I recently signed up for a marathon. Because I love to run. I love lacing up the sneakers, hitting the pavement, and running myself into blissful oblivion. I love choosing a play list depending on my mood that day - from hip hop, to reggae, to whatever Pandora throws at me. I love when I get into my rhythm and the world fades away... when it's just me, the music, and the road ahead of me. When my thoughts of the day's stresses disappear behind me, when my worries for tomorrow can wait until then... when it's just me, the music, and the road ahead of me. When I feel the tension release from my shoulders, when my clenched hands loosen and begin to sweat. When I hit that runner's high, and feel a sense of utter happiness. When the sun sets, or the sun rises, or the fog envelopes me... and it's just me, the music, and the road ahead of me. When I finish that last step, when I'm thankful for my legs that carried me through, when I feel ready to tackle on the worries of tomorrow. I love to run.
I recently signed up for a marathon. I ran my first half marathon in October 2009 - after internally thinking that there was no possible way I could run 13 miles without stopping, I did it. I was hooked. I accomplished something that I did not think I could, and there is something addicting about doing that. I ran my second one in December and blew my last time out of the water. I ran my third the next February, running 8:19 min/miles. The runner's high I experienced while exploring my local bike paths was amplified when I crossed that finish line and beat my last time. Not only could I run 13 miles, but I could set goals and beat them, I could run faster that I previously imagined. I ran my last half marathon in October, averaging 7:51 min/miles. If you had asked me if I could run a mile in under 8 minutes I would have laughed, if you had asked if I could run 13 miles at sub 8 minute miles I would have thought you lost your marbles. I then decided I would go the distance -- 26.2. And so the training began. I found a 4 month training plan where I cross trained on Mondays, ran Tues-Thurs ("easy" runs), and ran long runs on the weekends. I love to run, so this plan seemed ideal. I even quit soccer to focus on running.
After about 8 weeks, something changed. My days had become focused on mileage, on whether or not I could pull off another long run the following weekend. Suddenly, running was different. I wasn't heading out for a leisurely run at the end of the long day to relieve the stress from work, to blow off steam from balancing a full-time job and grad school and 6 soccer teams. I wasn't rolling out of bed on a Saturday morning without being awoken by an alarm, restfully sipping my coffee, and then embarking on a carefree jog to get the weekend started. No, something had changed. I had scheduled my runs for the next 4 months onto my calendar, I had the mileage markers of my long runs posted on my wall. Suddenly, I wasn't running for fun anymore. I was running because I had to. Running had been scheduled into my life, like every other meeting and class and commitment. And I had to stick to it because if I didn't, I would not be able to accomplish my goal. Suddenly, running was a chore. I was rushing after work to hit the pavement before darkness fell, setting my alarm for weekend mornings so that I could "get the 3 hour run over with" and still have half of my day left. I was logging miles, gaining strength, and losing pleasure. All of a sudden the activity I loved to do, the thing that kept me sane from all other obligations in life, had become just that - an obligation.
I had a conversation with a close friend shortly after realizing this. She too had experienced this recently. She went through an intense yoga certification course, fell in love with it, and improved her physical, mental, and emotional states. But sometime afterwards, yoga became a "have to." We talked about how we know we should be active, it's healthy. We should work out, it's good for you. We should run, we should do yoga. But I liked running more when I didn't have to. When skipping a run didn't leave me feeling guilty because it was "on the schedule," like I would let my calendar down if I failed to complete it. When it used to be just me, the music, and the road ahead of me. Now it was me, the calendar, the miles I had to run, the pace, the time, the worry of not doing it, the pain in my leg, the rain that wouldn't let up for my mandatory run, the every reason that wasn't in my "why I love to run" book. But wait, I love running! Why am I dreading it after work? Why am I mad at my alarm clock on a Saturday morning when it beckons me to hit the pavement? Because I have to run. I have to do it, or else I will not be able to run my marathon. Or so my mind tells me.
Shortly after I realized this, I thought a lot about this marathon. Why was I doing it? Had it been a life-long dream? Did I want to be in better shape? Was it an irrational spontaneous decision? I signed up because I love to run, and I love to challenge myself. Of course getting in better shape was an added benefit. I had already been running 4-6 days a week, so I figured I might as well do it for a reason. But part of the joy of running 4-6 days a week was the fact that if I didn't feel like running one day, or I was sick, or if happy hour sounded more reasonable... I wasn't obligated to complete my run, it wasn't on my calendar. I just wouldn't run. It's interesting that once we have to do something, it loses part of its appeal. I enjoy shopping, particularly when I go because I don't have any other plans and there isn't anything I absolutely need. But if for some reason I need to get something, say a pair of jeans, and I set out to shop because I have to get jeans - it's a different story. Guaranteed I will struggle to find the perfect pair of jeans, and will curse the curves of my body for not fitting into them. I love reading. Until I opted to go back to grad school and had to read copious amounts of books after working 8 hours/day. I'm counting down the days until grad school is over and I can read at my own pleasure again. Some of life's joys, even the simple ones, lose luster when we are no longer doing them for "fun," when someone or something (often ourselves) is telling us that we have to.
So what now? For me, I eased up on the running a bit and did a mental makeover. I decided to cross train another day or two, or walk, or not run as far as my calendar says to. I reminded myself of why I was doing this, and what I loved about running. I remind myself that it's ok if I miss a run, if I only make it 10 miles instead of 17. And when I'm running, I try and turn off the marathon trainer in my head that's wondering what my pace is, how far I've gone, how far I have to go... rather than focusing on what I enjoy about running. I'm listening to my body, my body knows what's best for me - much more than my calendar does.
I went into a 20 mile run last weekend with anxiety and dread over being out for over 3 hours, of wondering how I could possibly run that far. And then I cranked up my music, ran through the fog, got lost in my thoughts, jammed to the music, and took that last step with a sigh of relief and joy. I did it, and in 4 weeks I will complete 26.2 miles. And I will be ecstatic.
We're heading into the holidays and frankly, I may skip a run or two, and I may (ok, will) drink a few more beers than I normally do. But as my friend told me, my body is a machine. I have to run a marathon in 4 weeks, and I am excited to run a marathon in 4 weeks. When thousands of people of all ages and abilities show up to accomplish something, whether it be their first or fourteenth marathon. When I get the pre-race jitters and drink too much coffee. When the adrenaline of thousands of runners and their fans surround me, and wakes me up way more than coffee ever could. When I look around at the people who are running for a loved one lost to cancer, or running because they are a survivor of cancer. When I think of my family, supporting me and cheering me on at the finish line. When the gun blasts and the herd begins to ooze towards the start line. When my foot stomps across the start line and my 26.2 mile journey begins. When it's just me, the music, and the road ahead of me...
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