Being 42 is hard when you're a wannabe runner. It was roughly 3 years ago when I decided that if I left everything the way it was, I wouldn't live to the ripe old age of 84 (my predetermined ideal age to die). So the something I decided to change was this: get off the damn couch (in my case the bed because that's where I love to cozy up and play games on my phone, stalk facebook, etc.) and get some real, life extending exercise. So I did what any person who was woefully out of shape and 40 pounds overweight would do, I signed up for my very first half marathon. As I set about trying to "train" for this personal goal that represented choosing life over death for me, I really had no clue what I was doing. I am pretty sure my longest distance in training was a paltry 5 miles...for a race that was 13.1 miles. This was nothing short of stupidity! Because I am actually a smart person, I could have really done the research and work to prepare better but, woe is me, I did not. Leading up to that first race, my mantra was "avoid the balloon ladies and finish." FINISH. I am proud to report that I finished with 34 minutes to spare. Then, I went home, astonished and grumpy, and DIED. The next day at work I could barely walk. Everything, every single cell in my body screamed "pain!" It felt like if I ever tried to run/walk/finish a half marathon again I might shorten what little time I had left on Earth. Perhaps even reverse my existence! I was TOAST.
And yet I had felt it - the runner's high.
It's the thing you feel after almost dying that is something akin to tossing an opiate bath bomb in a jacuzzi and soaking to infinity and beyond. It's your body's natural high. The endorphin ecstasy that floods your stream of consciousness and is impossible to miss. It doesn't last nearly as long as the delayed onset muscle soreness after such a test of human endurance - and yet within a week or so I found myself again wanting to pay money to run another one. Tonight, sitting here in my comfy bed, I have 7 completed half marathons under my belt...er running shoes. At this moment I'm only about 5 days away from the start of the 8th, and providing I finish, I'll have several more sweet Disney medals to hang in my room. But it isn't all about the swag, or even all about not dying anymore - it's about the self confidence and the mental toughness that comes from being willing and determined to go the distance. I might still be overweight, I might still have my autoimmune disease, and I might not live to be 84 (working in an ER reminds me of this daily), but there will be more substance in my life if I'm continually proving to myself that I can.
I can walk through pain, like the time I finished a half and found my shoe very bloody inside from a horrible blister that took 3 weeks to heal! Or like one year ago when I limped the last 3 miles of a half because I suffered from ridiculous plantar fasciitis pain in my heel. I finished a 10K after a hard fall mid race that knocked the wind out of me, so I overheated and had to go straight to the medical tent after the finish. During each race there is at least one point when I really want to quit. Quit hurting, quit sweating, quit running...but I cannot. Not until I cross the finish line. Not until some sweet race volunteer hands me the medal I've been dreaming about for months. Not until I know I've done what I set out to do. Sure, running requires physical toughness. More than anything else though, running requires mental toughness. It means knowing yourself, what you can handle, and then it tests your willingness to redefine who you can be, over and over again.
So it isn't just endorphins hitting every feel good receptor in your body, it's the chance to prove something to yourself over and over again that is so addictive and amazing. You can feel a lot of feelings in 13.1 miles. You can think many thoughts, work out the master plan of your life or dissect every challenge you've faced. You can cuss. You can become closer to God (lots of praying to finish on the race course). You can work out solutions to problems you didn't even realize you had. But mostly, you can truly just be yourself. Dress up, have fun, sweat like a horse, laugh, cry, and find someone faster than you and try to keep up. Every race is an adventure. Every race reminds me of exactly who I am and where I came from. Every race pushes me further in the direction of who I want to be. Run. Walk. Run. All the way home.
And yet I had felt it - the runner's high.
It's the thing you feel after almost dying that is something akin to tossing an opiate bath bomb in a jacuzzi and soaking to infinity and beyond. It's your body's natural high. The endorphin ecstasy that floods your stream of consciousness and is impossible to miss. It doesn't last nearly as long as the delayed onset muscle soreness after such a test of human endurance - and yet within a week or so I found myself again wanting to pay money to run another one. Tonight, sitting here in my comfy bed, I have 7 completed half marathons under my belt...er running shoes. At this moment I'm only about 5 days away from the start of the 8th, and providing I finish, I'll have several more sweet Disney medals to hang in my room. But it isn't all about the swag, or even all about not dying anymore - it's about the self confidence and the mental toughness that comes from being willing and determined to go the distance. I might still be overweight, I might still have my autoimmune disease, and I might not live to be 84 (working in an ER reminds me of this daily), but there will be more substance in my life if I'm continually proving to myself that I can.
I can walk through pain, like the time I finished a half and found my shoe very bloody inside from a horrible blister that took 3 weeks to heal! Or like one year ago when I limped the last 3 miles of a half because I suffered from ridiculous plantar fasciitis pain in my heel. I finished a 10K after a hard fall mid race that knocked the wind out of me, so I overheated and had to go straight to the medical tent after the finish. During each race there is at least one point when I really want to quit. Quit hurting, quit sweating, quit running...but I cannot. Not until I cross the finish line. Not until some sweet race volunteer hands me the medal I've been dreaming about for months. Not until I know I've done what I set out to do. Sure, running requires physical toughness. More than anything else though, running requires mental toughness. It means knowing yourself, what you can handle, and then it tests your willingness to redefine who you can be, over and over again.
So it isn't just endorphins hitting every feel good receptor in your body, it's the chance to prove something to yourself over and over again that is so addictive and amazing. You can feel a lot of feelings in 13.1 miles. You can think many thoughts, work out the master plan of your life or dissect every challenge you've faced. You can cuss. You can become closer to God (lots of praying to finish on the race course). You can work out solutions to problems you didn't even realize you had. But mostly, you can truly just be yourself. Dress up, have fun, sweat like a horse, laugh, cry, and find someone faster than you and try to keep up. Every race is an adventure. Every race reminds me of exactly who I am and where I came from. Every race pushes me further in the direction of who I want to be. Run. Walk. Run. All the way home.
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