20 years ago, I set out to run a marathon.
I never did.
And I’m fairly certain, now, I never will.
See, 20 years ago, there was something very important that I wasn’t seeing. In fact, it’s taken me most of my adult life to make this important realization.
If I had to categorize my status as “a runner” through the years, I’d say I’m a bit more than a “weekend warrior”. I’m highly competitive with myself, and have long believed in the importance of fitness, and it’s link to wellness.
The closest I came to running a full marathon was the year my personal training regimen was on fire. Feeling strong and conditioned, I was prepared for my favorite annual half-marathon.
Injury-free, I kept upping my mileage.
The course of this particular race features a literal crossroad. A runner could opt to take the 13.1 fork or the 26.2 fork. While each year, I’d registered to run the half, I’d always marveled at those who deliberately did the full.
This would be my year; the full was in my sights.
This year, I’d be ready when the opportunity presented itself, the full marathon. Physically and mentally ready, I just needed the moment to arrive.
But, see, I’d started to notice (and tried to ignore) something concerning: I was getting caught up with the destination. This was no longer about my personal best, the “man against himself” mentality I’d held when it came to running. It was becoming a contest of me versus others, and I wanted to win.
People who weren’t running.
People who didn’t even know they were in a race, no less, against me.
People who I’d turned into my enemies, just to advance myself.
I’d lost my focus, my focus on the journey.
I was in a personal rat race.
Two weeks before race day, I was supposed to ritualistically lace up my Asics. Only that day, I was to run the longest stage of my training: 19 miles. Conquering this challenge was going to leave me feeling physically, mentally, and emotionally ready for race day.
But I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t muster the…something…to even put my sneakers on. On a day when I was supposed to show myself I could do it, I stopped running.
Looking back, It was then that I realized, I was doing this all wrong.
Two weeks later was race day. Not new to this scene, I’d taken all of the steps to be prepared for this day, and to challenge my personal record for the half.
Instead, I ran my worst race ever, struggling miserably, the entire way.
I’d developed a blister that spanned of the bottom of my foot. I’d picked someone to help pace me, and lost sight of him. And I couldn’t catch a man who seemed to have entered the race on a bet. He was wearing cut-off jeans shorts and untied work boots. For 13 miles, he was 10 steps ahead of me. My music stopped playing at the halfway mark. I was miserable and alone.
I felt like a failure.
This experience has taught me some personal life lessons that have little do with running.
It’s about the journey, not the destination.
It’s about celebrating incremental personal success.
My progress is about me, measured against me, and no one else.
So, am I a failure?
No, I’m not.
I’m not a failure, because I learned.
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