"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start." John Bingham
I could feel my heart beating as we walked out of the parking lot on Saturday morning. This is the thing I haven't gotten quite used to yet. Each time I start out of the parking lot, there is that moment where I think I can't do it. I think that this will be the day that I'm somehow unable to get from the beginning of the loop to the end. It's just a quick hiccup, a momentary hesitation, but it doesn't go away.
I'm told that this is a normal reaction. Running, according to the many many people who know better than I, is a largely mental act. My aching calves may disagree, but the hardest part for many would-be runners is the idea of running. Describe the process out loud at some point – perhaps while alone so you don't alarm your friends. Left foot. Right Foot. Faster. Left foot. Right foot. Faster. Uphill. Around the corner. Try not to slow down too much. Left foot. Right foot. Repeat. Seriously, the thought that you will get up and voluntarily put one foot in front of the other – rapidly or not so rapidly – for some determined length of time with no destination sounds very strange. If you add in the part about doing it early in morning, occasionally in bad weather while wearing unflattering clothing, you can perhaps understand why non-runners have been known to view runners as fundamentally differently wired.
This is why running has become a weekly exercise in trust for me. I have to believe that my body is better than my mind might think. The very first time out, I wanted to cry. The chorus of negativity in my head was so loud that I think the cars driving by probably had to turn up their radios. My first trail run made me think that I could only run on roads since I was so slow and clumsy as we single-tracked through the woods. When I stood at the starting line for my race and could already feel the breathlessness reaching in towards me, my logical brain was trying to remind that I didn't HAVE to do this. I could stop, sit down, relax. I could stop. I can stop.
So why don't I? I don't honestly always know. Sometimes, I'm just stubborn. I channel my inner three year who is not going to nap. I make bargains with myself involving chocolate, coffee, hot baths and new books. Occasionally I have to promise one from each of those categories before I can tie my shoes. It helps to have NOBO friends that I only get to see if I run. NOBO swag is always a draw because I'm kind of a cheap date. Sometimes it the silliness factor that gets me moving. I never expected to run in a Halloween costume in my forties.
Back in the Dark ages when I was in high school, we had an outdoor education program that included a ropes course. At the end of the ropes course, you had to climb a tree, get onto a platform and leap out into space to catch a trapeze hanging ten feet away. We were all connected to safety lines, so we weren't in any danger. However, our brains, in an effort to protect us, pointed out that leaping into space fifty feet up in the air can have unpleasant consequences. It took enormous faith to make that leap. Each time I circle the route we are running, fast or slow, running or walking, in pain or flying high, I believe that I am capable. I leap out and catch the trapeze. I learn over and over that I can do more than I might think possible.
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