In March, I ran a half marathon for the first time in nearly 13 years. When we started training somewhat late, I maintained that my goal was to finish, and that alone would be an accomplishment. I hadn’t been running regularly, maybe 3 miles once a month, and I knew my training schedule was going to be very different this time around – ever since kids, especially my third, it had been hard enough to fit in a regular workout, and my gym time almost never went over 40 minutes.
Try as I might, however, I couldn’t get my goal of “just finish” to sink down from my head to my heart. I’m too competitive. I know my self, the (sometimes unrealistic) bars I set, and the hopes I have that push me forward. Even when I’m saying “just finish”, my head is shadowing thoughts of “but I will have a feeling of disappointment if my time is slower/I’m over two hours/I have a hard run/etc”. I speak what I hope to believe. I “fake it till I make it” 90% of the time. But my mind would not let me solidify my comments that didn’t give 100%.
I was full of angst and nerves and so very many emotions as I looked around, revisiting the place and the memories from my first half-marathon. Clothed in green that first time, I’d placed my dad’s company on my shirt, naming him my “sponsor” since he’d paid for me to run. During today’s race, I was blessed with so many moments of remembrance from my dad. Song playing while on the coast/base, flashbacks of my dad coaching me through track and a pace I began to run that I never knew I’d had in me from there on out. (Even when I’m running now, whatever kind of day or run I’m having, I can’t kick my faster-paced stride.) I’d come and left alone, that initial race, but I’d run hard and enjoyed, thus leading me back here 13 years later.
Pre-race jitters have always been a tagalong for me, but this time, I’d been feeling it all week. What if I can’t finish? What if I get hurt (I was battling toe and foot pain)? What if I ran really, really slow?
I know. I know. Even typing that last line feels silly. I’m just so darn self competitive that even with totally less and different training, 3 kids, and 13 years passed (is that really true??) I still wanted to compete with my old time. That’s where I had set the bar, and my mind would not let anything shift that.
I grew excited waiting in the corral as the adrenaline and nerves spiked, and I watched everyone warm up. There is SO MUCH inspiration to be found at a marathon. A lady in the bathroom who started running at 54 and was running a full for the very first time at 56 to fulfill her 16 year old self’s dream. A mama pushing a stroller with a little who couldn’t have been a year. Inspirational quotes, shirts, people joining together, encouraging teams or couples or runners pushing those who can’t run for themselves. Generations of ages from all walks – and runs – of life. All working to reach the finish line.
Early in the race, however, was the gem that inspired this blog. A mile or two in, I was not quite at my “pace” but was still bursting on adrenaline and just trying to stay with the pacers from my corral. And on my left, a lady with a sign. A simply written poster…”Find Your Happy Pace”.
This sign was what pushed me through the entire race. It’s what kept me going, and often came back to me as I tried to compare or compete or follow or shift. Find your happy pace. Who cares how fast she’s going – find YOUR happy pace. Foot is starting to hurt? Find your HAPPY pace. You’ve hit your stride and might pass (or lose) your pacer? Find your happy PACE. FIND it. An action. Intentional, determined, focused. Not based on anyone else’s training, ability, or time. Not even based on my own past or future. Just based on now. Find it. Find it, stop comparing, and keep it. Just. Keep. Going.