Victory At The Start

It's been nearly six months since terrorists set off two homemade bombs at the Boston Marathon.  In the frightening days that followed, after repeatedly watching a video clip of 78 year old Bill Iffrig picking himself up and finishing the marathon, I decided I wanted to run another marathon (we ran two others a few years ago). I promptly registered for The Twin Cities Marathon and downloaded a training plan. When I suggested it to The Athlete, he didn't even hesitate.

"Sure."

A lot can happen in six months. I'm two days away from the marathon I said I wanted to run and I'm not filled with the exuberant gesture anymore.

I'm nervous. I'm tired. I'm feeling like I've bit off more than I can chew.

Part of it is because it has been a long month, The Brick, survived a ruptured Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm at the end of August and the first few weeks of September were stressful for me (more on this experience later).  These weeks happened to coincide with the peak training weeks for the marathon and even though I did a decent job of sticking to the plan, it was very, very hard work.

And part of it is because The Athlete is aptly named. He was by no means a jock in high school or college, but after the sudden death of his brother and then his father, he started to view exercise as something he owed the kids and I. He balances staying fit with work and raising four kids marvelously  - he gets most of it done over lunch or during his commute.  He does it all pretty joyfully and up until this point I would say that I did too. We do races together all year round - over the last few months most of our dates involved some kind of run or bike or both.

Not only has he gotten into fabulous cardiovascular shape, but he's also awoken a little of his competitive spirit and instead of getting slower as he's gotten older, he's picking up flexibility and speed. It's amazing really to realize he's so much faster at 37 than he was at 17 or 27.  He's found fun people to run with, people I really enjoy. But I cannot keep up and so we train together, but separately.

He's running at a Boston qualifying pace - around 7 minute miles. I am closer to 11 and nowhere near a qualifying time.

I went to bed last night weepy and feeling stressed about the race and this morning I dropped The Athlete at work feeling even more teary. 

We've gotten to know some elite runners - people who get flown to the New York Marathon. People who don't just watch the Olympics on TV. People who run 50 and 100-mile races.  People who can do things that are unreal to me.

Suddenly I was feeling disappointed in myself for not getting faster - for the first time in a long time I realized I wasn't really feeling like a runner anymore. When you compare what I do to what other people do - it's hard to even call it running.

I never used to mind that I wasn't competitive, but the sudden realization that my partner in all of this was able to hold his own with this crowd, I guess I felt jealous. Or left out. Or just disappointed.

This afternoon, I got called to substitute for another parent and I went up to school to serve hot lunch to 800 some kids and I saw a friend I hadn't seen in a while and it's funny, but it helped.

The midday hugs from my kids and the old friend, the ordered chaos of the lunchroom and the panicky kindergarten faces who still aren't sure how this whole cafeteria process works, reminded me of something I'd lost.

Seeing these tiny 5 year olds balancing their trays and their look of terror at the pile of black bean and corn salad I heaped on their plates, it made my face hurt I smiled so wide.

For whatever reason it allowed me to exhale. 

It's all relative, isn't it?

We all worry. We all wonder how were going to get through. We worry about how we stack up next to our peers. We all wonder if we're good enough. We all face that crisis of confidence sometimes.

As parents we tell our kids not to be afraid of new things. We harp on them about practice and hard work. We tell them not to beat themselves up when something doesn't go how they expected it to. We tell them to have faith. To keep trying. To buck up.

But as parents we often live in the quiet comfort of being the boss and of not having to do much risk taking ourselves. I got a lesson in empathy this week from the universe. 

It's good to feel afraid, to feel left out, to want to quit something that's hard sometimes.

I needed that reminder.

It's a conundrum, really. A marathon is a race, right? We're competing for something.  And yet, for most people, it's not. For most of us marathons are metaphors for dreaming big, working hard and balancing challenging ourselves with being gentle to ourselves. We cheer for each other - and maybe, just maybe we need to cheer a little bit more for ourselves.

Victory isn't at the finish line; it's at the start.

So I'm going to line up on Sunday because a 78-year-old man finished a marathon after literally being blown off his feet by terrorists.  Even when it’s hard, we get back up again and put one foot in front of the other.  I won't be fast, but I'll be steady and strong. I'll be proud that my two legs can carry me forward. And in that sense, no matter my time, I'll know I can win.