Corey and I are running a half marathon in two weeks, on November 15th. We decided this sometime in the summer; we were running at least every other day anyway, and 21 kilometers in a row seemed like a reasonable goal. It wasn't, like, a full marathon or anything. Just a light couple kilometers. We could totally do it.
But I have to admit, as the date approaches, I'm getting increasingly nervous. In my youth, running track competitively, I specialized in 400 and 800 meters, specifically because I hate long distances. My legs turn to jello during long runs, my heart hurts and I want to eat cheesecake or tear my eyebrows out instead, anything but the agony of endless, heaving torture.
We keep training though: 5Ks during the week, uphill tempo runs to the gym, treacherous, blood-pumping dirty runs through mud and evergreens in the steep forests. We're going to do this, I think. Maybe. If we faked injuries, or decided to go eat pizza instead, would anyone really know? I'm ashamed to admit that a list of plausible excuses keeps scrolling through my head, rehearsing. Maybe I'll need them.
***
It's Sunday today, our long run training day.
The sun's out bright: a perfect, crisp fall day. The leaves are still full on the tree in their autumnal glory: bursting cherry red, burnished gold, yellow. The boats are out in the harbour and couples are strolling the sea wall with coffee cups in hand. There are old ladies with coral-lined lips, tiny dogs in ridiculous sweaters, stylish gay couples in leather coats and good shoes, multi-cultures from around our planet, soaking in the perfectness of Vancouver's rare November sun.
I click on my Nike plus and the first couple songs are OK, I breathe through my nose and try to get my tempo: Corey and I have both been sick and I feel less strong than usual. About 5 kilometers in, the initial motivation of the sunshine and the crowds dulls and I think: my face hurts, my blister is bleeding, I have a stitch and I think oh my god, this LICKS, why do I keep doing this?
But then at kilometer 6, something shifts. That's the way it is with long runs: ebbs and flows of torture, bouts of "this is OK, I can keep going", interspersed with snippets of "I'd rather birth a camel than keep doing this". But kilometer 6 feels good and I look over at Corey and he's so handsome, and strong and if he can heave his bulging muscles across this pavement with ease, then I can haul my skinny arms a little further. I look at the ocean and the hazy blue of the mountains and suddenly I'm filled with gratitude: for youth, for strength, for the ability to do this. I started thinking about Linda's recent brilliant post, about reasons to run, the one reason that mattered, and then I thought: there are even more.
1. Because I am still young enough to carve and sculpt and shape my body. It's a limited time I have, to do this, to help to manipulate it into a strong vehicle. I have years to be old: content to walk slowly and let sags and folds happen. For now I have some semblance of control: I can sprint and jump and lift and climb and I need to take advantage of this now because this only happens once, this opportunity, and there's no second chance to take it.
2. Because pain reaps reward. Everything worth it in life is hard. Running sucks, especially for long distances: but the glow of the after is worth the temporary discomfort. I never, ever regret running full out, lifting more than I think I can, trying for one more mountain climber when I'd rather be doing anything else at all. Treats are sweeter, the sun is brighter, possibilities are endless when I'm pushing the boundaries of the staid and comfortable.
3. The silence of mind. When bodily discomfort is at a searing level, my mind quiets to a point where I can immerse myself fully in my space. Clarity of thought is nearly exquisite after the 10K point: I think about my long term goals and immediate happiness: things I can do to live life to bursting and leave a soft footprint. There have been times during our long runs where I feel like I'm perfectly happy: ensconced in nothing but this pure moment. I don't feel that at the grocery store, running errands, huddled in front of my computer. It's runner's high, I think, and it's worth the assholery of the pain.
We ran 16.5 kilometers today in an hour and twenty seven minutes and it sucked and hurt and at the end it was golden. We're totally going to do this thing.
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