The Last One

Yesterday was it. My last “long run” before the marathon. 6 miles.

I didn’t want to start it. I wasn’t ready for the last one. By 6:15 p.m. on Saturday though, I knew it was time. It was perfect weather. Mid-fifties, sunshine and a gentle breeze. As soon as my feet hit the ground I knew this run was something special. That rare, really great run. Not just great at the end or after warming up. But great all the way through. I bounced, danced, smiled, and glided up hills. I took deep, exaggerated breaths past every blooming lilac bush and floral tree (safe, now that the stinky blooms of the flowering pear trees have gone.) I soaked in the sun, mouthed along to the songs on my ipod and thought about the 5 months or so, and the week that lay before me.

The last time I did a 6 mile “long run” it was snowing. I was with a group, chasing after people twice my age who qualified for Boston and trying to find my place. I was recovering from a horrible stomach bug and just trying to get through it. The marathon was far from my mind and doubts had pretty much taken over.

This run, yesterday, was 6 miles of celebration, mixed with a little bit of sadness. I suppose that’s why I wanted to put it off for just a bit. No one wants to say goodbye to anything that’s changed her life. Marathon training has done nothing less.

The girl who began this journey did so out of some sort of call. A call to love that lonely, broken person into someone new through running. I chose to do this to honor the victims of the bombing in Oklahoma City, but in a way, I also chose this to honor my own grief for losses I experienced over the past year. Deep down I knew I needed to acknowledge that pain by living it, and then in finding life beyond it.

So I have. For some reason, I believed this ride would be worth the suffering and sacrifice. That belief has carried me through some of the most painful miles. My desire to do this wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t worth it. What I didn’t know when I ran that 6 miles in December was how powerful that belief, that faith, and that hope really is. If it can carry me up a hill at the end of 20 miles, and through 5 months of training, it can carry me through anything. It might be a wild, painful, difficult, surprising ride, but it’s a ride worth getting in line for.

There is life beyond our pain. There is hope in the deepest desires of our hearts. It’s fitting that these last runs, this marathon, is in the spring. New life is blooming everywhere. For me, it’s the new life of a person who has learned to face pain head on, and not to “tough it out” but to embrace it. It’s the new life of a person who has taken her broken pieces, offered them up, and allowed faith and hope to teach her that trusting God with those pieces is worth it. It was Theresa of Avila who said “the important thing is not to think much but to love much and so to do that which best stirs you to love. Love is not great delight, but desire to please God in everything.”

Marathon training has changed my life into something new. It has allowed me, in a quite tangible and real way, to trust love, even when it makes no sense, when it hurts, and when it leads you on a wild ride. This last run was 6 miles of celebrating that love. For everyone who has hurt, who has dared to trust in life beyond that pain and found love there, this marathon is for you.

Climax

It’s been an emotional week. The 20 mile run week was a climax of training. I’ve heard from seasoned marathoners that it’s harder than the marathon itself. While I would have argued that I had no desire to complete another 6.2 after going 20, I think there is a point. What’s an extra six miles when there are crowds, and snacks and bands playing? As one friend said today “When you get done with the marathon people give you stuff: medals, mylar blankets, a huge food spread. When you get done with 20 miles you get home and get a shower!”

I am happy to have reached that point. The hardest part of training. The climax.

Climaxes, however, are not all good news. In literature a climax is a decisive moment that is of maximum intensity or is a major turning point in a plot. Intensity and turning points are bound to bring some disappointment.

I had two conversations with people last week that surprised me. Friends, who were interested, but sort of on the periphery of all of this training, offered me the most sincere words of support. I felt those two friends cheering me on, rooting for me. More than the “go for its” though, were the sentiments of recognition they expressed that this journey is about far more than the running, and through it I have grown. They were not only cheering for me to finish the race, but to keep becoming more myself though it. Between the lines they communicated, “we’ve been with you on this journey and we’ll stay with you through the end, wherever it takes you.”

I suppose any turning point of note is not without conflict. Especially when it involves a character’s growth and transformation. I had a friend attack me today, and blame much of the discord in our relationship on me running a marathon. After some time to sit and sift through the accusations, the angry words, and my own hurt, I remembered the hawk. A bird with a vision that is often misunderstood because it is a bird of prey.

