I am nine weeks into a 22-week training program in
preparation for my first full marathon. I am not going to talk about how this
is my 6th try. That’s a topic for another day. What I will say is
that in my experience, training for a marathon is at least as hard as actually
running one. It’s week after week, mile after mile of exhausting, hours-long
training runs that simply have to get done if you’re going to have any hope of
completing a 26.2 mile race.
I have a bad habit of looking ahead at the big picture or at
big chunks of the even bigger picture.
- 35 freakin’ miles one week in January.
- 20 freakin’ miles one DAY in February.
- 8 freakin’ hills on the Auction Street Bridge and a 45-minute tempo run two weeks before the marathon.
- What the hell am I thinking?
I am guilty of considering things before it’s time to do so.
Fortunately, I have a superb running partner to travel with
on this journey. We run a similar pace…have overlapping personal interests…and
practically identical points-of-view about our goals for these two races for
which we are training. When I’m not demoralizing myself with the thoughts I
listed above, my saner self trains in pursuit of the following goals:
- To finish the races (a half marathon and a full) upright, bearing weight on my own two feet without the help of medical personnel, and having a modicum of control over my bodily functions when I cross the finish line.
- To run as much of both races with my training partner– though both of us are prepared to lag behind or forge ahead should it become necessary.
- To celebrate each race with my family and friends by drinking and eating anything I want.
- To complete each training run – no matter how much walking I end up doing.
- To enjoy the journey and remember that it is a privilege to live a life in which I can take 1-4 hours out of single day (often a weekday) in pursuit of these goals.
The last one is, perhaps, most important to me.
We have done the vast majority of our long training runs on
trails. These trails are situated amid a vast green space – the largest of its
kind in the whole USA – just 20 minutes from our neighborhood. It is a jewel.
From various vantage points within this space you can see 5 or 6 different
types of communities – urban, suburban, rural farm, commercial, residential,
recreational, correctional (yes, you read that right). Sometimes you can stand
in one spot and see several all at the same time. It is a remarkable gift.
And it’s not the only one. We have a state park 20 minutes
from us which offers running trails – swampy and hilly with switchbacks and the
slight threat of bears – we like to run there on the roads in the dark with
only headlamps to light our path. No, I’ve never encountered a bear.
And if that’s not enough, one mile from our house is another
large urban park complete with an old growth forest, and THREE choices of
running trails (dirt, limestone, concrete) all closed to traffic and positioned
under a canopy of large indigenous trees.
We are acutely aware of how fortunate we are to have these
places at our disposal. We often discuss it as we pound out mile after mile,
all the while looking for ways to distract ourselves from the discomfort that
running long distances can produce. We are also mindful that no everyone in our
city has access to these treasures – not because they are costly to use – but because
they are not proximate to the pockets of poverty in our community. We talk about that when we run.
We appreciate this gift.
When the number of miles which lay ahead become too much for
us to handle, my partner is fond of saying, “Look at us out here.” And I
respond with, “We are gettin’ it done.” We say these things a lot. We are
putting one foot in front of the other. One step at a time is infinitely easier
to accept than 12 more miles and that’s what that exchange means to me.
One step at a time.
In between these brief exchanges, we have great conversation
by virtue of our overlapping interests. These conversations make the miles go
by faster (or at least it feels like
they are going by faster). But we also have differences which complement each
other. I have a tendency to starting talking about big stuff – like global affairs
or climate change or municipal financing – and when I’m passionate about it, I speed up. She sees
the details and connects the big stuff on a more personal level. This slows us down to a
sustainable pace.
My favorite thing that she does is when we are running and
lost in conversation (at least I’m lost)
and all of a sudden, she exclaims, “Look at the sky!” and I’ll look up to see
another beautiful sunrise – because we see the sunrise pretty much every day
when we run. It’s always different. It’s always stunning. And she never fails
to notice it. Or she’ll stop me as say, “I just want you to stop and look up;
do you see the light?” and I’ll look up to see individual beams of sunlight as
they peek through the canopy of the old growth forest. These are things that I
am not apt to notice when I am by myself but I think they make me a better
person when she points them out to me.
It’s so easy for me to become overwhelmed or discouraged
when I look at too much at a time. Whether it’s the worsening conflict in the
Middle East, my sadness over the treatment of Syrians looking to flee it or simply
the dozen-plus miles that lay ahead of me on the road, it’s much more
manageable to focus on one thing at a time.
When I focus on what is right in front of me, I feel empowered to affect the big things in small ways. There is little I can do to impact the international
response to ISIS. But I can pray that intelligently-targeted and sophisticated policy
will prevail over a continuation of the 30 years of shock and awe retaliation that have led us to
this place. Leaders don’t listen to housewife-blog writers about such things…but
I believe God does. I can’t change the suspicion directed toward our Syrian
brothers and sisters which has led so many in the US to vilify them. I can’t
take away anyone’s fear. But I can help the refugees that are already in my community
and welcome them one at a time.
I can’t erase the miles of pavement and trail-pounding that
stretch before me for the next 13 weeks and I can’t get anyone to do them for
me (nor would I want them to), but I can remember why I’m doing it in the first
place.
TO finish what I started…healthy, grateful, and in the
presence of good friends (and good food).
One step at a time.
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