::Four to Go::

I've been trying to wrap my head around it all.

The last four months have come and gone like the cliche whirlwind I was trying to avoid and hope would never catch me. I wasn't running away from anything, just  straight into something completely unknown and hoping for understanding.

And then I clicked the button. It was a simple, unassuming gesture. I paid my money. Now they had it in their hands and I was theirs.

I signed up for a race.

It isn't just any race, well not for me. It is something I have been toying with for far too long. And finally, I got into enough shape to feel confident enough that I will not die on the run. But this time it is going to hurt.

I have  run this race before. A few years back. It was.. difficult. I have written about the experience since, and been vague and quiet about it all when I have shared with others. But in my own private writing, and my own time alone on the trails thinking and looking back on it all, I realized something big that needed to be “nipped in the bud.”

I've got demons.

Have you ever had that experience in racing? Maybe something goes unplanned, or you change your course of action and it changes things. Significant things. First place passes you, so does second. And you’re feeling just fine. It’s not your legs. It’s only partly your heart. But it is all in your head. It is like a mirage just jumped up and grabbed you, tackled you to the ground and held you there for just a little too long. Figuratively speaking, of course.

And right when things start going well in training, demons are laying down to be slayed, long runs aren't as bad as you once thought, and training on only four months of leg work is starting to become easier, it happens again.

It sneaks up behind you, and it has got you by the arm. It wrenches a little tighter and your head begins to throb with might as fighting back becomes harder, but it is all you've got. The bruise comes from under the skin and you can feel the scrapes on your limbs once more.

But what are you going to do? Fold? Lie down in defeat and mutter to yourself as you rock back and forth?

Training for an ultra-marathon is hard. Lots of people will say that. It takes time. It takes practice, patience, and the occasional upset stomach. It takes courage to step out on tired legs and run more miles than you thought imaginable in a year. I have so much respect for everyone who signs up for any race; whether it is one mile, or one hundred miles. Those of you who race over one hundred: God Bless and keep you.

I haven’t actually raced in two years. I have been in races, and I have run them. I’ve even stopped and had a popsicle along the way at Bloomsday. Bucket list: CHECK. So I decided my first race back in 2015 was to be an ultra-marathon. Yes, you read that right. Anything over 26.2 miles is deemed an ultra. Right now I wish my race was 26.3… But I am excited by it. I have raced this course before and come so close. And now I get to go back, a new woman, and see what I’ve got. I know I am stronger than I was then. I am not as hard as I once was, but that shouldn’t matter. I have to keep my head about me. I know that for a fact. This last week of training has been somewhat of a blur. And I had my first setback. I have to say I am proud of how I am handling it. I ran 24 miles on a Thursday, that’s how I handle it.

The setback wasn’t an injury. It wasn’t a stubbed toe or a broken bone. It was a hiccup. It was a mental lapse, an unfortunate sadness in the whole scheme. And I am dealing. I tripped, but I didn’t fall.

Tears streamed as I round the corners, gingerly stepping over roots into newly minted mud along the mile markers of Wildwood. I could have blamed it on the cold air, the breeze hitting me in the face and causing this reaction.

I could say I am scared, or I am sad, or I’m just having a bad day. But really, really why I am crying doesn’t really matter in the long term.

I am angry. I am frustrated. And this is how I show it. Which frustrates me more. It gives me a little more power in my legs though, as I try to keep cadence up the hills. It gives me a little more motivation to keep going, to fight back, to stand tall and stay in stride with the goal.

The goal is to finish. It is always to finish. Everything else is just icing.

One of those Runners.

Check out this post on my other blog, "The Solitary Wordsmith," to see the inspiration behind what I wrote today!

Thanks for checking it out. Hoping to get an update on training done here soon. 

I never thought I would be one of those runners who would want all the miles. Some days I feel like I just want to keep running. But others, it takes so much effort and time to get out the door. And yet I never regret a single step I take.

I never thought I would be one of those runners who would chase someone down on the trails just to ask them what they were training for. Hey, I made a new friend!

I never thought I would be one of those runners who had to plan their days around getting the mileage done. If that means I have to run at 10 pm to get some extra miles, so be it. Mostly, I’ll just wake up early.

I never thought I would be one of those runners who willingly wakes up before the sun to get a run or a workout in before the workday began.

I never thought I would be one of those runners who would enjoy the wall, the second wind, and the “that bear just jumped up and grabbed her running round that corner.” Trust me it is a technical term and when you see it, it sucks. But when you experience it, you learn.

I never thought I would be one of those runners who would rather just be with themselves on the run; nothing to distract or take away from the mile that I am in. I never thought I would be able to find that running with others.

I never thought I would be the type of runner who cared about what she wore. Mostly, what would look best just covered in mud.

I never thought I would be the type of runner who would care about the shoes on her feet. I mean, it’s gotta feel good to be good yeah?

I never thought I would be one of those runners who was quiet about her goals. In the stillness of those mornings, in the undone moments of the intervals on the track, and in the last major climb of the long run, my thoughts always drift toward that slip of paper hiding in my wallet. The one with all the folds that is tattered and worn, scratched out in different shades of pens. The one that every step I run gets me closer to that moment. The one I’ve wanted so bad, I wrote it down on paper just hoping it would come true.