Waging the Battle

"While running, focus on the internal battle. Concentrate on overcoming fear, self-doubt, and other limiting beliefs. Forget about external issues, like your time. Such outward concerns will only deplete your energy, create tension, and slow you down." (Runner's World: Complete Book of Running. Edited by Amby Burfoot. Pg. 177)

The exhilaration of completing my first 5K this month compelled me to sign up for the 10K Running Club this fall. I thought, "In June, I couldn't even run 30 seconds. NOW look at me!" I was ecstatic! I could do ANYTHING. World domination was MINE! (Insert evil laugh.) At 37 years of age, having never been athletic despite a brief stint playing inter mural rugby in college (Seriously. Punching people, kicking them in the shins, and pulling ponytails is super therapeutic.) I finally found a sport I could enjoy.

But I tell you what. Last Sunday's run was a killer on my psyche. My legs felt like lead. I couldn't breathe and my head was all kinds of screwed up. I knew going in to this 10K training that I would be bringing up the rear, no matter how hard I trained in between time. But I didn't know that the real battle was going to be waged in my brain, not in my legs and lungs. As they pulled out, two by two, I settled in. No iPod to distract me this time. Just me and The Crazy. And my head went downhill. Faster than I could run away from it.

Why am I DOING this?!
I suck.
I hate this.
I'm fat.
Why can't I lose weight?
Stupid cheese.
I'm last.
I'm always last.

And strangely, I caught myself and stopped mid-complaint. I'm usually all about the self pity and morbid reflection, but something changed after a good 14:52 minutes. (What?! I know EXACTLY when it happened. I'd been staring at my watch since 4:12 minutes.) And I gave myself a stern talking to.

I am NOT a loser.
I ran a 5K two weeks ago.
And it felt GREAT!
So what if I'm last?
I'm still doing it.
My feet are still moving.
I can DO this thing.
I can.
And I will.
Slow and steady wins my race.

My feet still felt like lead. I still couldn't breathe. But in that moment, I realized that there is more to running than achieving something, getting a better time, or even completing a race. Running is for my soul. It is humbling and it is hard. And I give credit to myself for even tying my shoes and showing up. There is no failure in that. There is courage. There is faith in the process, and there is fire in my soul.

For what? I don't know. But I know I'll tie my shoes and show up again. If only to battle the demons in my head and prove to them that they will never win. Never.

And if you don't know me, I'll be wearing a skirt when I do it.