A Lesson in Humility

I started my running "career" late in life, after spending the majority of the late 90's in one failed attempt at  yo-yo dieting or another I decided it might be time to actually give exercise a try.   I could probably write an in-depth book about the various weight-loss programs out there- from cabbage soup and tuna fish to South Beach and Atkins and everything in between, but I digress- today we will stick to running.  

When I first set out to "run" my goal was to make it around the block in our neighborhood without actually dying.  Although it's hard to imagine now, this was before the "everybody has a cell phone even if they can't afford a house, car, or food" era and the thought of having to knock on a random person's door because I was out of breath and couldn't make it home was motivation to pick my feet up and move.

To be fair, I did actually have a cell phone.  It was the size of a small toaster oven and lived in a big black leather bag in my car.  I couldn't have run with that thing if I had tried.  Really, the thought of lugging that thing around makes pushing Mia in the jogging stroller seem easy.  Plus, I was given strict instructions not to  use it unless there was a dire emergency- think natural disasters and life or death situations here- not pulled hamstrings or cardiac arrest.

So, off I went on a specified route which circled around the neighborhood, perfectly crafted, so that I could not turn back but only move forward to make it home.  After an entire summer of walking more than I ran and picking up the pace only when I thought I was nearing the house of someone I knew, one day I realized I actually really liked it.  Each day, it got easier and progress was made.  

My first real race I ever ran was the Mardi Gras Mambo 10k in Baton Rouge.  I woke up late, ate breakfast directly out of the cheerio box, my knees driving the steering wheel of my car, (Later in life I would find out this is actually illegal. When the cop pulled me over for driving with no hands I very innocently said- my Mom taught me how when I was 16), while speeding through downtown BR looking for a parking spot.  When Amy and I finally found one we jumped out the car and sprinted to the start of the race where, lucky us, they had just sounded the horn to start- we never actually got to slow down.  Somewhere around mile 4 (which could have actually been my mile 5) a consistent whistling sound seemed to be approaching from behind.  The sound got closer and closer, ever so consistent, but still undefinable.  When it seemed as if the whistling could not be any closer I looked next to me and saw the source.  What must of been an 80 plus year-old hunch back man with a tracheotomy passing me.  I didn't even have the energy to shake my head as the whistling grew more and more faint and ran off into the crowd.

Ahh, humility.  And it didn't stop there.

A year and a half later, I would be convinced to run the Baton Rouge Beach Marathon.  I trained fairly well, seemed pretty ready, and felt good for the first half of the race.  I had read about the dreaded "wall" but was not at all prepared for how I felt at mile 20 on race day.  I wanted to die, I think I actually thought I would die... right there on Dalrymple Drive... my last breath in front of the DKE house. Irony at it's best, I could see the headlines. "Sober, Christian runner died today in the lawn of the once wildest fraternity on campus"  The reality was, my legs hurt, my stomach hurt, my everything hurt. When we reached the Chapel on the Campus, I was ordered into the bathroom to stick my finger down my throat and make myself throw up in an attempt to ease my nausea so I could keep running.  It didn't work.  I shuffled through mile 21 and 22 and then at mile 23 it happened.  The 70 year old speed walker, with a shirt reading "Speed Walking Marathons since 1975 in all 50 States" came whizzing by.  I had about 2 seconds to read his shirt before he was gone and out of sight... all the while I was still shuffling along.  Only through the encouragement of friends and family did I finish that day.  There is even a rumor I sat down around mile 24 and cried- but since I seemed to have blocked that memory we will just say it never happened.  When I crossed the finish line the race course was closed and I was handed an XXL t-shirt because it was all they had left.  Guess that speed walker and his friends took all the good sizes.   

Again, humility.

It would be a good 4 years before I would even attempt training for anything again and then it came to fruition only as a result of my inability to say no.  (Yes, Shannon, I am now glad I did it) The Baltimore Marathon was a much better experience than my first, I was in better shape, was more mentally prepared, and felt about 110% more confident.  Which, was why on race day when I was once again passed by a 60 plus year old woman who looked like she spent some time on a reality weight loss show I didn't sweat it.  Running isn't really about what you look like, what you're wearing, or how old you are.  The color of your shorts or cuteness of your matching ensemble isn't going to finish the race for you .  It's more about your stamina and your training...you can only get out of it what you have put in. Not that it's not embarrassing of course.  I consistently have to take a step back and remember my goal is to finish, alive, NOT to finish first.

And maybe, just maybe, finish in front of the walkers.

In April I ran my first half post baby. The babies were there to meet us at mile 8 and I must say I felt good.  My friend's mother-in-law snapped a picture of me hugging Mia and my heart jumped.  I just knew I looked so great after all of my training.  In my head I pictured something like this...

And then, she emailed me the picture.  I seem to be missing the sleek, controlled look in the picture above, and is it just me or does this picture give off the impression that I could possibly pass out at any moment?  I did not pass out, but a few miles later I would be passed by a walker.

Humility.

I am a firm believer that anyone can run and that runners come in all shapes, sizes, and ages. Shannon and I may start training again, and my goal, like always, will be to finish.  I have no doubt on race day there will be a variety of people at the starting line and when I look at them, I will know, that the oh-so-innocent seeming grandpa next to me will most likely leave me in his old man dust at mile 19.  And I will once again be taught yet another lesson in humility.