance, even become an ultramarathoner, without responding to very distinct stimuli from those already known. That is: without great effort. Decreasing personal time, running much more intensity, this is another story.
This schism of mine with the compliment of the warrior is not new, but was revived after I watched the play “Spring Blind”, at Espaço Zona France, in Bixiga, in São Paulo. The show, which is playing until next Monday (26), has only the actor-and author-Igor Iatcekiw on the scene. He interprets himself and his mother, whom he cannot give one last kiss on the hospital bed. Igor does not succeed saying goodbye to her for being raped and needed him to be hospitalized himself. It was the second episode of rape of which he had been a victim.
Although it does not seek to confuse the audience with self -fiction resources, the play is to do the theater, not a journalistic account as I may be letting out here. Igor works complex dimensions of his trauma with huge scenic skill. And especially, with absurd courage to face a different audience at its centimeters, an audience in which they could be present – why not? – His violators.
Bora, warrior, little left.
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