I've had a two month sentence handed down to me. Two months to transform myself into something I'm not.
A runner.
At first I thought "This is how I will die." Or how I'll reach my goal of finishing a half marathon. We'll see which happens first.
I made a goal. I trained. I finished. Mission accomplished.
I
had my big, fat marathon weekend. I spent 6 hours cruisin' up to San
Fransisco with 3 wonderful women.
We ate carne asada tacos for brunch
at a taco hole. Delish!
We shopped. We rode a subway and had dinner in
a little French-Italian restaurant. There was steam rising from beneath
the streets like something from a foreign film I've always meant to
watch.
We retired to a lovely suite with a view of the SF bay and
marinas. And then there was the race...
My stomach was
doing flips. The anticipation of this event was comparable to a wedding
day or birth of a child. Top 5 for sure. It's an excited, nervous
anticipation.
I've worked hard. Did I work hard enough? Will my hard
work pay off? The starting line is full of women just like me. We've
been running our toe nails off preparing for this moment. (No. I got
lucky and haven't lost a toe nail yet. Did you know that's a thing?)
I ran and ran
and ran and then ran some more. I ran an entire 13.1 miles.
I ran along
the San Francisco Bay. I peeped into the windows of beautiful homes,
dreaming of living there. I stared out at the water wishing for a kayak
right about now.
I thought my feet would fall off. I thought my spine
might lead a revolt and refuse to bend ever again. Every time I saw a
camera pointed at me I mustered up energy and jumped in the air,
clicking my heels like I was on the yellow brick road headed for Oz. I
was gonna make it. I was gonna do this. And I was gonna wear a smile. (
for the camera at least)
The last 2 miles kicked my
trash! Isn't that always the way though? The end tends to be the hardest
part of any challenge. Dragging yourself just a few more miles. Willing
yourself forward and threw the darkest moments of your tribulation.
The races
end was in a park. The path weaved threw trees and I couldn't see the
finish line. I found myself looking everywhere for the end. I followed
the path with no end in sight. "Just stay on the path" I'd tell myself.
There was evidence along the way that the end was near. Fellow runners
who had reached the end were milling around the park encouraging me to
"keep it up. You're all most there." Just like most challenges.
And
then nothing was ever so beautiful as the blow up banner/tunnel that
was ahead of me. Friends and strangers cheering each other on as we
cross the finish line. Finished!
I broke into tears.
Exhausted and
triumphant. I set a goal, prepared, worked and finished. (That may be a
first for me.) Yes, I finished. I ran 13.1 miles in 3 hours 20 minutes. I
didn't walk. I ran. It's my slow, more of a jog, painful to watch run.
But I ran.
I
learned a lot about myself during my training phase. Here are a few:
I
can do things that I never thought possible.
I can always go a little
further.
The music on the Ipod does matter.
I'm not as old and dried up
as I thought I was.
With God all things are possible.
I'm a runner.
Even running can be a spiritual, learning experience if you let it.
