When I began running it was because I had reached one of the more difficult turning points in my life. I was leaving behind a younger, more rash version of myself to enter adulthood and tackle an undertaking I had not yet realized would challenge me in so many ways. My personal life had reached a bottom point, and I knew that I needed something new if I was going to survive it all without crumbling. In fact, I nearly did crumble. Then my friend handed me a running plan, and one day I visited unchartered territory: the gym. I stood at the entrance to the track, pressed play on my ipod, searched for the start button on the stopwatch around my wrist, and began a slow, awkward trot. Run 30 seconds, walk 60, repeat. I was dripping in sweat, gasping for air, and my legs felt like jello. 30 minutes later, I felt incredibly cleansed, completely empty. The pain was gone, the self-doubt had temporarily cleared from my mind, and I felt as though I'd sweat so much that I'd have no tears to release that week. Two days later, I went back for more. Each time my gait felt a little less awkward. My head reached a little bit higher, and my arms swayed more deliberately. I put myself back together on that track, one run at a time. Within just a few months I'd dug up this new version of myself. It was a mix of the best parts of my past and this new confidence I'd never expected to possess. I kicked all of the most toxic things out of my life, one at a time, culminating with a damaging relationship. I knew it then. Running would always have to be a part of my life now.
Of course, life was not perfect after that. There were more struggles, more hills and battles, but I had this new secret. Every time life hit me so hard that I thought I couldn't get back up, I'd pound out 5 or 10 miles on the pavement, sweat away all of the pain, focus my mind on the breathing and the rhythm of my feet, and come back to life ready to face it. Five months after my first 5K (3.1 miles) I completed my first half marathon (13.1 miles) in 1:54:30.
I thought that I was on top of the world, but many of my real-life issues had infiltrated my training. Just like running is a metaphor for my life, my life is often a parallel for my training style. I kept pushing forward until I earned an over-training injury halfway into my first marathon training attempt in February of 2011.
I still crossed the finish line on May 1, 2011. Those three months between my injury and the race were full of doubt, fear, and both physical and emotional pain, though. Several doctors told me that marathons would not be in my future. I kept seeking more opinions until I found a physical therapist who was a marathoner with a history of knee injuries himself. He worked with me on moderation and balanced muscle tone. I learned that fitness needed to be about more than pounding out my pain on the pavement. Running success was about more than fast times and ignoring the pain. "It will be slow, and it will hurt, but you can still finish the marathon if you start working hard now," he told me. He was right. When I crossed the finish line I collapsed into my boyfriend's arms and broke into tears. I'd done it, slowly and arduously, but I'd done it, in 4:46:04.
So here I am again: crazy, right? Maybe, but I'm a new kind of crazy this year. This training season is all about balanced fitness and pacing my progress. I'm at a far healthier weight, tracking my protein and iron intake, and cross-training frequently. Most importantly, I'm committed to my Bikram Yoga classes with two amazing instructors that help people work through their injuries by building strength around the joint and flexibility in the muscles and tendons that hurt me most. I'm taking my workouts more slowly, adding in cycling and swimming, and focusing being able to hold a steady pace on marathon day.
Keep following me, because I know there will be hills, there will be hurdles, and I will learn from them.
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