It is a painful thing to learn that people who love you may stop if you change. That you might be misunderstood by your friends and even attacked when you embark on a journey to, as I have said before, fulfill your soul’s purpose. That is the risk. Anytime we choose to obey the quiet whispers of our souls, and follow where those whispers lead us, we are going to be misunderstood. There are going to be people who don’t get it, who don’t support it, who are threatened by it, and who attack it, and who those people are might come as a surprise.

A climax brings a whole mess of emotions. Maximum intensity and major turning points. Big fights with some, steadfast love and support from others, and trying to make sense of the mess. The hardest part of training has little to do with the miles. It is finding the strength to withstand the climax. It’s finding acceptance in the losses and gratitude for all of the gains. It’s sorting through the change, letting go of who you were and becoming who you are. It’s trusting and living in your own truth on the days when there are no medals, no food and no mylar blankets at the finish.

20 Miles to the Homestretch

As I write this my feet are soaking in ice water. It’s a little painful waiting for them to numb, but I know this is a good thing to do after 20 miles of foot strikes, 3x my body weight of impact on each one. I don’t know how many hundreds, even thousands of times that happens over the course of 20 miles but it’s a lot. My feet hurt. They hurt at the halfway point. Marathon training can be downright abusive to any normal human’s body. 20 miles of running proved that point.

I anticipated this day for months. The longest run before the marathon. The last big one before tapering over the next three weeks. Could I handle it? Would I be ready? It was not an easy thing to get up at the crack of dawn to run this morning. To be out for nearly four hours. A daunting task to even begin.

And yet, here I sit. The 20 miles of running now complete. People will ask how it was. I have to think about that answer. Seeing the sunrise and a yard full of thousands, yes literally thousands of daffodils, was incredible. Running in shorts for the first time in months? Freeing. Thinking about the people, who in the last week have encouraged me, telling me how far I have come, wishing me the best…those thoughts pushed me through some of the harder miles. And it was hard. It was so incredibly hard. There were moments when I had to talk myself into getting to the next telephone pole, mere feet away. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my body just ached and I said to myself over and over “I feel great.” I longed for cold water for miles, and was filled with gratitude when I was able to stop at my office at mile 18 to drink it, splash it on my face and pour it over my head. There were moments of hope: seeing 2 hawks, running down hills, feeling a burst of energy, a cool breeze. There were moments of despair, thinking this would never end. Being tired and still having 10, 6, 4 and 2 miles to go. This is how it was.

The thing that amazes me after every long run: when it’s over, I can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe that I could run 20 miles and still be able to walk and function and go on about my life (granted, I will be sore and that soreness will be a reminder of what I accomplished.) I can’t believe that I was running, convincing my legs to move forward and now I sit here relaxing with my feet numbing in ice water. It ended. This thing that seemed so daunting for so many months is now over. There was an end after all and it involves ice water, chocolate milk, cheese and crackers, and sitting and thinking “I did it.”

I did it.

It’s hard to put into words how satisfying that feeling is. How encouraging. How much in life we see something before us that seems so daunting, and in the midst of it, might seem to never end, and then it does and we can say “I did it.” Of course, running for that long is about more than getting through it. It is about finding the moments of joy along the way. But the real reward is in enjoying each accomplishment. Savoring the feeling of cold water, the well-earned tiredness and even the soreness. It’s in saying your going to do something, committing to it even when it seems scary and finding a way to finish. Running a marathon is an accomplishment for sure, but so is being able to say “I did it” after every long run. 20 Miles. 4 months of training done. 3 weeks left to appreciate the miles completed and savor every moment of the homestretch

The Lonely Road

Harry Potter walks into the forbidden forest alone to face Voldemort.
Jesus journeys alone into the desert to face the devil and its temptations.

These two models of faith and self-sacrifice have been on my mind lately. I am not this type of hero. But I take something from their example.

I have read that the bravest warriors are forged in fire. I have not read that they take their buddies, or significant others, or even families with them. These warriors take on the most trying parts of their journeys alone.

The truth is, running a marathon is a lonely journey. In fact, I sometimes think that might be at the heart of why I took it on. A part of me wondered if I could handle training so long and so hard and for so many hours at a time, alone.

As four months and mile after mile of training have passed, I’ve realized how lonely I am. How lonely this is. Few people understand the motivation to do it to begin with. I am blessed by those that do. But no one is out there running 14, 16 or 18 miles with me. I am on my own day in and day out. I am making food choices alone, rest choices alone, and balancing my job and social life alone. I am feeling like my feet will fall off after 13 miles of running with 5 more to go, alone. I am trying to rationalize this crazy thing that no one makes you do, alone.

