Beyond the Wall

When I began this blog,  I never imagined I'd run a marathon. In fact, I distinctly remember telling my dear friend V that: " I don't know why anyone would want to do that to their body!" I'm sure that she she laughed and told me just to " stick to the half" a running distance that she knows and loves, even after her first two marathons. So, I agreed (see the opening post for the story!) and consequently began this blog as an experiment to see how many people would read it and how often I could push myself to write as I tried to tackle a half-marathon. (I am in serious need of discipline, here!) 

Then, suddenly, I became a FIRST-MARATHONER (in training) and a charity runner (more on that ASAP) and this blog became the chronicle of my adventure for anyone who wants to read/ support and advise. Sometimes, I feel as though blogging is entirely self indulgent and won't matter to people other than my parents ( Hi guys, I know you read this!) and other times, I feel the weight of the running and non running world as I write and I'm suddenly embarrassed.  Last week was a rough week in training, both physically and mentally and while everything's looking up it has been really hard to write about. 

I don't like to get behind or fail or struggle. 

Nothing tragic happened last week; I'm not injured or otherwise prevented from running the great race. It was just full of little hoops and stop gaps that have left me tired and achy, scared for what's to come. After a good, hard speed workout Monday night, my coach, Brian asked about my training and I told him that I wanted to update my weekly log with nothing but the words: I hate running!  He said it was better just to record my times and move on. He also, incidentally reminded me "not to worry that Michele (my wonderful running partner) is faster".  Trust me: she is and I'm not. This seems like shaky advice, but coming from Brian, it was just what I needed.

"Marathons are hard," my coach said by way of encouragement. "They take a lot of strength, but they're not impossible. Over 400,000 people ran a marathon last year; they're not impossible."  Since training began, I've forcibly shut out the impossibility of my quest and just focused on the  progress. I am getting stronger; I can feel my endurance building and the miles getting shorter and faster. I will never be the fastest girl in the race and that's okay, I just want to be successful, to be able to note the tangible results of my labour, and last week felt like like giant mess, a total wash.

First there was a bad 10K--slow, achy, sick miserable. I was just too stressed to run and couldn't get my mind to push past or work with my body.

And then there was the NYC Marathon Lottery. 

As a  life-long student and teacher, "The Lottery" resounds in my brain, not as a chance to make a million or to be one of a million randomly selected participants in a race. Rather, I think of Shirley Jackson's  short story (of the same name) in which the members of a tiny town ritualistically stone one of their members to death each year. ( I have now succeeded in spoiling the plot and too-tightly condensing a beautifully written and highly nuanced story about the power of ritual and crowd mentality, alas.) In Jackson's story, the town sacrifices, not the weakest link, but the one with ( one might suppose) the weakest luck. Poor unsuspecting Tessie falls victim to the tradition and momentum of the crowd.

So, too, I fell victim to the NYC Marathon Lottery Gods.

In preparation for the results, I ran my terrible 6-miler and sat for two rounds of cocktails with Michele. I prayed. I drank. Still, no luck.

So, what's a girl to do? Run for Charity. I was planning to run the marathon in this spirit anyways, but now, it too is the guarantor of my spot in the race. I just got confirmation TODAY from Fred's Team and am more than proud to run in support of their efforts. But last week, while I was running poorly and feeling bad for myself, they too were uncooperative nemeses, telling me I'd been waitlisted. I had to wait  to see if there would be room for me in the race.

They had to let me in, I thought because there's no way that I can be training this hard and not be able to run a marathon.

They did. I'm in!

And now that I know it, I feel both burdened and free. I can't wait to run with a community of committed athletes and servants; I can't wait to BE ONE.

Here's to the week beyond the wall; may it be better than the last.

First Ten

For a while now, I've heard that completing one's first ten-mile run is a rite of passage in runner-hood. Legend has it that somehow after the 17600th yard on the pavement you morph from an amateur or a hopeful into  a real runner, like Pinocchio, who through wishing, becomes a real boy.

I don't usually by into mythology, but this I'll support. Yesterday, I ran ten miles and it felt awesome.

In the morning, there was a part of me that feared for my knees and my lungs, feared that my body would give out long before my spirit wanted it to. But, the spirit pushed me to the finish and my body did just fine. I kept telling myself that the first six miles were a "warm-up", just long enough to get the kinks and the " I'm tired today" out of my body and run on for four more miles. It worked. Michele and I finished in just over 1:39 and ran a nice, steady pace for most of the route save the terrible Comm Ave hills (my calves and I have a newfound respect for all Boston Marathoners!) which we took a little slower, and the downhill dip just before Coolidge Corner where I scraped all the skin off of my right knee. As a sat, bleeding on the sidewalk, Michele asked:

" Do you want to keep going?" The tone in her voice was equally concerned and determined because she knew my answer would be: "Yes".

While running my first ten, I finally had time to get in a groove and to be really aware of how my body was working and feeling. I kept asking myself : Are you comfortable? breathing evenly? how's this pace? and the answers came back mostly positive: I'm fine. I'm strong. I might want to give up on this next hill/ I definitely want to give up on this hill, but I won't.

I'm not sure how the training will go from here, and frankly, I'm a little overwhelmed by the idea of pushing my self for 20 more miles after I  get all warmed up, but I guess that will come with time.  A ten mile run is just the beginning of the race for 26.2. Hopefully the end of this training cycle 26.2 miles will no longer be a ridiculous dream a dream or a battle but a confident reality, one in which I tell myself to just to keep on going because--even if I'm clumsy/ bloodied/ thirsty/ exhausted--I am running strong and feeling fine.