Every Magnificent Mile

On Sunday, mid-Chicago Marathon, I learned something unexpected about myself. 

I love to run fast and to place well in races. I know people who are much faster and others who are stronger competitors than I am, and I do sometimes struggle to dig deeply enough in the final miles to feel in the end like I gave it all I had. But I have some natural talent and work hard enough to generally make a good showing. I train, I plan, I prepare, and I can tough it out through a lot of discomfort.

However, while I want to to do well in races—both to feel great and to finish strong—I figured out over the weekend that it is only a small piece of the puzzle I call my life.

Saturday afternoon I was presented with the opportunity to either take the shuttle bus to the Chicago Marathon expo or to, on a glorious blue-skied autumn afternoon, bike ride the seven miles there. While I grappled with the wisdom of riding a bike seven miles the day before running a marathon, I settled on a halfway compromise. But then the day happened. Biking was easy, the path smooth and flat, the weather perfect, and before I knew it I had opted for the full seven mile ride.

My friend and fellow rider asked me several times over the next 24 hours whether I regretted biking and if I had wished I had taken the shuttle to preserve my legs. I didn't have to even think about it. How could I ever regret that ride even, and we will never know, if it cost me precious race minutes?

After the bike ride, I stayed up a little too late talking and eating with wonderful new friends, drank a glass of wine with dinner, and stared out from the 28th floor at the bright moon over the Chicago River. None of which I could ever regret.

While a fast race and well run race is an adventure in and of itself, more adventure may await. Life is big. I can embrace adventure and it is okay—for me—to potentially trade adventure for the planned finish. I do not believe, truly, that my Saturday bike ride altered my Sunday race outcome. But had it, it would be a lesson and an adventure.

Now I need to focus on the flip side of the equation—letting myself off the hook when I run a race more slowly or less well than my goal because I let life step in and sweep away my best focused intentions. The inevitable disappointment that creeps in because I didn't run this marathon better or faster than the last one. Yeah, but I went on a beautiful bike ride and made new friends.

Of course, there is a slippery slope between this and deliberately giving myself excuses for not running well but that's another blog entry... (see this also)

Running is a Lot Like Life: A Lesson in Disregarding Worry

Last night was my daughter's first lesson with a new piano teacher. I reminded her gently throughout the day. Then fifteen minutes before he arrived I reminded her again and brought her into the bathroom to clean her fingernails and brush her hair. I could feel the resistance in her body. She sobbed that she was not ready. I spoke calmly to her, reassuring her that I would be near and that she had talent and knew enough for today. We were trying this new teacher and I wanted her opinion afterwards. I also told her it was my responsibility now to give her the tools to use her wonderful talent. Clinging to me, we met Joe. Genevieve sat on the bench with Joe beside her asking questions and listening to her play familiar songs, gauging what she knew. I stepped out of the room. Thirty minutes later Genevieve was happy.

This morning, Genevieve had a similar outbreak of anxiety over a school field trip. She did not want to go, despite having talked about it and prepared. She clung to me and complained loudly, near tears as we headed out the door. As post-piano, I expect she will be smiling at the end of the day, full of stories of Plumb Beach clean-up, as she climbs down the school bus stairs.

My husband and I listen to our children and do not make light of their concerns. But we continue forward. My belief is that if we allowed mild fear to dictate activities, they would never know the joys of struggling and overcoming. Of learning and mastery. Of unexpected experiences and amazing days.

Running is a lot like life.

I am six days out from my next marathon. Chicago 2014, my seventh. A couple of days ago I began to feel a strong apprehensiveness in the pit of my stomach. The worry is taking a very general form. I'm worried about all of the details of life, not specifically about running 26.2 miles. Although the thought of NOT racing on Sunday has certainly crossed my mind. 

This worry. A ploy. A distraction, much like the mid-race games my head likes to play, inviting me to a more comfortable place. My brain's manufactured worry right now draws me away from my clear-headed focus on next Sunday morning and the one strong and pure thought I need now:  To run an excellent race.

I believe that Genevieve is learning valuable lessons about overriding fear and engaging in life. And I believe that my mother and father and experience itself similarly prepared me well for these moments of apprehension. I haven't figured out how to eliminate the struggle. But, through running, I have learned to breath, disregard and redirect the voice in my head, to show up, and to finish strong.

T minus 6. Chicago here I come.