It's the little moments in life. I've become convinced that the only thing I need every day is just one thing to make me smile. I'm not talking about the little grin I give the barista at Starbucks as they make small talk over my extra shot of expresso, or the sluggish chuckle that falls out of my lips as a customer answers that they "didn't find that 100 dollar bill" when I ask if they found everything okay. I'm talking about a whole-hearted smile, one that starts on the inside and makes it's way out. It's slow and bright, like a sunrise peeking over some clouds on the beach. Sometimes we (and by "we" I mean "I") need to be reminded that overall happiness doesn't come from the big things in life. It comes from a compliment from a stranger, the way the sun reflects off the clouds on an early morning drive to work, or running in the cool of the rain; the smallest of successes.
Oftentimes, we look to the objectives to determine how our lives are going at the moment. We set our goals, and set them high. We pay little attention to the subjective trail that leads up to achieving the said goal. I'm familiar with this conundrum, often looking to the numbers in order to gauge my abilities. But it's not about the numbers. The things that matter the most in life are those that can't be quantified. Sometimes they can't even be put into words, as I'm trying to do now. For example, I couldn't tell you every detail of how I felt when I jumped off the bar after completing my 10th pull-up, (I had been trying to do so all summer) or how great of a hug I received when I ran my marathon PR. Emotions simply can't be described. I know that we've all felt something in which the words "sad" or "happy" fails to represent the emotion flowing through our bodies. Part of dealing with the ebb and flow of life is allowing emotions to have this mystique; this misunderstood understanding that we won't always know why we feel a certain way.
We all are focused on "the next big thing". Whether it be graduation, a promotion, the birth of a child, marriage, a big race, taking a job, or retiring. What we should be doing, however, is reminding ourselves where we are in the present. This day, this hour, this moment. Without fail, looking too far into the future will cloud the present. Take each step in stride, and find joy even when it isn't apparent. Find those little moments that make your heart smile, because that is the only true smile to be smiled.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Monday, November 11, 2013
Savannah
Allow me to preface this race report with the fact that I regretted signing up for this race. It was a spur of the moment decision (and a bargain) that arose from a tough race in Boston. I guess I felt like I needed revenge from the 26.2 distance; I really hate anything that kicks my ass as hard as that race did. However, this race meant much more to me than I thought it would.
As soon as I heard the first few beats of my alarm (Clocks, by Coldplay), I jumped out of my king-sized hotel bed and commenced pre-race prep. I was awake, excited, and ready to go. Any anxiety escaped me; I thought only about the finish line, not the 26.2 daunting miles I had to traverse before getting there. After a quick breakfast of a pumpkin bagel, a banana, granola, and some Gatorade, I loaded myself and my GU's into my car and headed for the International Trade and Convention Center. I arrived in the parking lot at 5:20 am, with plenty of time to spare. I sat in my car and listened to some music before foam rolling a bit in the parking lot. I then boarded the ferry to the start, chatting with other runners along the way about marathons past and the one in front of us. I was talklative and at ease, soaking up each and every moment up until the start.
I reached the start line with an hour until go time. I wandered around, walking to stay warm and take in the sights. The temperature was a cool and humid 46 degrees, and I was waiting until the last minute to take off my sweats. Several runners were huddled underneath the gas-powered lights because they gave off quite a bit of heat, but I preferred to walk around and watch the sunrise over the Savannah River. Once I dropped my gear bag off, I headed to corral one, where I would begin my journey for the day. I stretched and jumped around, met a few friends, and traded finishing time hopes with a few other runners. When the time came, the announcer began a countdown: 10...9...8... It's going to happen today, I thought. 7...6...5...4...3...2...1... and then we were off, running down the streets of Savannah with the echo of "Good luck, y'all, see you in Forsyth Park!" careening off of the buildings.
