A marathon is technically 26.2 miles...but as the saying goes, the REAL marathon is only 6.2...those first 20 miles are just a warm up.
Having run a marathon myself many years ago...I know exactly what this means.
I'm sure you've all heard of "hitting the wall?" Well that's exactly what it feels like.
There you are, trucking along...and suddenly...you've got nothing left. Every muscle in your body is begging you to stop. You can eat your jelly beans, drink your gatorade, your water, say your prayers...but nothing, NOTHING helps. You feel like if you could just, for one second, stop running and stretch out, you'd be better. So you do...only that doesn't help either. It's a nightmare...but what do you do? You keep running.
***
I chose to run this marathon because it was the most ridiculous thing I could think of.
I'd just completed two years of NCAA soccer...having finally quit smoking...and I wanted to challenge myself further. And what is more ridiculous than an ex-fat, ex-lazy, ex-smoker, ex-drunk, ex-junkie running a marathon? Nothing, right? So I promised myself that someday I'd run one.
Within the week, serendipitously enough, a flyer arrived for me from the Leukemia Society telling me all about their Team In Training Program. Having lost half of my family to this type of cancer, most importantly my father (the other half from breast cancer...but don't worry, i'm adopted)...how could I resist.
I like to say that the hardest part was signing my name to the contract, the rest was just follow through.
I'll spare you the dramatic details of my training, injuries, and refusing to seek medical advice until AFTER I'd run...because really that's a different story. Let's just say, there were major bumps in the road, and leave it at that.
***
The night before the marathon, all the Team In Training folks got together to carbo load on pasta at the dinner party. I remember they'd asked us to stand up, take the hand of the person next to us, and think about who we were as people six months earlier when training began...and how much we'd changed. I reflected happily on the shape I was in, the money I'd raised, and the obstacles I'd hoped to have overcome. Yes, I was indeed a different person. What I didn't know is how different still I'd be by the end of the next day.
To say I was nervous on the starting line...is a HUGE understatement. Thing was, at that point, there wasn't any turning back, so why fight it? I took my last pee and arranged myself on the line. On the line with me that morning was every single fear I'd had about it, every single ounce of physical, emotional, and spiritual energy it had taken me to get there...everything I ever was, or hoped to be...was standing there with me...
When the gun went off...I went into autopilot...I did as I'd always trained to do...and for 17 miles, that was great (considering my longest run to date was 14, i'd still like a round of applause for that).
And then I hit the wall...at mile 20...I had nothing left...
This is when I met an entirely new part of myself...
Past the stubborness and self-will...
Past the determination to not fail...
Past the place where emotions exist before they have names...
It's this place...where You truly exist...it's primal...and frightening...and delicious...all at the same time...
This is the moment when the first race comes to an end...and the second race begins.
This one isn't about fighting the elements...because frankly it's just as much a struggle to run up a hill as down one. And it doesn't matter if it's hot or cold, raining, or sunny...because you're too burnt to pay enough attention to notice.
This is where it comes down to you and shit you're made of.
For me, I knew that not crossing that finish line was absolutely not an option. I knew that if my leg gave out I'd get on my knees and crawl. If my knees gave out, I'd drag myself by the elbows...and if my elbows gave out I'd drag myself with my forehead...and if I finally just gave up and died, SOMEONE would have to roll my corpse across the finish line...because NOT crossing it, was not an option.
But even that kind of determination didn't make those last 6.2 miles any easier.
There was a lot of bargaining going on in my head..."If that chick in front of me can keep running...so can I." And there was, "If I can just make it to the next corner, I'll stop and rest..." Which I knew wouldn't happen...because at this point, it's more painful to try and get started again than it is to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And then, I could see it...the banner over the finish line...god it seemed so close! But that last mile was so twisty and turny, as they tried to milk as many yards out of the space they had...I prayed at every turn that it would be the last one and I'd be in the homestretch...being that I could always see that banner...but no...turn after turn after turn...no finish line...it was the cruelest of tricks...
Until finally...I took one last turn...and there it was...the homestretch...the finish line...
I can't explain to you what that felt like, but I'm not ashamed to say that I started to cry.
