Oh, sure... I was telling myself it would be okay if I just walked it. I was being bright and cute thinking that I should just think of it as a pretty day and some morning exercise. But it was a race. And, I knew I had no hope of taking a medal so the real race was against myself. My mind. My body.
I sat in the backseat fighting nerves all the way there. I was able to chill a little before we started but as I looked around at all the "real" runners, I started to feel tears. I wasn't like them. I was a joke that should have stayed home and made waffles for breakfast and resigned myself to being one of those moms that just watches her child's life. But... That's not me. There was this burning desire to see how well I could do. This burning desire to cross that line and say, "I did it!"
The race started, I hit my Garmin and off we went. I felt good heading out as we were down a hill out of the park. Then we turned the corner and I looked up. Hill. I knew I had so many miles before me that even though I felt I could make it up, it would take all I had then I'd have nothing left for the rest. I forced myself to walk that hill and halfway up the self loathing started. Slow. Stupid. Why? Everyone is passing me and I am power walking as fast as I can and feeling more and more stupid for trying. But, I made it to the top. The road leveled out and my breathing evened out. I started to run again. Not super far or fast but in this odd little rhythm I made up at the Hot Chocolate in DC. The course is lined with cones so I would run to one cone, walk to the next, run to the next, walk to the next. Over and over. Steady as she goes.
I tried not to think too much because if I thought then the despair and shame started and I literally felt myself hyperventilate. Side note: it is VERY hard to run when you are hyperventilating. I could feel my lungs tighten and breath catch and the tears would roll and a few times a sob would escape but I mentally gave myself a smack and told myself to focus. At one point, I just picked a lone green cone and stared at it chanting an inner mantra to myself. Don't stop. You've got this. One foot in front of the other. Other times, I would inventory my body and think: brain is not tired, lungs are fine, legs are good. The only weakness is in your mind and heart so suck it up cause you are stronger than that.
I got about a mile and a quarter in and sure enough, my feet went. I have this weird thing that always around that mark, my feet and toes do this numb thing. If I take my shoes off it almost goes away and I can continue but it's kind of a bear to run on asphalt barefoot. Of course, I do it so much now it's not as bad, but still...
So, about halfway through, I note that even though my legs are burning and I am tired, my Garmin has me steady and if I kept my cool and pace I might make it under my goal. This inspires me but I still struggle the rest of the way and when I hit the point I am used to running to, a curious thing happened...
It was still hard but it was like a click and a pop and there was this part of me that was amazed. This is where I am usually done but now I am going FURTHER. For some reason, at that moment I felt like a "real" runner. Like now that I had taken it to the next level I could some how take myself more seriously. Mentally, I needed that. Mentally, I needed to feel that moment when I crossed the old line and was racing for a new one. Unchartered territory. Adventure? Unknown? I hadn't given up and died or collapsed. I was still here. Still going. Slow but steady.
I finally finished and I didn't place or anything but crossing that line and knowing I pushed myself harder and farther than I ever had before was more important than anything else. The sense of accomplishment I felt was like a hundred medals. My daughter ran to hug me and I was so proud and so was she.
A little while later, we had stopped at Starbucks and I sat outside in the sunshine while Endora went in to get us tea. When I stood up to walk back to the car, I winced. I hurt. Bad. (This also happened to be the second day after a heavy lift session so I was hurting from that even before the race started). I limped to the car, feet and legs sore as ever and Endora looked back with this look of something bordering on confusion and disdain maybe.
She said, "And this is fun?"
That comment was odd and a thousand responses filled my mind. Fun? Fun? That was hard. Scary. Painful. A struggle. A horrible challenge I questioned my sanity for doing more than a dozen times as I did it. It was hot. There were bugs. My feet are black and may have some bruises. My left calf feels like someone shot a golf ball into it with a five iron. My quads are burning like a river in hell and I could lay down right here in the parking lot to sleep. Fun? Fun? That was a triumph of my mind over twelve years of brainwashed bullshit. That was a mastery of will power and strength. That was brave. That was one of the hardest things I have done. Fun?
Then I looked at her and realized she had never been one to test her limits. Never been one to push the bar. Never been one to look at something impossible and decided to try it anyway. All that and that moment when I saw I had beat MYSELF by a minute. That moment I crossed the line and could say that I had won. Not my fear, doubt, or weakness. I won. I FUCKING WON. She would just never get that sheer joy or exhilaration or amazing sense of accomplishment and how incredible it felt. So, I said,
"Yeah. It was fun."
There are just some people who will never get that weird drive some of us have. And that's okay. It's just hard to explain unless you feel it and live it.
And, one day, I'll have a medal for it.
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