Defining our lives
Saturday I ran my first full marathon in over 2 1/2 years. This was no regular road marathon; it was the Tecumsah Trail marathon in the hills of Southern Indiana. Over 3500 feet of uphill, 3800 feet downhill, plus tons of mud from the recent drenching rains (the course had to be rerouted partly because of flooding), lots of roots and rocks hidden by fallen leaves, and quite a few creeks to slosh through.
Two days later my legs are still hurting. This was without a doubt the most physically taxing and painful marathon I've done. My extremely slow time, even for me, is indicative: it took over 7 hours for me to finish! Yet there is something else noteworthy about this run for me. Somewhere in the middle, when I was really slowing down from slow already and feeling the pain, I realized how much I was enjoying it. Not the pain, but the beauty of running, or this run, this hills, the vistas, the gorgeous scenery, the cool (twenty something degrees) air, the bright December sun, the quiet solitude, the silence of nada listening to a few creatures in the woods, my breathing, the stillness of my center, the simplicity of life at it's most fundamental level. For some reason, when I'm usually panicking and thinking how much I regret signing up for another painful marathon, I decided to ignore the pain and focus only on the enjoyment of the present moment.
I realized going into this one it would be hard, in fact I only planned on running a half or maybe 15-20 miles. So I really did go slow from the start, even for me. I walked a lot. I stopped a few times to listen to the sound of the woods. I even sat down at one point on a fallen tree and ate a box of raisins. For the last 4 hours, I think I looked at my watch maybe once. I didn't care about the time. While I would love to have finished, I knew it might not happen, so I didn't stress over it. I simply decided I would run/walk/hike/slog through this marathon my way.
And that's what I'm learning this year, to define life in my terms. Coming back as a broker to the company that laid me off after being in mid management appears to many as a backwards career move. I don't care, I am loving it so far. Changing churches twice in a year seems odd to many, but not to me, I had to follow my heart. Adopting three special needs children has brought raised eyebrows to many around us for 15 years, big deal. Who am I? I am a father, a husband, a broker, an Orthodox Christian, a pray-er, a friend, a runner, a hiker, a Hoosier, a tree hugging environmentalist, a middle aged Caucasian, and whatever else can come to mind.
And I am none of these, because what I really am is who I am, not what I do, what I wear, what I think, but what I "be." I've spent too much of my life trying to figure out what I am instead of being who I am.
Can I rightly be called a marathoner since I stop to eat raisins on a tree stump and listen to birds when I'm already walking and 2 hours behind the leader? I don't know. You run your race, and I'll be who I am in mine.
Two days later my legs are still hurting. This was without a doubt the most physically taxing and painful marathon I've done. My extremely slow time, even for me, is indicative: it took over 7 hours for me to finish! Yet there is something else noteworthy about this run for me. Somewhere in the middle, when I was really slowing down from slow already and feeling the pain, I realized how much I was enjoying it. Not the pain, but the beauty of running, or this run, this hills, the vistas, the gorgeous scenery, the cool (twenty something degrees) air, the bright December sun, the quiet solitude, the silence of nada listening to a few creatures in the woods, my breathing, the stillness of my center, the simplicity of life at it's most fundamental level. For some reason, when I'm usually panicking and thinking how much I regret signing up for another painful marathon, I decided to ignore the pain and focus only on the enjoyment of the present moment.
I realized going into this one it would be hard, in fact I only planned on running a half or maybe 15-20 miles. So I really did go slow from the start, even for me. I walked a lot. I stopped a few times to listen to the sound of the woods. I even sat down at one point on a fallen tree and ate a box of raisins. For the last 4 hours, I think I looked at my watch maybe once. I didn't care about the time. While I would love to have finished, I knew it might not happen, so I didn't stress over it. I simply decided I would run/walk/hike/slog through this marathon my way.
And that's what I'm learning this year, to define life in my terms. Coming back as a broker to the company that laid me off after being in mid management appears to many as a backwards career move. I don't care, I am loving it so far. Changing churches twice in a year seems odd to many, but not to me, I had to follow my heart. Adopting three special needs children has brought raised eyebrows to many around us for 15 years, big deal. Who am I? I am a father, a husband, a broker, an Orthodox Christian, a pray-er, a friend, a runner, a hiker, a Hoosier, a tree hugging environmentalist, a middle aged Caucasian, and whatever else can come to mind.
And I am none of these, because what I really am is who I am, not what I do, what I wear, what I think, but what I "be." I've spent too much of my life trying to figure out what I am instead of being who I am.
Can I rightly be called a marathoner since I stop to eat raisins on a tree stump and listen to birds when I'm already walking and 2 hours behind the leader? I don't know. You run your race, and I'll be who I am in mine.
posted by Jeff at
6:38 PM