It took me just under six mother fucking hours to cross that finish line...but I did, and I did it running.
***
Why did I just bore you with that story?
What? You can't see the similarity between running a marathon and changing your life path?
My decision to quit my desk job to go build cars...was THE MOST unexpected thing...some might call it ridiculous. For a girl who may have been mechanically inclined, but didn't know enough to inventory her own toolbox...A girl who drove a car maybe once every three years to up and decide she's gonna learn how to build them? I mean, c'mon!
You don't think it was serendipitous the way I met the right people, who asked the right questions, the way the stars aligned, and the start date at school was significant? I hardly had a choice but to go to Houston...
You don't think I had the same peanut gallery of nay sayers? Telling me how it couldn't be done?
But there I was, signing my name on the dotted line...
You know that lately I've been thinking a lot about this here Dream of mine. About accomplishing one, stumbling into another, and not knowing what hell is going on?
I had taken a minute, to appreciate the fact that I had crossed the finish line of one dream.
But to have stumbled into another, on the one hand, feels like stumbling across another finish line, only to find that the race isn't over and I've still got 6.2 miles to go. That the REAL race starts now...and the last three years were nothing but a 20 mile warm up.
In the past couple months I HAVE hit some kind of wall. Partly physical, partly emotional. Even if those first 20 miles of mine were nothing but a warm up to the real race? They're exhausting. And after putting everything I was on the starting line...to get this far takes it's toll. I suppose it's ok to have gotten blurry after so much struggle. The thing about hitting the wall? It takes it's physical toll...but smacks your brain back into focus. The only thing near as glorious as seeing the finish line? Is seeing the 20 mile marker and knowing you're so close you can just about reach out and touch it.
So...arriving here is my 20 mile mark. I'm not blurry anymore. I know the finish line is out there. My sole purpose is to reach it.
How many individual steps does it take to travel 6.2 miles? I don't know...I never bothered to count...
Ask that owl dude with the tootsie pop, he might have some idea.
But like I said...I put my name on the dotted line and committed to reaching the finish line.
Not crossing it is not an option.
I'll see YOU at the finish line!
Having run a marathon myself many years ago...I know exactly what this means.
I'm sure you've all heard of "hitting the wall?" Well that's exactly what it feels like.
There you are, trucking along...and suddenly...you've got nothing left. Every muscle in your body is begging you to stop. You can eat your jelly beans, drink your gatorade, your water, say your prayers...but nothing, NOTHING helps. You feel like if you could just, for one second, stop running and stretch out, you'd be better. So you do...only that doesn't help either. It's a nightmare...but what do you do? You keep running.
***
I chose to run this marathon because it was the most ridiculous thing I could think of.
I'd just completed two years of NCAA soccer...having finally quit smoking...and I wanted to challenge myself further. And what is more ridiculous than an ex-fat, ex-lazy, ex-smoker, ex-drunk, ex-junkie running a marathon? Nothing, right? So I promised myself that someday I'd run one.
Within the week, serendipitously enough, a flyer arrived for me from the Leukemia Society telling me all about their Team In Training Program. Having lost half of my family to this type of cancer, most importantly my father (the other half from breast cancer...but don't worry, i'm adopted)...how could I resist.
I like to say that the hardest part was signing my name to the contract, the rest was just follow through.
I'll spare you the dramatic details of my training, injuries, and refusing to seek medical advice until AFTER I'd run...because really that's a different story. Let's just say, there were major bumps in the road, and leave it at that.
***
The night before the marathon, all the Team In Training folks got together to carbo load on pasta at the dinner party. I remember they'd asked us to stand up, take the hand of the person next to us, and think about who we were as people six months earlier when training began...and how much we'd changed. I reflected happily on the shape I was in, the money I'd raised, and the obstacles I'd hoped to have overcome. Yes, I was indeed a different person. What I didn't know is how different still I'd be by the end of the next day.
To say I was nervous on the starting line...is a HUGE understatement. Thing was, at that point, there wasn't any turning back, so why fight it? I took my last pee and arranged myself on the line. On the line with me that morning was every single fear I'd had about it, every single ounce of physical, emotional, and spiritual energy it had taken me to get there...everything I ever was, or hoped to be...was standing there with me...
