Miami Marathon
Why, why, why, why, why? Every time I think about the marathon, my first, I wonder why? Why do we all do it? From mile 18 and for about a day after I finished I swore off long-distance races. Without a solid reason the pain doesn't hold any value. Again, why, why, why? In searching for my personal reason I wonder about everyone else. Why do the other 26,000 people in the race go through all that? Some of them, I'm sure, have little discomfort, but the majority of people I talked to after the race and the following day were suffering in some small way. At the museum we visited on Monday I correctly identified three marathoners, and in the airport I saw a few more hobblers. Watching Seinfeld tonight, still pondering WHY, I decided that even though I'm still in considerable pain I'm part of the club now. I am a marathon finisher, which holds mystery and excitement for those who haven't done it. I doubt the vivid memories of each and every mile will fade with time, and neither will my membership in the 'marathon finisher's club'.
Now, two weeks from the marathon I still have significant pain and wonder if I've done permanent damage to my body. Will I look back on this years from now and wonder why I put my body through this? I'd like to find out what running feels like at 140 pounds. I imagine it won't feel like a chore. I'll feel light, fast and free, and maybe I'll even have fun. I feel as if I need to be in starvation mindset to get the results I want. I'm afraid of being hungry. I'm afraid of being uncomfortable. However, the mental discomfort I feel when I'm self conscious about myself is beginning to outweigh my fear of physical discomfort of being hungry. I wonder if my meter needs to be reset. Feeling hungry to me means that I'm close to death and I may struggle to survive if I don't find food. I'm panicked when I feel that way. Maybe that's just normal hunger pains that healthy people experience. New motto: "Reset the meter".
Running is secondary to what I want to accomplish, but I feel that I have set a baseline for movement that I need to uphold. If I reduce the amount of exercise I'll be going in the wrong direction. Not running is painful for me because I've grown accustomed to the great feeling I have after a run, of overcoming adverse conditions and motivating myself to do something I don't initially want to do. I know how good it feels at the end so I endure the annoyance of donning spandex and finding all the right equipment for the unique conditions of the day.
Reset the meter.
Breakfast.
Lunch.
Dinner.
Now, two weeks from the marathon I still have significant pain and wonder if I've done permanent damage to my body. Will I look back on this years from now and wonder why I put my body through this? I'd like to find out what running feels like at 140 pounds. I imagine it won't feel like a chore. I'll feel light, fast and free, and maybe I'll even have fun. I feel as if I need to be in starvation mindset to get the results I want. I'm afraid of being hungry. I'm afraid of being uncomfortable. However, the mental discomfort I feel when I'm self conscious about myself is beginning to outweigh my fear of physical discomfort of being hungry. I wonder if my meter needs to be reset. Feeling hungry to me means that I'm close to death and I may struggle to survive if I don't find food. I'm panicked when I feel that way. Maybe that's just normal hunger pains that healthy people experience. New motto: "Reset the meter".
Running is secondary to what I want to accomplish, but I feel that I have set a baseline for movement that I need to uphold. If I reduce the amount of exercise I'll be going in the wrong direction. Not running is painful for me because I've grown accustomed to the great feeling I have after a run, of overcoming adverse conditions and motivating myself to do something I don't initially want to do. I know how good it feels at the end so I endure the annoyance of donning spandex and finding all the right equipment for the unique conditions of the day.
Reset the meter.
Breakfast.
Lunch.
Dinner.