Yet, I am convinced that this is how it is meant to be. This, in so many ways, is not a choice. I would love to have someone to train with, there wasn’t anyone who could….who wanted to. I wound up running mostly by myself when I went to a running group! And I still knew I needed to do it. Of course, Jesus and Harry Potter knew what they needed to do too and didn’t let the fear of loneliness stop them from going where they were called to be-someplace scary without the safety net of a friend, or even a stuffed animal or blanket. I am certain that pain, suffering and feelings of abandonment were part of their journeys too. I know they are part of mine.

I was reminded, by two hawk sightings on my 18-mile run, that God is still there. In the first mile the hawk was flying so low I could see its eyes and details of its feathers. Maybe God is not as far away as God sometimes seems. But God who seems to appear in the form of a hawk these days, seems to be around, only for brief moments, as if just to say “you are fulfilling your soul’s purpose.”

Fulfilling your soul’s purpose is not a group project. Loneliness and feeling abandoned, left to face the cold, the hills and the miles alone, is a necessary part of the training. The bravest warriors are forged in fire and the fire is a lonely, difficult, painful place to be. But it is necessary. It is part of the journey. I have faith in that much. I am betting so did Harry, and Jesus. No one desires coming face to face with loneliness, pain, and weakness, but if we are to be who we are called to be, we must. After all, no two souls have the same purpose. I know I am supposed to keep training. That’s all I know. So in the fire I remain for now, praying for the patience to wait and the grace to endure it, alone.

New Shoes

Have you ever smelled new running shoes?

The smell of running shoes sits up there with baseball gloves, lilac bushes and bread hot out of the oven in my world. I could stand in a shoe store by the tennis shoes and drink in the smell all day long.

Today I bought a new pair of running shoes. In less than four months I have run 300 miles. At that distance, my shoes break down and I find my shins and calves taking the brunt of running’s impact. After Monday morning’s run, the second or third in a row with my legs bothering me, I calculated my mileage. I was shocked to come up with 300, a number that usually takes me 6 months to reach. I shouldn’t be. I know I am running at least twice as much as I used to. Nevertheless, the mileage numbers and the worn down shoes stood as a tangible representation of the work I have put in. Staring at these two things, my calendar with the miles ticked off and the worn down treads on my Mizunos, I was hit with the magnitude of the distance. This time not of the marathon, but of the training. I’ve never run this far, or this frequently for this long in my life.

Like all changes that happen over time, it’s difficult to see the total impact when you are in the midst of it.

My worn running shoes triggered a bit of reflection on the last 300 miles.

When I went for my 8 mile run this weekend, I wondered what good it could possibly be doing—since it was so short! Running 4 miles barely seemed worth changing for. It takes me 3 miles to get warmed up. 6-mile runs seem easy to fit in on a morning before work.

The reality is the 8 miles I ran this weekend were on a retreat. I was working. I got up at 5:45 a.m. to fit them in, and in a strange place with unfamiliar routes. Pre-marathon, I took weekends I was working or traveling off of working out completely. I certainly didn’t get up before 6 a.m. to work out. Four runs a week or two days of running in a row seemed like too much. I do that regularly now and twice as far. Prior to these four months a 9-mile run on a Saturday would wear me out for the day. When I ran 16, I didn’t do much, but I was able to do a couple of errands and didn’t need a nap. I’ve learned more about nutrition, rest, hydration, and focus than I ever have in my life. I have gone to bed earlier, gotten up earlier, and shelved dozens of the excuses I used to have for not running.

Today I took my new shoes out for a four-mile run. It was 60 degrees and sunny. I saw more dogs and strollers, cyclists, and other runners in that short run than I have seen out over the past 4 months combined. I felt like I was running on marshmallows in the new shoes. It felt like spring.

When I put those old shoes away, with them I put away three hundred hard miles of training. 300 miles of growth and transformation. 300 miles of winter running. With the comfort and support of the new shoes came renewed excitement. These shoes will carry me through the marathon and beyond. I am excited to see where the next 300 miles will take me; one mile at a time.

It's not just about the marathon...

Have you ever heard of anyone who just woke up one day, decided to sign up for a marathon and run it that same day? I haven’t. I am sure there are a few souls who have done it, but the story is not a common one. People train for marathons. They train for different amounts of time, at different speeds and with different levels of success. But people train for marathons and most of them train for many months.