At mile 5, there were speakers blaring the Wobble, and a big group of spectators dancing in a line. I had to fight the urge to join them for a sequence or two, but instead did a little shimmy and shake as I ran by. Man, I love the Wobble. I maintained a really even pace, splitting every mile off between 7:27 and 7:40. Perfect. We winded through neighborhoods with front porches akin to those you read about in books, crising through tree-lined streets before heading up a ramp to a freeway. The sun beat hard on my body, and I began to sweat a lot more than I had been previously. I remember feeling slightly annoyed by that stretch, but as it turns out, that freeway led to the best part of the entire race.
I came up to a water station around mile 18 (this was one I wanted water from, I had been taking fluid from every other water station and that seemed to be working out well), and I could hear a volunteer yelling "Roll Tide" obnoxiously as all of the runners passed. Once I came up to him, I shouted "Go Gators!", and went to grab a water cup to him. To my surprise, he yanked the cup away from my reach. I called him a special name (it's like itch, but with another letter in front), and ran up to the next volunteer. Everyone around, including myself were laughing hysterically. It was like the comedic relief to a Shakespearean play. It somehow made the race for me, even though there were far more amazing things that occurred that day.
We headed towards Savannah State University (at about mile 16 or so at that point), which had a beautiful campus. We winded through small groups of college students before exiting the university through a lap around their track. I high-fived their tiger mascot and went on my way. I couldn't believe how good I was feeling. In the two marathons that I had done before this one, I began to suffer around mile 16. I was at mile 20 and still feeling great. I was wary of hitting some sort of wall; they usually seem to come without warning. But no such structure was constructed. I knew I was at the final push as I ran up the ramp back onto the freeway. I knew that once I got back across that long stretch of beating sun I would be close to the finish line and that clock. I took a quick inventory of my body, which still felt strong, and my form remained intact. I felt almost as if I were running outside myself; on some sort of physiological autopilot that was inexhaustible. Based on this assessment, I took off at the 23 mile mark, pouring the rest of my effort into the last 3.2 miles.
I flew down the last street with a lot on my mind. I thought of my coaches, who got me physically where I was in that moment. I thought of my friends, who got me where I was mentally in that moment. I could feel the "good luck" hugs that I received, wrapped wound my heart and body, both of which were still going strong. I thought about dropping the anchor and flying away. The whole race seemed like such a perfect storm. I entered the finishing shoot, which was lined by cheering spectators on either side. As the finish line and clock came into a view, a smile spread itself a mile wide across my face. I saw the "18" next to the "3", and it became real. I did it! Just after crossing the finish line, I jumped and did a little spin (in mid air I worried a bit if my legs would buckle upon landing, but it turned out okay). "I got your best side", said the finish line photographer after snapping a few pictures. I'm assuming he was talking about my back side. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed; it went as well as it could have gone.
A 5 minute PR in the marathon should indicate that I am as fit as I've ever been. But I don't think that's it. The difference in this race was my mindset and approach. I think I'm beginning to grasp what endurance sports are all about: having confidence with grace, appreciation of the little things, fierce but friendly competitiveness. Before the race, I felt like I knew the outcome already; but I also was already at peace if that didn't actually come to fruition. I had the perfect mix of the here and now and there and later. I am grateful for everything and everyone who led up to this race; I gained so much more than a medal and a PR. I gained perspective and genuine happiness. Thank you, Savannah.
As soon as I heard the first few beats of my alarm (Clocks, by Coldplay), I jumped out of my king-sized hotel bed and commenced pre-race prep. I was awake, excited, and ready to go. Any anxiety escaped me; I thought only about the finish line, not the 26.2 daunting miles I had to traverse before getting there. After a quick breakfast of a pumpkin bagel, a banana, granola, and some Gatorade, I loaded myself and my GU's into my car and headed for the International Trade and Convention Center. I arrived in the parking lot at 5:20 am, with plenty of time to spare. I sat in my car and listened to some music before foam rolling a bit in the parking lot. I then boarded the ferry to the start, chatting with other runners along the way about marathons past and the one in front of us. I was talklative and at ease, soaking up each and every moment up until the start.
