This past weekend, I ran in my 7th half marathon (8th if you count an unofficial one, which I most certainly do!). Throughout the 12 “official” weeks of training, I had put in most of my “long” runs, but usually failed to run during the week and – my biggest mistake – had failed to do any speed work after January. I knew this race was going to hurt, but I kept telling myself I had been through more painful things and if I can get through those, I can get through this. The weeks leading up to the marathon were proving to be a very big growth period in my life, both physically and mentally. I discovered a daily hour long walk with my dogs is my heaven. I discovered yoga truly equals sanity and body awareness. I discovered when I decreased the amount of cardio I was doing, I wasn’t nearly as hungry and could get full again (which, scarily, that sensation had escaped my radar the month of March).
I saw a quote at the 5k on Friday (which I walked with my sister-in-law) that really struck it home for me – “The greatest obstacle is the distance between your ears.” The days prior I had done all the mental preparations – the visualizations, the mantras, preparing scenarios to think about to distract myself while running – I was feeling confident going into the race. I was trying to push out the memories of last year’s race, which was one of many bad days in 2011. The 2011 race is one that sends a shudder through my body. Right off the starting line, I couldn’t catch my breath, my body was tired, my mind was exhausted, and my heart was heavy. All of these things were brewing a perfect storm. I have never been closer to quitting a race than this one- I wanted to sit on the curb and cry and never run again. Instead, I finished – but it was really ugly. I was miserable the entire time; mentally beating the piñata I had brought to the pity party I was throwing myself. I was so mad at myself and crabby towards my family that had stood out in the crappy weather to cheer me on. These memories were haunting me as Saturday approached – I did not want a repeat of last year’s race.
Saturday’s race started out just fine. The weather was perfect, our pace was nice and slow, my breathe was even and my body felt decent enough. It was around mile 5 where my right hamstring, which I had been having problems with the past month or so, starting to yell at me. I tried to slow the pace down even farther but it wasn’t digging jogging at any pace. Then the negative thoughts started to creep in. I tried to counteract them as I had practiced, but that wasn’t working so well. The daunting thought of having 7 more miles to finish after we hit mile 6 hit me like a ton of bricks. I told my running buddies to go on without me. I stopped and stretched my hammie. I walked. Walking felt so good. I started to look at all the runners who were now passing me – since I am not a fast distance runner by any stretch of the imagination, they weren’t going very fast and most of them looked like they were in a lot of pain trying to hold running form. I knew most of them were digging deep, trying to distract themselves, thinking about anything but how badly they wanted this to be over and the runner’s high awaiting them at the finish line. I thought back to one of the mantras I had quoted to my faithful running buddy as we were checking off the miles: “Be Present.” I told myself I could play all of these mind games, getting lost in my own thoughts, mantras, distractions, etc. OR I could take in the moment. I decided to tackle the remainder of the race with a 1 minute walk/1 minute run strategy, I knew I could easily do that. With the physical plan of attack taken care of, I addressed my mental state. How did I want to finish? By being present. I took one of my ear buds out, and started listening to the sounds of the race. There were so many people out supporting, so much effort put into supporting the participants. The music, the signs, and the cheers – all done to show support, love, encouragement for those crazy enough to be on the road. I begin to smile and high five spectators, thanking them for being there. I thanked the volunteers at the water stations. I stopped and hugged a familiar face along the road. I literally leapt with joy when I saw my family and my fur baby, Huey. My hamstring was still hurting, but my heart was bursting. I crossed the finish line way behind my goal time, just like last year - only this time, I didn’t care. I had used the most effective distraction device I’ve ever found to make it through – being present.
