The Longest Yard… Meter I Mean
I recently ran my first official half marathon. It may not sound like much, but this was a huge milestone . And yeah, it was through Hobbiton in New Zealand, so that was cool.
I ran a lot when I was younger. I ran cross country and track throughout my schooling years. Running always came somewhat naturally to me. I was not the fastest or best, but I could hold my own. Being an average hight and below average weight, I was a good build for running. I would have even gone as far to describe myself as a “runner” to others. I had some success competitively during this time despite my lack of enthusiasm for the sport. You see, I hated running. I loved the hang with friends and the culture of running, but I hated the actual act of running. And I made that VERY, VERY clear. I was known as the complainer of my team and never held my tongue. In retrospect, this only intensified my feelings of hatred towards running and likely, similar feelings from others towards me. I stopped running after high-school vowing to never run again.
Running has a magnetic quality about it. It draws you in inch by inch, not matter how much you swore to avoid it. Once pulled in, it is nearly impossible to separate yourself from the act. Running becomes a part of you this is why runners have the ability to insert the fact that they DO in fact run, into every conversation. I am no different. Running pulled me with its magnetic love and I find myself back where I started as a kid; a runner.
The race started like every other; everyone running too fast getting caught up in the emotions of the moment. I was no different, I started out FAR faster than I had trained for. While I was racing ahead, I became conscious of how fast I was running, but I could not slow down. This bit me in the ass soon, and lasted till what feels like a month after my race. Eventually I slowed into my normal pace and made my way up and down the rolling hills. Rolling hills makes it sound gentle, even enjoyable. Harsh hills may be a better way to describe it. Either way, the race consisted of a routine struggle up a hill, then a joint-destroying sprint down. Slow and painful up, fast and painful down. The pain was consistent, I’ll give it that.
I chose to run this race without any music, podcasts, or audio books to distract me. I wanted to feel the full struggle of the race both physically and mentally and I cannot focus on anything important when Tim Dillon is screaming in my ears about the trans movement and heroin addicted bankers. I didn’t want to disconnect my mind from what my body was doing. I wanted to do the opposite; to be painfully aware mentally of what was happening physically. Allowing my mind to wander while I run has become my favorite part of running, both in a race and during training. Running is a safe house for my mind, allowing space for my mind to go wild until it halts on a certain thought or idea. This race challenged me mentally in a way I haven’t felt challenged in a long time. The lessons I learned through this struggle are mine and mine alone. You can find them yourself, but you have to struggle. It would be cheating to let you into the fold without proper orientation.
The only option during such a long race is to focus on the next step in front of you. You cannot focus on how many miles you have to come, how tired you are, or how much time you have left. Meditating on these thoughts can at BEST bring discouragement. Thus, your only option is to focus on taking the next step, and the one after that, then the one after that. It is actually pretty simple, you may not be able to finish the race, but you can take the next step in front of you. This, like everything else, becomes more of a battle mentally than physically.
I finished the race. Mentally and physically one of the harder things I have done, but I gained something from it. I got a beer given to me as I crossed the finish line, not exactly the nutrition I needed physically but it was long overdue mentally. The feeling of crossing the finish line of a race is like none other, euphoric I suppose. I don’t quite know the words to describe it. Both never wanting to run again, and wanting to sign up for your next race right then and there.
The next race will be upon me soon, so I’d better be ready. The struggle will be just as intense, maybe even more. But, something tangible is gained in the silent struggle of an endurance race. That is what I am after. Onto the next!
Grace and Peace,
Justin