I reached the start line with an hour until go time. I wandered around, walking to stay warm and take in the sights. The temperature was a cool and humid 46 degrees, and I was waiting until the last minute to take off my sweats. Several runners were huddled underneath the gas-powered lights because they gave off quite a bit of heat, but I preferred to walk around and watch the sunrise over the Savannah River. Once I dropped my gear bag off, I headed to corral one, where I would begin my journey for the day. I stretched and jumped around, met a few friends, and traded finishing time hopes with a few other runners. When the time came, the announcer began a countdown: 10...9...8... It's going to happen today, I thought. 7...6...5...4...3...2...1... and then we were off, running down the streets of Savannah with the echo of "Good luck, y'all, see you in Forsyth Park!" careening off of the buildings.
At mile 5, there were speakers blaring the Wobble, and a big group of spectators dancing in a line. I had to fight the urge to join them for a sequence or two, but instead did a little shimmy and shake as I ran by. Man, I love the Wobble. I maintained a really even pace, splitting every mile off between 7:27 and 7:40. Perfect. We winded through neighborhoods with front porches akin to those you read about in books, crising through tree-lined streets before heading up a ramp to a freeway. The sun beat hard on my body, and I began to sweat a lot more than I had been previously. I remember feeling slightly annoyed by that stretch, but as it turns out, that freeway led to the best part of the entire race.
I came up to a water station around mile 18 (this was one I wanted water from, I had been taking fluid from every other water station and that seemed to be working out well), and I could hear a volunteer yelling "Roll Tide" obnoxiously as all of the runners passed. Once I came up to him, I shouted "Go Gators!", and went to grab a water cup to him. To my surprise, he yanked the cup away from my reach. I called him a special name (it's like itch, but with another letter in front), and ran up to the next volunteer. Everyone around, including myself were laughing hysterically. It was like the comedic relief to a Shakespearean play. It somehow made the race for me, even though there were far more amazing things that occurred that day.
We headed towards Savannah State University (at about mile 16 or so at that point), which had a beautiful campus. We winded through small groups of college students before exiting the university through a lap around their track. I high-fived their tiger mascot and went on my way. I couldn't believe how good I was feeling. In the two marathons that I had done before this one, I began to suffer around mile 16. I was at mile 20 and still feeling great. I was wary of hitting some sort of wall; they usually seem to come without warning. But no such structure was constructed. I knew I was at the final push as I ran up the ramp back onto the freeway. I knew that once I got back across that long stretch of beating sun I would be close to the finish line and that clock. I took a quick inventory of my body, which still felt strong, and my form remained intact. I felt almost as if I were running outside myself; on some sort of physiological autopilot that was inexhaustible. Based on this assessment, I took off at the 23 mile mark, pouring the rest of my effort into the last 3.2 miles.
I flew down the last street with a lot on my mind. I thought of my coaches, who got me physically where I was in that moment. I thought of my friends, who got me where I was mentally in that moment. I could feel the "good luck" hugs that I received, wrapped wound my heart and body, both of which were still going strong. I thought about dropping the anchor and flying away. The whole race seemed like such a perfect storm. I entered the finishing shoot, which was lined by cheering spectators on either side. As the finish line and clock came into a view, a smile spread itself a mile wide across my face. I saw the "18" next to the "3", and it became real. I did it! Just after crossing the finish line, I jumped and did a little spin (in mid air I worried a bit if my legs would buckle upon landing, but it turned out okay). "I got your best side", said the finish line photographer after snapping a few pictures. I'm assuming he was talking about my back side. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed; it went as well as it could have gone.
A 5 minute PR in the marathon should indicate that I am as fit as I've ever been. But I don't think that's it. The difference in this race was my mindset and approach. I think I'm beginning to grasp what endurance sports are all about: having confidence with grace, appreciation of the little things, fierce but friendly competitiveness. Before the race, I felt like I knew the outcome already; but I also was already at peace if that didn't actually come to fruition. I had the perfect mix of the here and now and there and later. I am grateful for everything and everyone who led up to this race; I gained so much more than a medal and a PR. I gained perspective and genuine happiness. Thank you, Savannah.
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