A Modern Monument
[The National Parks Service is at a decision point regarding where November Project’s DC group can meet for its iconic Wednesday workouts. Permits are an option, but the NPS has decided (provisionally, temporarily, surely) that November Project should find somewhere else, even though we have #foundourpark. Our group of modern-day rebels is now sharing stories, one by one, about what the Lincoln steps mean to us. As a DC native and soon-to-be DC resident, I’m chiming in.]
Bob,
It was a legitimately frigid Thanksgiving morning in 2013 when, to my parents’ utter bewilderment, I set an early alarm (on a day off!), scrambled out of my borrowed bed, hustled out the door to a sun that was just waking up, and jogged the 1.3 miles from Dupont Circle to the Lincoln Memorial.
The light was a warm gold—a hue I’d not seen many times before, but would see many, many times over the next two and a half years—as I arrived at the base of the monument’s steps, scanning the scene for fellow runners, mystery strangers, or anyone who looked like they, too, were waiting for something to happen.
Finally, I spotted three guys who appeared, from a distance, to be in activewear, and jogged up the steps to say hi. “HI,” I beamed, breathless, “I live in Boston and I just started doing this and now I can’t stop and I’m from here and my parents live in Dupont and I was so sad to miss the Boston workout Wednesday but then I found out there’s a November Project here too and so I knew I had to come so I messaged that guy Danny and now I’m here and happy Thanksgiving!” Smooth.
I had stumbled upon the first annual Tryptophan 10K, a “race” that the newborn November Project DC put on, a race that rebelled against all races due to the absence of (1) fees, (2) medals, and (3) any care in the world how fast you finished. And that morning I experienced, for the first time, the feeling of running friendship when I was sidelined on Roosevelt Island for 30 seconds to massage out the aching muscles surrounding my knees, and someone inexplicably waited for me to finish before running on, in tandem.
Let’s rewind three years. I’d just graduated from the University of Maryland and was working two jobs in the District during a year off before starting law school. I felt like an in-betweener during those months, on hold between two chapters as all my colleagues advanced, but treasured my mornings by running my most favorite DC route, from Dupont to the White House to the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial and home. In that summer sun, hot, red, I’d hit my final stop within Abe’s gaze and dash up the stairs for the best view in the house: ahead, an enormous hero in repose; behind, an unforgettable panorama, sky reflected in calm water with my favorite vertical testament to freedom, the District’s highest high. Sweat slid slowly down my forehead and, no matter how hard I ran the rest, I always took a pause, and gawked, to allow my city to take a bow.
Lincoln was important to me then, but November Project DC has now made it so much more.
After my first exposure to DC’s tribe on those golden steps in 2013, I knew I’d renewed my vows to the Boston chapter. And later, after graduation, the New York City chapter. It’s through November Project that I met some of my best friends in this hard, concrete jungle, learned how to push myself to run faster and make the leap to triathlon, learned the meaning of community—not just in my school, not just in my neighborhood, but in my country. And though, until this point, I’ve lived in other cities, the DC tribe and the Lincoln steps have remained my home.
Because it’s the first place another NPer waited for me to feel better before running on. The first place where another NPer invited me to go to dinner with him and others, since I was a stranger from out of town but simply seemed nice. And of course, the first place I really became a runner. To us, Lincoln is the scene of daily, weekly renewal, every sunrise an opportunity. The Lincoln Memorial is not just a place we work out. It’s a symbol of home, an emblem of hope, a badge of patriotic honor.
In September, I’ll return to the District and once again make it my official home. And I’ve been waiting, breath bated, for the chance to run down to Lincoln with my people every week instead of just on school breaks and holidays. To flash Abe a quick peace sign salute at his feet before turning and taking a split second pause to let my home show off. To track the passage of time in the most photogenic of places with my family, my tribe, in the true heart of our free world.
I hope you’ll let that happen.
With love,
Emma Raviv