the journey vs. the destination

"The will to win means nothing without the will to prepare" has been the mantra haunting my dreams for the past four years. I wanted to run a marathon again because I felt like I'd cheated myself the first time by just waking up and running 26 miles one very unseasonably cold and rainy day without any preparation. It's a bad idea, guys. BAD IDEA. DON'T DO IT.

That said, waking up and just doing it without any preparation is kind of my M.O. It was my approach to music lessons as a kid, much of college and grad school, other important life events, etc., and the last-minute hurrying, anxiety, and frustration was really beginning to wear on me after a while. So I decided to challenge myself with a marathon—there are arguably easier ways to challenge oneself, but just work with me here. I think in my mind I thought this would be the redeeming run and that I'd do things right. I followed Hal Higdon religiously, I quit sugar for a month, I talked it up to everyone who would listen just to motivate me to actually do it. Robbie was my unofficial coach, giving me a hard time if I tried to sleep in and skip runs, but understanding and helpful when I felt like I was pushing myself too hard.

Last week, I was stressing out about minor aches and pains, the sudden appearance of a cold, and the unseasonably warm weather. I was a ball of nerves the night before the run, but made it to bed early after a carb-loading dinner. I woke up early, I stretched, I meditated (seriously, WHO HAVE I TURNED INTO??), I thought about what was ahead of me. I got to the starting line, put one foot in front of the other, and finished—and it took me just as long as it did the first time.

It was hard. It was really hard! It was hot (so very unseasonably hot), I was dehydrated, and I was alone for the last four miles. I don't remember anything, really, about my 2008 marathon. Even when I read the thoughts I wrote about the experience, I couldn't remember why I was crying, why it was painful, why I swore to myself I'd never run another marathon. But I kept reassuring myself over the past few months that no matter what, I'd be ready, and that I'd be able to beat my 2008 time and somehow redeem myself after that fairly insignificant experience. And I can't lie to you—I was really bummed when Robbie told me my official time (4:49:21). It's not bad—it's really not bad. But I think that I felt like I should have been able to run faster because of my diligence. Maybe I still feel like I deserved better. Oddly enough, I'm getting emotional just thinking about all of this.

But Robbie and Eliza, who met me at the finish line, reminded me again and again that the hours it took to run on Saturday were so incredibly insignificant compared to the hours I spent preparing for that run. I sacrificed sleep, comfort, and the use of the right side of my body (temporarily) after I tripped and fell at the beginning of one of my runs (that was a sad day), and I have physical reminders of all the work I did (i.e., the massive scar on my hip from the aforementioned fall). I studied for the test—I didn't cram. I felt prepared. In this case, the journey—the 16 weeks of blood, sweat, and tears—was far more important than the 26.2 mile destination.

In the end, I'm proud of myself. Things are better this time around than they were four years ago—I'm not wincing every time I sit down, I'm walking without a limp. The preparation paid off in ways that I'm grateful for now. But heaven help us if I ever do another marathon.