Because I Can

I've been tapering and preparing for my next marathon in just two days. Tapering is never something that I've done well. I am pretty well fixed into my routine and get too antsy to slow down. It also always seems that the weather suddenly becomes really nice in time for tapering (case in point: this week). And tapering means that an event is coming up and the nerves, questioning and self-doubt grow and fester. When I get nervous, I run. When I am having issues, I run. When I need to clear my mind, I run. You can see my problem.

It is around this time in training when I tend to look for inspiration to keep my spirits up and my mind at ease. In the days before a marathon, I question what I'm doing. I wonder why I do these crazy things, subjecting my body and mind to such stress and brutality. I wonder why I stuff my face with food and hydrate so much that I pee constantly. I wonder why I wake up at 5am (or earlier) to go for a run. I wonder why I voluntarily choose to run more miles in a day than some people drive in a week.

For inspiration, I read, watch, listen, remember.

In a radio piece about the Boston Marathon, there was discussion about why we (marathoners) run:

The marathon experience is like no other I've had. For twenty six point two miles runners and spectators cheer for you like a rock star. The exhilaration...cannot be manufactured. And that never gets old. It makes every ache and pain, every long cold snowy run worth it.
But for me the most important part of running, and running the marathon, is not the medals and the bragging rights. It's the life lessons I've learned. Lessons like "hard work pays off," "no pain, no gain" and "one step at a time." Running has taught me patience, it's taught me the thrill of being in the moment and that the best things in life don't come quickly.

It is true. Running has taught me a great deal about myself and about life. Through running- the goals I have set and the limits I have pushed passed- I've gained a great deal. In addition to pretty muscular legs and a vast wardrobe of running gear for all conditions, I've had many experiences that have tested my will or inspired my passion.

• The Boston Marathon in 2007 was a tour through the season of the year, all in one day. In the days preceding the race, the word "nor'easter" was used far too frequently in the weather forecast. Snow and ice in the early morning. Constant rain while waiting outside for two hours before the start. The wind blew against my wet clothes and cold skin. The air was bogged down with 99% humidity. I knew no one else running. My dad was the only person in my family who braved the weather to come out and cheer. I saw him first at mile 4. I was cold, wet and unhappy. I saw him several miles later, feeling the same way. The last time I'd see him was at mile 10. I was utterly miserable. I didn't want to go on, it seemed pointless. As I ran up to him, he cheered, smiled and snapped some photos, beaming with pride. "You're looking great kiddo." "Keep running." "Go Bess!" "I'll see you at the finish." And all I wanted to do was stop. I told him I wanted to take a break. Less than a minute later, he patted me on the back and reiterated his comforting, supportive words. I knew that I had to go on. Muster up the strength and go, I told myself, this is nothing. Not finishing would have an impact much more detrimental than being miserable for the next 16 miles. I finished knowing that I'd forever be able to say "if I made it through that, I can do anything."
  
  
  My dad gave me this photo from the marathon, appropriately captioned
  "Why Bess kept running"
  
  

• In one of my first triathlons, I was midway into the bike portion. Biking up one of the eight hills in the 25 mile course, I approached another biker teetering up the hill. Getting closer I noticed the man's left leg was a prosthetic. I pushed myself to get to his side. "You're doing great, keep going," I said. "I'm just glad the swim is over," he exhaustively responded. I closed my eyes imagining the challenge of swimming with one leg, the strength required to propel a bike up a hill with stiff metal for muscles. I ended up passing by him, thinking then, and knowing since, "if he can do that, I can do anything."

• Doing Ironman Lake Placid was by far one of the most indescribable experiences I'm sure I'll ever have. For multiple reasons, that day and the months (or years) of training and planning before it caused my personal willpower, strength, endurance and soul to grow. (I've probably yet to discover the full extent of it.) An undertaking as daunting and foreign as an Ironman is not easy for anyone. Watching people at the absolute end of endurance continue moving forward (and at points convincing myself to do the same) forces you to realize the true capacity of the mind. The experience can be easily equated to many other struggles- "being able to conquer that, I can do anything."
  

I keep a loose record of the races that I've completed. I keep a list in a Word document on my computer and update it occasionally. The medals from each race are hanging over a frame in the hallway outside of my bathroom. I pass it multiple times on a daily basis, but rarely look at it. But every so often I stop and look, reflecting on the meaning that they hold. They don't mean that I am physically strong. They don't mean that I have a great sense of adventure. They don't mean that I am just looking for a challenge. They don't mean that I like having a ridiculous number of race t-shirts.

Each one means that I had the courage to start and the strength to finish. Despite nothing.

Because I can.

Click here to watch video (because I can't figure out how to get it uploaded in the blog)