To Start and To Finish

You might think that the most important part of doing a marathon is getting to the finish line. And while that action is what earns you a medal and bragging rights, the act of getting to the start line can be just as – or even more – momentous.

The yellow and gray shoes belong to me.
The yellow and gray shoes belong to me.

A week ago Sunday I got to the start line of my twelfth half marathon. And while the three-and-a-half hours that followed were incredibly difficult, what I went through to lace up my sneakers and pin on my bib that morning was some of the most challenging weeks of my marathoning career.

Bibs with names are the best!
Bibs with names are the best!

Years ago, with only two races under my belt, I fell and banged up my knee. I’ve been injured practically every race since. As you can imagine, my pace has slowed considerably. I have pushed myself longer and harder than I should have. Finally – several years too late, I’m sure some of my doctors would argue – I’ve finally decided to hang up my (moisture-wicking) hat and retire. Forever? Probably not. But it will be years before I get to a start or a finish line again.

Oh, woe is knee.
Oh, woe is knee.

Some people have asked why I push myself so hard. Why not just walk slower, enjoy the training and racing, and cross the finish line feeling good? Why do I only feel good about racing if I’m going fast enough, if my finish time is something I can be proud of? Why am I only proud of a certain pace? Why can’t I be content with just finishing, no matter how long it takes? After all, didn’t I say that I loved Ragen Chastain’s quote about a marathon being a distance, not a time?

One last race shirt. And this one fits!
One last race shirt. And this one fits!

Yeah, but. I can’t seem to let go of the half marathoner I was. Never mind that I was younger and uninjured. I can’t let go of the idea that 13-minute miles are within my grasp.  Never mind that I was thinner, too. A big part of why I have kept marathoning even when my body was practically begging me to stop is because I wanted to prove myself as a fat athlete (a fathlete!) by being really fast. So I have ignored and pushed through so much pain in order to prove that, even though I’m fat, I’m fast and strong… and good enough. No one is putting that pressure on me (although I’m sure there are plenty of trolls who would love to help witht that), except me. We are all our own worst critics in so many ways, and this is one of my ways.

Gilda's Gang 2014!
Gilda’s Gang 2014!

My hope is that two or five or ten years from now, I’ll be happy to just finish. I’ll be able to enjoy each mile as it passes. I won’t stress about pace or chip time. If I can’t ever let go of being the marathoner I once was… well, I have twelve medals and seven years of memories. I have countless friends I’ve met from racing and from Gilda’s Gang. And I have contact info for some really amazing physical therapists, if you need one! (More about that soon.)

Pretty and shiny!
Pretty and shiny!

Sometimes, getting to the finish line is the hard part. Sometimes, getting to the start line is the hard part. And sometimes, knowing when to walk away is the hardest part of all. Thanks, friends, for ringing your cowbells for me all these years. I couldn’t have done it without you.

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