For The Medal
Last July I decided to sign up for a marathon. I was feeling the need for a “big goal.” Something I could aim for, train for, and look forward to completing. This is a big deal. I know it’s a big deal but having trained for seven marathons before and having completed six full marathons, it didn’t really feel like that much of a stretch for me.
Then our fall hit. And three boys in sports. Not just any sports but football in TEXAS. If you don’t know what I mean by this, let me just say that we ate, breathed, and slept football for two and one-half months. Four days a week practices plus games. I took on two new coaching clients at night (I only coach during the days I’m not at school!) and started back teaching PE at school two days a week. Almost every hour of each day was accounted for, and I was literally hitting the floor each morning and not sitting down until the kids had been tucked into bed. My head felt like it was spinning more often than not.
Fridays were reserved for my long runs because my kids slept at their dads on Thursday nights and it’s the only day I didn’t have to drop them at school. I was on a merry-go-round and it spun. And spun. And spun. All. Fall. By the time football season ended, it was early November. I awoke with the realization that the marathon was just a few short weeks away. I had been slowly building my mileage each week. It seemed that one week would be a glorious and beautiful run followed by a gut wrenching, “why the hell am I doing this?” run that I would just be lucky to finish. I ran 7 miles and felt like my guts were being ripped out and I ran 13 miles with ease and comfort. I ran 17 miles on a cold and sunny day and felt I could have run 10 more and then followed that with a 12-mile run in Atlanta rain where I literally thought my legs were going to break they were hurting so bad.
Three weeks before the marathon I was supposed to do my longest run; 20 miles. I finished up my coaching call and put on my gear and hit the road. I felt horrible. Everything hurt. My mind was screaming at me to turn around. My boyfriend sent me a picture of a Popeyes sandwich he was eating at about mile 10. I was so hungry. Two hours in, I was back at my house. I walked into my kitchen and sat down on the floor. Then I found myself laying on my dirty kitchen hardwood floor. I felt like a tired little kid. I could feel tears. I could hear the voices; “It’s ok if you stop. You don’t HAVE to do this. No one cares if you do the marathon or not. It’s so hard on your body. You can just quit now. No one cares.” It felt so good to think about quitting. Just hang it up. Give up. Who would care if I ran the damn race or not? It’s not like anyone was depending on me running it. It was ALL ME.
I laid another couple of minutes enjoying the quiet and the rest. Then I heard a different voice in my head. This one was much louder. Much stronger. I heard, “Get the fuck off the floor. You’ve got this. Baby girl, you can do this. It’s not going to kill you. This IS about YOU. Now GO!” And despite it all, I stood up, put my headphones back on and went back into the cold and ran another 40 minutes until I absolutely had to pick my kids up from school. The following week I did complete the 20- mile run and felt amazing. I was ready for the marathon.
Last Sunday arrived and I was nervous and excited. I couldn’t wait to cross the finish line. I had bought a new pair of shoes and convinced myself that it was better to wear them than the ones I had trained in. I thought I would have better support and not get injured. The race began and I felt amazing. I was running faster than I had trained and I was listening to everyone buzzing with excitement. At mile 6 my little toes started to go numb. At mile 11 I was sitting on side of road rubbing my feet to wake them up because I literally couldn’t run another step in the shoes. I sent a text to my boyfriend that said, “If there is any way you can track me and bring me my old shoes, I might finish this race.” I ran all the way to mile 19 where he met me with my old shoes. I quickly changed and ran off to finish. That’s when I realized I had 7 more miles. And everyone was walking. It was beyond hot. It was beyond hilly. People were dropping like flies. In the six marathons I had run, I had never felt this bad physically. Never. My feet were on fire. I felt like my little toes were broken. My quads were so tight they felt like they would burst. Two people stopped right in front of me and I almost tripped over them. And I could hear the voices, “no one will know if you stop. It’s ok to walk the rest of the way. Your feet hurt so bad. It’s ok girl. Just stop.”
But, somewhere deep inside me I could feel my strength. I could feel my resolve. One mile at a time. Just one. Just one more. I saw the 25-mile marker and it was true. Just one more mile. I could feel the emotion welling up inside of me. I could feel my pride. I could feel my strength. Mentally and physically. I knew I was going to finish. The last mile was like one big flashback. It hit me that every other marathon I had run before and trained for, was substantially easier than this one. I was either single with no kids or married with a partner in the home to help balance all of it. Nope. This time it was all on ME. 2019 was the year of launching my life coaching business; publishing my writing; swinging crazy kids sports schedules; dealing with a health scare; working two jobs and being a full-time single mom; and staying sober on top of it all!
I crossed the finish line. A woman put the finisher medal around my neck. I felt the weight of that medal. I felt it everywhere. This is commitment. This. Right. Here. Showing up even when I don’t want to. Finishing because I said I would. Hearing the voices that try to give me permission to quit but listening to the voice that said, GET THE FUCK UP! Day by day, choosing the choice that keeps me in alignment with what I say I want, even when it doesn’t feel good. Knowing at any time I could just quit, give up, because the result wouldn’t affect anyone else but ME. Having quit so many things that I set out to do for myself, I know the weight of that disappointment.
Commitment, as I have learned a very deep level, has nothing to do with my feelings. It has nothing to do with my circumstances. It has nothing to do with other people. Commitment is all about ME. It’s about deciding that something is important enough to me that I will withstand any and all feelings, circumstances and naysayers to reach it. It requires that I hold myself as equally, and in many cases, more valuable, than anyone else in my life. It means I’m worth keeping a commitment. I’m important. I’m enough.
It was me deciding that I would leave my marriage. It was sticking with that decision even when I was terrified of being broke, never ever finding love, my kids being fucked up, feeling so lonely I wanted to die, and the fall out with people who didn’t believe I should get divorced. And doing it anyways.
It was me starting a coaching business this year even when I felt the doubt that I wasn’t enough to be really successful; even when my schedule felt so overloaded that I didn’t know how to make it all work; and even when I was frozen with fear of ‘what happens if I’m not good enough?’ And doing it anyways.
Commitment is a professor telling me in college that my writing wasn’t good enough to get me through graduate school and believing him. And 20 years later publishing my writing despite that message creeping in, every single time I go to write. And writing anyways.
Commitment is my decision to be authentically me. Even when people are afraid of my honesty. Even when people don’t like me. Even when it feels like I’m going to break on the inside to say the vulnerable and hard thing I’d been swallowing in a friendship or relationship. Even when I’m scared of losing said relationship and doing it anyways.
2019 is coming to an end. 2020 is on its way in. A new decade beginning…..Is there something that has been stirring inside of you? Something you really, really want? Something you have been afraid to commit to, or follow through on? Something you have promised yourself over and over and over again but quit because other people came first, or the voices inside finally got the better of you?
If I told you now that you could have it, what would that “it” be for you? Let that question stir you. Let it bring something alive in you that makes you want to show up for YOU no matter what. Something that makes you choose to go all in despite how you feel. Something that makes you feel alive and terrified at the same time. Something that is big enough that you will put yourself at the top of the list and not back down until you feel the weight of the ‘medal’ around your neck. Because as I’ve learned at a very deep level, commitment is where we learn to push through every level of fear and history, and in the end, it’s where we find the magic of our true selves.
Love,
