[Side note: Anyone who read my article last week--
"Rip Off the Band-Aid!"--probably took one look at the above title and knows where I'm going with this! ;o) So you might want to go back and read the previous article if you haven't done so yet.]
A few years back a friend was standing next to me at a marathon start line and was very nervous. She knew I had run numerous marathons, so she asked me,
"When do you stop getting nervous before a marathon?" My reply was,
"I'll let you know when that happens." Truthfully, the nervousness doesn't go away for me, but typically I know in my heart that I have it within me to at least get to the finish line. Each race, of course, is its own journey, and I always respect the distance.
Yet because of circumstances this past year, I had lost some of my confidence, and those pesky antagonists named "fear and doubt" began to invade my thoughts. So when the date was fast approaching for the Rock 'N Roll Washington D.C. Marathon--an event I had been looking forward to since last fall--I had almost convinced myself I couldn't do it. As I mentioned in my Newsletter last week, when I expressed my apprehension to my son-in-law Bryan in a phone conversation (during which I went on-and-on about why I shouldn't, or maybe why I should, etc.), Bryan interrupted and said, "
Mom, rip off the band-aid!" I took his advice, and I signed up.
I am happy to say I successfully completed the marathon, and I ran even better than I expected! But that's not the story, really. As I've said before, it is the journey that changes us, not the destination.
The journey began when I opened my e-mail last Thursday, after sending out my Newsletter. I received some heartwarming words of encouragement from some of you, and I could literally feel my confidence building. Your emails expressed your belief in me, your gratitude for what I write and share in my Newsletters, and your perception of me as a woman of strength and inspiration. You were reminding me what I tell all of you in my Newsletters every week--believe in yourself, because you are strong. What goes around comes around.
When I got to D.C., my brother picked me up at the airport and we had a nice day, picking up our race packets, taking a brief tour of the area where we would be running, and having dinner with Levi Rickert, a local Native American activist and accomplished journalist. The only part of the day that gave me a little anxiety was seeing mile 5 of the course, which we had read about and heard a lot of people talking about--it includes a steep, winding hill almost 3/4 of a mile long! I found out later that both of us made a mental note to walk part of the hill to save our strength early in the race.
On race morning, before leaving Randy's apartment, I added one step to my usual ritual--I touched the statue of a "happy Buddha" on his dresser and silently asked my Dad to be with me during the race. My Dad collected these happy Buddha statues (with arms raised), and my siblings and I each took one of them to keep after my Dad passed away. I knew that gesture would remind me later--when I needed it most--that I learned about strength and endurance from my Dad.
When we got to the race site, there was the usual excitement, and we started getting pumped up. Randy had trained well and had set a goal to finish in approximately 5 hours. As far as my estimated finish time--I had no clue. But I thought I'd be walking, so I guessed between 5 and 5-1/4 hours. We both made our own plans to do a run/walk, and when our wave was released to cross the start line, we wished each other good luck and were on our way!
I had a rough start because of stomach problems but settled in after a few miles. Then came mile 5. I began thinking about my walk strategy for this mile, when I came around a curve and saw a familiar sight that I last saw at the Marine Corps Marathon--people wearing blue shirts that said, "Wear blue. Run to remember." It was the Blue Mile, just as at Marine Corps. I had no idea there was going to be a Blue Mile at this event, but it was certainly placed at an appropriate location. I could already feel the tears welling up and my throat getting tight. The Blue Mile is lined with volunteers holding American flags, and a mile of photo tributes of men and women killed in the line of duty. It allows runners to "pay tribute to the service members who have paid the ultimate sacrifice." As I passed these photos, I found myself looking in the eyes of each soldier, some in full uniform, some in military fatigues with their arms wrapped around their babies. There was no way I was walking any of this mile. I found out later my brother felt the same inspiration at that point. There's no way you can get through that mile without feeling changed.
I continued on, going back to my run/walk plan after mile 5. It was cold--about 24 degrees--but the sun came out and made for a beautiful day. The course was very scenic as well, and I settled in to a rhythm. There were a couple of "out-and-backs" at which I saw Randy (not far behind me), and we exchanged high-fives!
Then, around mile 18, where I thought I'd probably be walking by then, the winds picked up (thanks a lot, Stella!). No matter which way the course turned, the wind was against us. When I saw others walking, I had to fight the urge. So I dug deep, drawing on all the thoughts I had gathered before the race--my Dad, my family back home, and ALL OF YOU! I thought about how I urge you to draw on your inner strength when you don't think you have anything left. And I remembered your words of support and encouragement. It was then I decided that not only was I going to finish, but I was determined to run the whole thing (with walk breaks), even if it meant a slower pace. Just making that decision ("ripping off the Band-Aid, if you will!) made me feel powerful. I kept going, one step at a time, counting down the miles instead of counting up. About the time I was feeling confident again, Mother Nature decided to give us one more challenge. When I reached mile 24, the winds kicked up to at least 30 mph. I was literally being blown back and could feel the sting of the wind chill. I dug even deeper, telling myself it was probably more efficient to run against the wind instead of walking, because when you run, you have some momentum to help move you forward. Whether or not that logic made sense, it worked for me! I crossed the finish line in 4 hours 30 minutes and 32 seconds.
Technically, I had reached my destination. But the journey wasn't really over yet. I wanted to be there when Randy finished, so I collected my medal and, being wet and cold, looked for a heat sheet to warm me while I waited. I was disappointed to learn they placed the heat sheets outside of the finish area, which meant if I exited to get one, I couldn't come back in. So I found a sunny spot on a curb and waited for Randy, shivering almost uncontrollably, but determined to be there when he crossed the finish line. Not surprisingly, my brother--a strong and determined person like my Dad--finished soon after me, way ahead of his goal. He ran the marathon in 4 hours and 48 minutes! When I saw him cross the finish line, I ran to him and we hugged, our eyes filling with tears--tears that represented so much more than could be expressed in words, but some of those words would be affirmance, restoration, confidence, self-esteem, strength, tenacity, passion, faith, and love.
Thank you for letting me share my story with you. Remember what I said last week, that everything you need to achieve your goals and pursue your passions is within you. With the help of others, I was reminded that it was within me as well and that "ripping off the Band-Aid" led me to another journey that could only help me grow. Growth is never easy and requires great effort. But in the words of Carol Dweck, a psychologist and leading researcher in the field of motivation and how to foster success:
"Effort is one of those things that gives meaning to life. Effort means you care about something, that something is important to you, and you are willing to work for it." Be willing to "work for it," and you will make great strides.