If you are going to sign up for one of these things it really better not be because you only want to run 26.2 miles in a row. A standard program includes more than 300 miles of running before the final 26.2. The marathon race and training are two separate things. One is filled with people running, cheering, volunteering. The other you do on your own. One lasts 5+ hours, the other lasts 5 months.

So it’s not just about the marathon, it’s about the training and what training will do for you. Getting your body in shape is just the beginning.

I’ve realized in the last few weeks that training is a trial for the soul. It wears you down in every way something can. As much great support as I have had through this, I have had twice as many people put some aspect of this down. People who call me crazy, question the value of it, point out the dangers of running out in the cold, say “it’s bad for you,” etc. After awhile, it’s hard not to believe that stuff.

I’ve run out of motivation over and over again. I have been dejected by the snow, slow on hills, lost, tired, and sore. I’ve gotten sick of running, and just plain sick and had to find a way to put my shoes back on and go. I have had scheduling conflicts and not enough sleep.

I’ve listened to my brain tell me how tired I am, how much my feet hurt and how I can’t handle one more hill. I have seen my grocery bill increase, my need for sleep increase, and my free time decrease.

But I keep training. We human beings are so much tougher than we can possibly imagine. For so much of our lives we skate on the surface of what’s comfortable, fun and easy. But that’s not where we really learn. That’s not where we are transformed. We are changed when we dig down deeper than the pain, the boredom, and the exhaustion and find the strength to keep going. When we encounter a wall, and find a way to get past it, we see the other walls of fear and negativity crumble with our new found confidence.

It takes a lot of time and patience, both on individual runs and over course of months. There are going to be days and weeks filled with doubt. And yet, if we can just be patient, just keep running, we might find ourselves not only accomplishing something we never dreamed we could, but having been transformed by the journey. By the perseverance and ability to continue running through pain, not away from it. We might find our perspective on life changes a bit when we’ve run 16 miles or wake up before sunrise to fit in a run. We might find ourselves growing not just as runners, but as people.

the hawks were watching...

One of my favorite things to do while running is look for wildlife. In an urban residential setting I am somewhat limited to deer, various birds and the occasional groundhog. Nevertheless there are some woodsy parks and a river bikeway that provide their share of creatures. In order to see them, though, you have to be looking.

I usually set out on my long runs aiming to see interesting birds. While I regularly see sparrows, robins, cardinals, crows and grackles, there are just enough great blue herons, woodpeckers, and hawks and small songbirds to keep things interesting. This time of year is perfect for spotting new ones. The trees are bare and the weather is just starting to warm up, so you can see them flying through the branches to build their spring nests.

Lately, the red tailed hawk has been soaring about on my runs. They are certainly large and majestic, and at the same time, easy to miss. They fly up to 100 feet above the ground, floating on thermals and searching for prey. Often, they perch near the tops of trees and telephone poles, their gaze fixated on the ground below.

Hawks have always been just a little off putting to me. Maybe it’s the yellow or red eyes and hooked bill. Maybe it’s their size and wingspan. They are majestic, certainly, but a little threatening too. Yet, I love to spot a hawk while running. I have to stop and watch them--stare back at them staring at me, or see them soar in circles for a bit--before running off more focused and alert than I was before.

After seeing the red-tailed hawk on my last two long runs, and a few other times during the week I decided to find out if there was any spiritual symbolism to this creature. It turns out the hawk, in particular the red-tailed variety, is associated with messengers, protectors and visionaries. Soaring high above the earth and able to spot a mouse from 100 feet away, hawks have a sense of the big picture and remind us to be more alert to our surroundings. They also symbolize an awakening to your souls purpose, and freeing yourself from anything keeping you from achieving that purpose. They remind us to be open to hope and new ideas. The hawk also is a symbol of God’s care and protection, and if we listen to its message, we, too will be protected.

The symbolism of the hawk came in a timely way. As I struggle through these difficult weeks of training it has helped to be reminded that this will be worth it—that these walls I have hit are part of the journey. That finding my way through them, around them, and over them is part of the ultimate joy and achievement. There is a bigger picture here. The hawk can see it. And now, when I see the hawk, I am reminded to have faith that this run is a part of it, however difficult it might be that day.

We all need reminders to be more alert to our surroundings, to see things from a new angle and to believe in ourselves, and our dreams and our goals. These reminders can come in a multitude of ways. For me it’s the red-tailed hawk. For another, it might be something else. The message is far more important than the messenger—but to find it, you have to be looking.