The Impossible Dream

Today I ran farther than I've ever run before--11.67 miles.

Wait, wait--I know what you're thinking--what about the Moab half-marathon that I ran with Jason back in 2004? Well, while the actual race may have been longer, I wore out and walked as soon as we got out of the canyon. I don't remember exactly how far we'd gone before I gave up, but I'm pretty certain that it was before mile 11. Hence, today's run takes the cake. Plus, I scored bonus points by pushing Eli in the jogging stroller the entire distance. By the very end, my arms ached nearly as much as my legs.

It's been fun to train for a race around town where I'm familiar with the roads. It adds to the sense of accomplishment--Central High to Prospect, down past Green, around the country club, beyond Kirby, past Mattis, beyond Duncan, across the Interstate, all through the neighborhoods, and back again. (What was I thinking?) Today I explored areas that I've never even driven through, let alone jogged around. There's a definite sense of adventure when you wander into unknown territory. I never imagined that I would run with a map, pausing occasionally to get my bearings. It's amazing how far your legs can actually take you. Hard as the run was (and it did get tough), I felt genuinely proud of myself for sticking with it.

Around mile 7 or 8, I started to reflect on my new running habit and its motivations. After all, I run around plenty chasing my three sweet children. With so much to do and so little discretionary time, why am I investing my free moments into developing a habit that I somewhat dread and find slightly painful? I confess, the endorphins must have something to do with it. Running really does become addictive. I feel jumpy and anxious until I get a chance to pound all of my stress and worries into the pavement. No matter what it is that has me concerned, I almost always feel better about it by the time I come home from a run.

I run for my health. I foolishly gained nearly 40 pounds during this last pregnancy, only to discover afterward that my metabolism has changed, and no amount of nursing is going to melt the weight away. Running has helped balance my aging body, leaving me healthier physically with an appropriate BMI, and healthier emotionally because I'm not beating myself up over body image.

There's more, though. If you dig deep into my psyche, you'll discover that I run because I never thought I could. As an adult, I am reshaping a piece of myself that I always viewed as a miserable failure. We all harbor a few painful memories of our past: one of my worst memories centers around running. In seventh grade, I joined the track team. It didn't take me long to figure out that I was never going to catch up with the sprinters, so when it came time to sign up for events, I registered for the mile. Since not many middle-schoolers are interested in long distances, I thought it would boost my probabilities of success.

On the day of my first track meet, the coach pulled me and the other mile runners aside to let us know that one of our competitors had been training all summer and was really fast, so we needed to pace ourselves. What my coach didn't know, however, was that a very well-intentioned family member who likes to remain anonymous had given me his own race advice the night before. He told me that when he raced in school, he did his best to take the lead and refused to let anyone overtake him, making him a winner.

Overly competitive in nature, I chose to follow my father's advice. I sprinted as fast as I could and made it half a lap around the track before stopping to gasp for air. I stumbled through another lap and a half before quitting the race early with an asthma attack. When I caught my breath, I withdrew from my second event and walked home alone--in disgrace.

I never went back. This first track meet was also my last. I turned my uniform into the office directly so that I could avoid speaking to the coach. I honestly thought I'd never race again.

***

Running as an adult has been much more pleasant, centered around personal goals and accomplishments instead of competition. It's been empowering to turn a weakness into a strength. The question that haunts me now is--how far will I go?

At the moment, a half marathon is the perfect goal for me. Extremely challenging, yet achievable. I've trained hard and consistently to become conditioned, and I feel confident that if I keep it up, I will be proud of my finish on May 1st.

But will I ever dare a marathon? The logical part of me says no, absolutely not. It's too far, too taxing, too stressful on a body, particularly one that's not naturally inclined towards running. And yet there is this tiny whispering voice that wants to tackle it, just once, simply to say that I did it.

Initially, it seems like this longing to join the elite crowd of marathoners is nothing more than pride. And still, I feel this quiet urge to conquer something that I never believed possible.

Shortly before I graduated from high school, I was asked by a scholarship search committee what I considered to be the greatest challenge I had faced in life. In the few seconds I had to ponder, I was overcome with the realization that my entire life had been blessed, void of any truly overwhelming challenge. In an effort to formulate a decent response, I talked about the challenge of living with asthma. At the time, my asthma was really poorly controlled. (Our cat, while cute, was rather disastrous on my lungs.) I explained to the interviewers that having asthma forced to me to confront and recognize my limitations. As an asthmatic, there were simply some things I would never be able to do--like run a marathon.

Years later, these words still haunt me. Never run a marathon... Or could I? Should I? My lungs feel much better far away from felines in the cornfields of Illinois. Yet I'm still asthmatic. Discrete as I may try to be, I don't run farther than the mailbox without an inhaler--just in case. Yet here I am, managing 6 mile runs easily, 11 mile runs without much more than sore calves to complain about. At the moment, 26 miles seems an impossible dream, but never?

We'll see.