Well, okay, maybe not die in the literal term....but whatever I look like crossing that finish line on Sunday morning I know for a fact that it will not be pretty.
I haven't really mentioned via blog yet but I have taken up distance running and another half marathon is on the horizon. The problem? I have had little to no motivation to train for this race. None. Nada. Zero. Zilch. So, it's very likely that, while I have no one to blame but myself, that I will inevitably curse my life while around mile 10ish and there is no doubt in my mind that my poor husband will get the brunt of my pain and frustrations once we are out of public view. Or the last option....I will sit my sorry little a** on the concrete immediately after I cross that finish line. Other runners be damned.
Here's is what I know wholeheartedly about myself. I am not "hard core". I am not a "bad ass". I am not any of those bitchin' terms that describe those insane Type A's that run a race as if they are actually being chased. I'm not that. I will never be that. I will forever be the girl who is to the farthest right side of the road desperately searching for the next mile marker and swearing that I will never spend my hard earned money to put myself through another race, again! I will never win a half marathon (it's always a funny thing to even begin a race that you know, for a fact, that you're never going to win) but then....isn't life all about deciding what "winning" looks like to your own personal self?
And here's another thing....for those of you who don't know me (and, judging by my blog stats that show me that there are people in Europe that read my blog and I don't know anyone in Europe at the present time, I am to assume there are dear readers that don't, in fact, know me personally) I should add to this story that I have a rare dis/ABILITY of my hands and arms that I have had since birth. My life has exceeded all medical expectations for my existence and my races are just the latest in a string of accomplishments that are who I am. That being said....whenever I run I look like a chicken who is trying to out run and escape it's impending doom by the butcher. Seriously....because my hands and arms don't hang straight by my side it means that they also don't run exactly pretty while powering me through whatever race I'm running. The flail about, taking up twice as much personal space as everyone else on the course, and while I am sure I have left a runner or two in my wake as I pass them without even an "I'm sorry" for smacking them, I still run.
I'm not sure how many races I will run before I feel comfortable calling myself a "runner". I know that you don't need a license to be one, you don't need to run races to call yourself one, and you don't need to sport a medal to prove to yourself that you can run with the big dogs so therefore you're a "runner". There's a part of me that still feels like a poser. Like one of these days my medals are going to be revoked and I'm going to be black-balled from the running community. I know that is not actually the case, but I suppose it goes back to having to prove myself and my abilities every single day of my life. Doing precisely what everyone else in my world has said that I couldn't do-whether that's feeding myself, brushing my hair, driving a car unassisted, becoming a cheerleader, running my own business successfully, or running half marathons. Everything I have ever done in my life, everything that I had set out to do or dreamed into existence, meant that I was already entering the proverbial ring as the under dog. Prove myself. Prove myself. Prove myself. Feels like my life's mantra. But then, it wasn't just about proving that I could do something, it was then about making it look easy while I did it. Little did anyone know that it took me extra hours to learn how to tie my shoe laces or build up what little arm muscles I have to be able to control a car so I could feel freedom just like everyone else. The beauty of running is that when I'm on that course, sweating it out, digging deep, questioning my abilities with all that I have but never loosing sight of crossing that finish line, praying that my body doesn't fail me with every step yet feeling pain like I've never experienced before, the truth is that I know I'm not the only one. So for that, I suppose I am just like every other runner powering through it all. Hell, I. Am. A. Runner.
Half and full marathons are not for the faint of heart. They are not for the self doubters or non believers. They are hard. They are ruthless and unrelenting. They are fantastic.
See you on the other side of my next 13.1 miles.
