Faith

"Running, like Wetmore said once, is like getting up every morning and shooting yourself. You know that you are going to push yourself through something really painful, but you also know how much strength and speed are going to come with it. The passion of the runner is to force forgetfullness on that pain and embrace that benefits that will without fail make you a better person." -- From Adam Batliner's Diary in Running with the Buffaloes

This time two weeks ago, I sat with that knowledge that in the morning I would figuratively be shooting myself. I was about to undergo immense pain, but pain with meaning and so I held on with Faith.

My stomach was full of knots and my head clouded with doubts. In less than 24 hours I would run my premier marathon and the stakes were high (in my mind). If it went poorly, it could be my last. If my foot did not hold up, I may not finish. The mystique of the marathon terrified me. In truth, it still does and I think it always will, but that is the magic of the marathon.

The marathon is an odd distance: 26.2 miles. It is the only race in which I would toe the line never having previously run that length. Most experts (if not all) consider 26.2 miles too demanding on the body to be run often. You never reach the full distance in training, for it is too taxing on the body to recover fully in time. My training plan called for 3 20-mile runs but even these were to be run at an "easy" pace. I had never run more than 12 miles at my marathon pace and so as confident as I tried to remain, my mind was questioning. I really had no way of knowing what speed my legs could carry me for 26.2 miles. That is all part of what I consider the Marathon Mystique. That is the challenge after all, to push yourself beyond what you have ever done, to test the limits, to see what you can do. For me, that is what life is all about. Staying within the lines, avoiding suffering, sitting comfortably within our own limits never teaches you anything. You grow through suffering. It is only when we can push through new boundaries that we truly see how powerful we are -- as runners, as women, as mothers, as humans.

I stood there Sunday morning, October 12, 2014, amidst 47,000 fellow runners, among half of whom were about to run the furthest distance in their life. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer and held onto my Faith -- faith in my training, faith in myself, faith in a higher being and a higher purpose, knowing that months and years of waiting for this moment possessed great meaning and that it was all about to be tested and discovered. So is life. As we stand on the line of some of the biggest moments of our lives, whether it be our wedding day and committing to a life-time with a partner or taking our final deep breath before pushing out our first born, we are full of a sea of doubt, knowing that the ensuing moments will forever change our lives. All we can do is have faith and trust that things will work out just the way they were meant to be.

Sunday was surreal. I completed Chicago in 3:25.00. Exactly. On the dot. That is faith and execution in its highest and most etherreal form. When I walked up to the Nike+ table at the exhibit to join a pacing team Saturday late afternoon, a friendly volunteer asked me what time I would like to run.

"Hmm, well, maybe 3:20 or 3:25, I guess," I responded with uncertainty. Again I doubted myself, not really sure what time I was capable of running. Choosing a final marathon time felt like a shot in the dark.

"We don't have a 3:20 pace team, but we do have 3:25," she responded, "I can sign you up for that."

"Sure, 3:25," I said, but not feeling quite so sure.

The next morning I stomached a banana, sipped some water and rubbed a damp rag over a 7:49/mile pace temporary tattoo. If I stuck with that pace I would finish in 3:25. Exactly. 26.2 miles lay ahead of me and only time would tell.

One week later and I sit here still clouded by the Marathon Mystique. Chicago captivated me, carried me and brought me one of the very best experiences of my life. In famous running biography, Running with the Buffaloes, Adam Batliner wrote in his diary:

"These are some of the greatest moments of our lives. We may not see it yet, we may not even know it, but I think that we will look back as withered elderly men upon those times as some of the most profound of our lives. And if I don't, thats even better, because it would take a hell of a life to cloud over the shining, glistening days of collegiate cross country."

It will take a hell of a life to cloud over my marathon experience in Chicago. These are the days and these are some of the greatest moments in our lives, no matter how often we forget to remind ourselves.

What will you remember as you look back as withered elderly old folks? Will your life be highlighted by those challenges, those moments of suffering with meaning and will you be able to wake up and do it all again, with faith?

Waking up the next morning, coffee and baby boy at my side.