The Wall

... no, it is not just a Pink Floyd song, nor simply something to keep undesirables out. It is a very intense physical and psychological barrier that I have run up against, no pun intended, several times during my very short running career.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I was never a runner. Last year was really the first time I ran by choice, not by chase. I went from running 4 miles once a week, to running nearly 10 on Saturdays and one other shorter run during the week. I successfully, and comfortably, completed Women Run the Cities, a gorgeous 10-mile race on a perfect fall day. I figured what's 3 more miles?

On Halloween morning, I embarked on my first half marathon with not one, but 2 of my besties by my side. What could go wrong? Well, for one, it started to snow. For two, it was hilly. And 3? The wall. There came a moment at about mile 10 where my body actually stopped moving. I wanted to keep going, and I tried to think my way around this "work stoppage" but it was as though my body had a mind of its own. I turn to my friend in tears..."I don't think I can do this." She kept me going for a few more steps with a pep talk. Then, I saw my kids. They cannot see mommy in pain, so I have to pull it together for them. After high-fiveing my little Yoda and Darth Vader (It was Halloween after all!) I saw what I thought to be a mirage... my neighborhood workout group had shown up in force and in sweats. They ran the last 3, longest miles of my life with me and I finished. I spent the remainder of the weekend on the couch!

2 weeks ago, the wall and I became re-acquainted. Running had been an entirely different experience for me this season. I had a year under my belt, cross-trained all winter, regularly practiced yoga, not to mention dropped a few lbs. It was incredible! I did not know running could feel this good. Then came our 12 mile training run, which started out just fine. Then, it wasn't. The biggest issue was that I began to doubt my ability to do it. And, if I couldn't do 12, how in the heck would I ever do 26.2? The following week began well yet again. Then, somewhere around 10, I started to fall apart. My coach practically dragged me to the finish. But finish I did. And I realized something. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Duh, right? It is not meant to feel good, or be easy, or quick. So why am I doing it? Because I can, and not everyone has that choice.

Next time I run up against that wall, that's is what I'll remember and as suddenly as it appeared, it will fall. But I will not.