When the gun went off...I went into autopilot...I did as I'd always trained to do...and for 17 miles, that was great (considering my longest run to date was 14, i'd still like a round of applause for that).
And then I hit the wall...at mile 20...I had nothing left...
This is when I met an entirely new part of myself...
Past the stubborness and self-will...
Past the determination to not fail...
Past the place where emotions exist before they have names...
It's this place...where You truly exist...it's primal...and frightening...and delicious...all at the same time...
This is the moment when the first race comes to an end...and the second race begins.
This one isn't about fighting the elements...because frankly it's just as much a struggle to run up a hill as down one. And it doesn't matter if it's hot or cold, raining, or sunny...because you're too burnt to pay enough attention to notice.
This is where it comes down to you and shit you're made of.
For me, I knew that not crossing that finish line was absolutely not an option. I knew that if my leg gave out I'd get on my knees and crawl. If my knees gave out, I'd drag myself by the elbows...and if my elbows gave out I'd drag myself with my forehead...and if I finally just gave up and died, SOMEONE would have to roll my corpse across the finish line...because NOT crossing it, was not an option.
But even that kind of determination didn't make those last 6.2 miles any easier.
There was a lot of bargaining going on in my head..."If that chick in front of me can keep running...so can I." And there was, "If I can just make it to the next corner, I'll stop and rest..." Which I knew wouldn't happen...because at this point, it's more painful to try and get started again than it is to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And then, I could see it...the banner over the finish line...god it seemed so close! But that last mile was so twisty and turny, as they tried to milk as many yards out of the space they had...I prayed at every turn that it would be the last one and I'd be in the homestretch...being that I could always see that banner...but no...turn after turn after turn...no finish line...it was the cruelest of tricks...
Until finally...I took one last turn...and there it was...the homestretch...the finish line...
I can't explain to you what that felt like, but I'm not ashamed to say that I started to cry.
It took me just under six mother fucking hours to cross that finish line...but I did, and I did it running.
***
Why did I just bore you with that story?
What? You can't see the similarity between running a marathon and changing your life path?
My decision to quit my desk job to go build cars...was THE MOST unexpected thing...some might call it ridiculous. For a girl who may have been mechanically inclined, but didn't know enough to inventory her own toolbox...A girl who drove a car maybe once every three years to up and decide she's gonna learn how to build them? I mean, c'mon!
You don't think it was serendipitous the way I met the right people, who asked the right questions, the way the stars aligned, and the start date at school was significant? I hardly had a choice but to go to Houston...
You don't think I had the same peanut gallery of nay sayers? Telling me how it couldn't be done?
But there I was, signing my name on the dotted line...
You know that lately I've been thinking a lot about this here Dream of mine. About accomplishing one, stumbling into another, and not knowing what hell is going on?
I had taken a minute, to appreciate the fact that I had crossed the finish line of one dream.
But to have stumbled into another, on the one hand, feels like stumbling across another finish line, only to find that the race isn't over and I've still got 6.2 miles to go. That the REAL race starts now...and the last three years were nothing but a 20 mile warm up.
In the past couple months I HAVE hit some kind of wall. Partly physical, partly emotional. Even if those first 20 miles of mine were nothing but a warm up to the real race? They're exhausting. And after putting everything I was on the starting line...to get this far takes it's toll. I suppose it's ok to have gotten blurry after so much struggle. The thing about hitting the wall? It takes it's physical toll...but smacks your brain back into focus. The only thing near as glorious as seeing the finish line? Is seeing the 20 mile marker and knowing you're so close you can just about reach out and touch it.
So...arriving here is my 20 mile mark. I'm not blurry anymore. I know the finish line is out there. My sole purpose is to reach it.
How many individual steps does it take to travel 6.2 miles? I don't know...I never bothered to count...
Ask that owl dude with the tootsie pop, he might have some idea.
But like I said...I put my name on the dotted line and committed to reaching the finish line.
Not crossing it is not an option.
I'll see YOU at the finish line!
I've had dreams of running marathons. I've always wanted to run the London Marathon barefoot. But each year I find myself saying "next year I'll do it". I really need someone to kick me up the bum!