Two years ago, I took on a bucket list race with the Big Sur Marathon. It was probably the most difficult course I have ever run. The race starts in Big Sur and runners trek north for 26.2 miles up the Pacific Coast Highway and cross the finish line in Carmel. It was hilly...so many hills. There is one hill that climbs for nearly 600 feet over 2.2 miles at mile 9.8. At mile 12 you have an incredible downhill that takes you to the half way point across the Bixby Bridge where Michael Martinez serenades runners on a grand piano. As I came across the bridge, he was playing "Blackbird" by the Beatles. It was enough to bring the tears.
What brought the tears next were the rolling hills in the second half. Below are two pictures. One that shows the advertised course profile and one that shows the actual profile as tracked by my Garmin. I knew there were hills, but had some false hope between miles 17 and 21 based on what I had studied online.
I was pretty damn proud of myself for finishing this marathon. Not only were the hills a beast, but for most of the race, I was also battling the camber of the road where it was sloped on the side of the cliff for water run off. I knew there would be camber during parts of the race, but within the first five miles through the redwoods in Big Sur I was already feeling the impact on my ankles.
I returned to work the following week and a coworker learned that I had been out on vacation to run this race. Her first response, "Oh, did you win?"
So many responses flashed through my mind. I might have even said, "Um, did you run 26.2 miles last weekend on the ragged western edge of our country?" Not my finest moment, but definitely among one of the more snarky ones.
Okay, in my coworker's defense, she is not a runner. To many in the non-runner community when they hear about the distances I am running they reply, "I don't even want to drive that far." Yeah, I get it. Why on earth would anyone run that far if they weren't aiming to win the race?
Spoiler alert....I did not win the race. Well, not at least in the sense that I was the first to cross the finish line.
The truth is, unless it is only me in the race, I am probably not ever going to cross the finish line first. And that's okay. The win in running isn't about crossing the finish line. It really isn't even about finishing. The win in running is finding the space where you can enjoy the journey and everything that goes with it - the highs and lows that running brings, the friends you meet along the way, the friends that you convince should start running with you (thank you, Jamie and Kay!). I've cried tears of happy running and I have cried tears of pain and defeat. I have called my husband with only 1.4 miles of a long training run left in tears, unsure if I can make it the rest of the way. Of course I can...I have just run 21.6 miles and only have 1.4 left. Come on!
A dear friend (who also happens to be one of my amazing runner friends) has a son who decided to join his high school wrestling team. He is a freshman. He is a lightweight (I don't really know wrestling so I don't know if that's what it's called). For the entire season, her son has not wrestled. He gets an automatic win when the opposing team doesn't have a kid in his division, and takes the forfeit when there is an opponent. He's had debilitating anxiety that has kept him off the mat. He hasn't wrestled, but he has been very much a part of the team; cheering on his teammates and assisting the coach with stats and video and so many other things.
Yesterday, his mom texted with these amazing words. "He wrestled!!!!!!! He's flying!! We r sobbing!"
It was the last meet of the regular season and he wanted to try so he could get his varsity letter. She followed up with a few pictures of him and his teammates - a young man, full of pride and joy surrounded by teammates whose support and elation was palpable.
Then she wrote, "He lost; but that doesn't matter."
Truth.
Winning, losing - that's not what matters. It didn't matter for this young man in his wrestling match, and it certainly doesn't matter when I am running a race. There is a saying in running that the only thing worse than a DNF (did not finish) is a DNS (did not start). That's true in running and I think it's true in life. Half the battle is getting started. It requires hard work, training, mental discipline, overcoming obstacles, and sometimes the hardest thing of all - believing in yourself.
I join my friend in beaming with pride for her son - her son that she believed in so much that was just waiting - waiting like the "Blackbird" and yesterday, he took his broken wings and learned to fly.
In life, in running, in most things, it really is about the journey - how we take all the parts of us, the good parts, the broken parts, the rough parts, and put them together.
And from what I know from my own journey, there is so much growth and learning, especially on the hard days, which make the highs that much sweeter.
The next time someone asks me if I won, I am going to respond, "Absolutely. And I was only waiting for this moment to arise."
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.