In just about 48 hours, I’ll be standing at the start line of my eleventh half marathon. I’ve walked this course before – five times. I know each turn, each hill, each water stop. I know the cacophony of the start line, and the loneliness of those middle miles on the canal path, where there are very few spectators and a whole lot of quiet. I know the exhilaration of turning that final corner and seeing that beautiful, six-letter word: FINISH. But I don’t know what the day has in store for me, what those 13.1 miles will be like – not this time.
I’m walking injured. I was a little injured back in May, when I tackled the half marathon up in Toronto. But this time around, I’m a lot more injured. Not in a debilitating way, and not in a way that makes me afraid to race. But in a way that is uncomfortable and a little nerve-wracking. I know I can finish. I know my feet will cross that final mat and hear the beep of my timing chip being registered. What I don’t know is how long it’s going to take me to get there.
Why does it matter, you ask. Why would you care how long it takes you? A lot of people wouldn’t even bother doing the race if they were injured. Well, I’m stubborn. And determined. And I should be content with just finishing, and I’m trying to get my brain there. I’m trying to put aside ego – the part of me that says, “If it takes you longer than X amount of time, you’re terrible!” – and just be happy that I’m well enough to walk 13.1 at any pace.
There is a story behind every medal. There’s the first one, 2007, that came with plenty of tears. There’s the second one, down in Tennessee, my first (and only!) sub three-hour race. Rochester, New Orleans, Buffalo, Houston. I have earned every medal. And I will earn this one, no matter how long it takes.
I may very well take four hours to finish this race. (If so, thanks to my friends and family for hanging around that long – hope you don’t get carpal tunnel from all that cow bell ringing!) I’ve never taken that long before, but it could very well happen on Sunday. My ego will just have to be okay with that. Hopefully, when they put that shiny medal around my neck, my ego will be content.
This quote keeps running through my mind:
Run the first mile with your legs, the second mile with your mind, and the third mile with your heart.
I’m going to be going a lot further than three miles, but still: I think I’ll walk it all with my heart.
