FOR Hundreds of Miles and Effort

"But did you get to the part about the 400s?" My coach asked me.... and I admit I had not yet gotten there. The last time we did 400s, it was a Tuesday in late June. it was 500 degrees and humid like a typical Indiana summer. I sat in the car before our run group. Talking to my sister. My Dad had just been diagnosed and she was telling me it was cancer. And I heard her. But I had to go, it was time to run.... time for speed work.... time for my life to feel normal... I would do this after 400s....  I flipped on my goodrs and headed for the track... 2 mile warm up and 12-16 400s.

I remember it being hot. I remember running and feeling so heavy my legs were like lead weights and the air felt so thick and almost impossible to suck in.... people were flying past me.  This was the track!  Theses were 400s. This was my thing. I loved sprinting.  I could keep up on 400s... I saw everyone and I have a vague memory of trying to keep up... the 200mt recovery jogs and again and again and all of a sudden the full force of what was happening hit me. On a hot summer day, in mid June, doing something I loved, surrounded by so many others, my voice was literally trapped in my throat and my body was barely moving. My Dad, who was completely health 2 weeks ago, was really really sick. And the last thing I heard my sister say was 30% survival rate into 5 years. I mumbled something to my coach and jogged the 2 miles back to my car with tears streaming down my face and my chest heaving so hard I felt like it might explode...and I had completely failed on 400s. I made it though 3 of 12. How was i ever going to be strong enough for my family. For my Dad who had always been so strong for me. I was literally choking on my tears. I was so thankful for my sunglasses. I told no one that day. I could not even believe it myself. and 4 months later, he would be gone.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately... with so many big races coming up. Not big in meaning or intent... but big in distance. 2 marathons and 2 half marathons and a handful of other races... every time I try to register... I can not believe my Dad will not be there to see me finish.  How do I even begin...

My milage is great. I am running better than ever. The other day I did my long run in the blizzard.... snow up to my ankles at some points... the wind burning and freezing my face... it was so incredible.... The other day after a work out we took off our shoes and socks and shirts and dived into the snow and laid there... forcing our internal temp to cool....WOW the jolt... it's almost like your body convulses against the cold.... your breath hitches and you are almost involuntary fighting it with everything you have.... until it changes... your body gives in and your breath stabilizes and you feel your heart rate drop and you find this calm and peaceful awareness of how much you really do control in your life. I did it again today... the barefoot is key... bare shoulders and stomach help... but submerging your bare feet into the snow just before you lay down... like nothing I have ever felt before.

I know I can run these races.... running use to be about finding my strong.... I was strong because I could run.... I could take care of myself and my children because I was strong... and I proved I was strong because I could run.... these days.... I just am strong and I run.  It is different. I am unattached in a way that I have never been before. Miles are therapy..... but more for my mind... to resolve these last few months....

On that next day, in late June..... at high noon... when the sun was at it's hottest point of the day... and it felt blistering hot and suffocatingly humid... I jogged down to the track... and I knocked out every last 400. Because I was strong. Because I could be there for my Dad and for my family and for myself. Because I finish what I start. The sweat poured off my body and my stomach threatened with it's acidy fire.... and i did not stop.  My legs felt like jelly and my body was exhausted. But I did not stop. There was no air.... no time..... no recognition of pain..... there was only the task that lay ahead of me. finishing the 400s..... and I did not stop. My coach says.... there are no deals, you must run all the miles.... and that snarky voice in my head says....if you want to be a runner and not just a casual jogger.... there is no reprieve.... you must embrace all the pain. 

For so long, I have questioned why the amazing runners I work with befriended me. I wondered how they could possibly think I belong... I am not winning races.... I am not even that fast.... the other day, one of our fastest and most respected runners commented on how amazingly talented my children are and that I must be doing something right. I thought about this.....
My oldest with her 4.0 in honors classes, her incredible ability in math... the most gifted artist.... she draws, paints, sketches every day.....for hours.... in between her homework.... she will often tell me "I am not talented in art.... I work hard."

My middle child... he took up guitar in 5th grade and less than 2 years later was the youngest to make a house touring band at his music school.  Every damn day he is playing guitar, piano, drums... he is on youtube learning.... he arrives hours early to practice... he writes his own music and layers the tracks.... not a day has gone buy that he hasn't spent hours playing music... to improve....

My youngest.... everything she does is about competing and doing better, school, music, sports.... she has these goal lists and every day she will come home and work on maintaining her high grades, practice her clarinet, and finish the night working on her next goal.... currently it is a sub 7 mile.... we are treadmill sharing....

HOW did my children become so disciplined and dedicated.... how did they learn that to be good you have to practice every hour of every day until it happens. And if you work hard enough... it will happen.

I flashed back to when they were very young. 4, 5, and 7. I was training for

a full and a half PR. That first half PR took me 2 years. We would pack food and crayons and water and head to the track together. They would sit on the bleachers and I would run 10 miles on that 400 meter track while they hung out.  They watched me die on that track a million times... somedays it was the only way I got the run in.... they saw me lay down in the grass frustrated or elated at what I had done. They watched me miss goals by seconds and not give up.... they watched me race year after year for improvement... they watched me meet my goals.... and it kind of occurred to me... that somewhere on that track... they learned what to took to be good at something.... or to just have the opportunity to do something you love..... and that maybe they learned that from me.... and suddenly I realized WHY I belonged.... it wasn't about what I could do.... it was about who I was..... they wanted me.... because we shared a common love and were doing what ever we could to make it happen.... and in the down time..... we had great friends that understood the life and the crazy desire...

When I finally reached the part about the 400s, in my coaches favorite book " Once a Runner" I would read it many times..... because I was in awe of that much mental fortitude.... because I desire that myself.... because I know I have it in me to push to the point which is so far past the edge you are completely ripped apart inside and outside......
for the victory.... but THAT is not the part of the book I remember most..... The part that actually haunts me as I think of my own goals and aspirations.... It is what he carries in that bag... standing on the track that night.... tucked safely away..... and every time I read that darn book.... no matter how many times I read it....I always wish it was different... and i really hope that I can make my goals a reality... they are so small in comparison.... but that part of the book..... it never leaves me and yet I forget it every time because I WANT it to be different.  Even the greatest endings are not always what we expect.....