Before embarking on the journey of 26.2 miles, I thought a marathon was impossible. For me, at least. By the time I decided to start training, I had only been running for less than 3 years. And in the last two, I ran a 5k, a 10k and a half-marathon. 3 races total. That’s it. There was so much doubt of what I was truly capable of that every time I would tell someone of my goal, it would start with the words “I think”. “I think I’m going to train for a marathon”. I had to make an intentional shift of my choice of words to “I am”. “I am running a marathon”. Whether or not I believed it in those moments.
A marathon is a daunting goal. Especially if it’s your first one and you never ran anything close to it before. I would be entering uncharted territories within myself. Pushing my body way beyond its comfort. And my mind beyond what it’s always believed. I knew it would be hard work like I couldn’t imagine. It would be a physical and mental beating at the hands of my own. It would require sacrifice and commitment. Every day for months. But running a marathon is also a goal that when you hear of someone achieving it, you can’t help but feel inspired. You know that person is above average. They don’t believe in limitations. They’re the kind of person who lives in their own lane and moves at their own pace. Certain of who they are and what they’re capable of. Even if they’re not sure, they’re not afraid to find out. You can tell they are guided by something much greater than themselves. And I knew deep down, I belonged in that category.
I’ve never believed in succeeding in something just for the sake of success. I believe there’s only so much time in our lives, and we should spend it only on doing things we truly care about. After all, if you don’t have a strong enough “why” behind your efforts, the chances of succeeding drop. And that can’t be truer when it comes to preparing to run a marathon. If you don’t have a strong enough reason to train for a 26.2-mile race, you’ll quit the minute it gets too hard. You’ll come up with excuses of why you can’t complete it. You’ll sabotage your training cycle, and you’ll convince yourself there’s no point in any of it. Running is an individual sport. No one else is grinding out the training miles with you. And no one else is relying on you to finish but you.
My motivating reason behind why I chose to run a marathon was to prove to myself that my mind, body, and spirit are capable of much more than I can imagine. With marriage and hopes of a family on the horizon, fear can’t help but poke its head in and ask if I have that kind of enduring strength. If I have the courage to enter territories of life I have not yet explored. But instead of letting that fill my mind, I began a solo journey of rediscovering the true perseverance within myself. Discovering if quitting would be an option when training got too tough, or if I knew how to lean on God when my spirit was too weak to carry me.
As I moved through the training cycle, there were indeed moments where I felt it was too tough. But quitting never crossed my mind. I had to master lowering the voice of pain and turning up the voice of triumph. Training for a marathon is similar to the highs and lows of life. It’s a challenge of not letting your highs get too high or your lows get too low. There were moments where my slower pace felt discouraging. And I couldn’t help but compare myself to others on the trail. Knowing how much I struggled internally, compared to how strong others looked externally. But training taught me that if I believe I am weak, then I am. And if I believe I will succeed, then I will. I just needed to define what success was for me. And earning that medal was an incredible achievement, no matter my speed. If I want to push my body beyond its limits, I learned that it will not break, it will bend. Training taught me that my mind sets the tone of what I will absolutely experience. Physical strength follows mental strength. With each training run, I grew more and more confident in my ability to handle the challenge ahead.
As the day of the race rolled around, I couldn’t believe that I had finally arrived. I had been so tired of running, week after week. Month after month. Training felt like it would never end. But alas, May 7th would be the closing run of them all. And the toughest one of them all. I approached the day with the idea that it was just another run in an attempt to keep my nerves in check. I knew it was going to be a very long morning. To help, I came up with a list of 26 things to think about to keep my mind busy and my spirits up. Things I would thank God for and things to pray about. One idea for each mile. As each marker passed by, I would thank Him for the life He has given me, and I’d pray for the chapters ahead. I kept in mind those who I cared about and those who wanted to see me succeed.
The first half of the race I felt strong. It even felt fun. Running on a road that snaked through a canyon and ran alongside the Cache la Poudre River. But by mile 16 I became spiritually defeated. The surface level strength had worn out. Thankfully by then encouraging messages from friends came through to remind me the race was a battle of the mind. Not the body. I had to dig deep. And what was buried under the defeating thoughts must have been the spirit of God because I cannot explain in any other way the amount of strength that carried me to mile 21. It felt like the scene in Forest Gump when young Forest ran for the first time, and his leg braces started to break off and young Forest was free. I started to fly. Passing over a dozen other runners. I like to think that section of the race is where I met something bigger than me. And in the last 5 miles I met myself. By then the pain was too much to ignore. I had to learn how to lean into it. How to welcome it. How to make the pain my friend instead of my enemy. One step in front of the other. The closer you get to the finish line the easier it becomes to tell yourself to walk it home. You’re faced with the choice of being someone who avoids a challenge when it gets too tough or someone who will fight until the end. In those moments I knew I wanted to leave everything on the course. And so, I did.
As I crossed the finish line, I was flooded with emotions of gratitude. Grateful that it was all over. I couldn’t believe I had done it. I saw it all the way through to the end. Not once did I imagine quitting. The entire journey was hard. Unbelievably hard. And I couldn’t believe that I was strong enough to endure it. As my husband held my broken body, I cried tears of joy. This was an opportunity to prove to myself my true strength. And I believe I did exactly that and more.
