If you saw yesterday’s blog you know I pretty much pouted my way through the San Francisco Marathon on Sunday.
I think that is pretty lame of me, and someone at the finish line (I thankfully did reach it on my own two feet) put me so squarely in my place it’s almost embarrassing.
The last mile was fortunately flat, and I knew where I was by that point because I knew roughly where the finish line was compared to the ball park. So, when I got to the ball park I knew I could make it. (I’ve walked it many times to attend SF Giants baseball games!)
And then, d’oh!, they had us run BEHIND the ball park instead of in front of it (adding maybe a half mile to what I expected). AND we had to get up a 14 inch curb to do it.
(Let me tell you, it might as well have been a mountain by that point; 14 inches is super duper high after 25 miles.)
So here I am, trying at this point to pick up my pace so I can finish under five hours. It doesn’t even matter to me anymore what happens, really; I want to get out and be done.
As I am what feels like sprinting but probably looks like just huffing to the finish line and I cross the line, I stop my watch and start looking for my husband, and collect my medal and heatsheet (this is my second one of those and wow do you feel cool when you get one of those!) and I would
say I’m completely in a daze.
As I’m in this daze, I look to my left just briefly and everything I’ve been rolling around in my brain makes a clank.
I see a woman in tears.
She just FINSIHED A MARATHON.
Who am I to pout when someone next to me just accomplished this HUGE thing that she has been working for for several months, maybe years, and maybe she was running it in someone’s honor or maybe she was just going after a goal of her own. I have no idea what she gave up in order to cross that finish line. I have no idea what she gained along her way.
I only know that whatever it was she lost and gained was enough to make her cry when she earned that medal around her neck.
And that was enough to (at long last) shut me up.
I’ve had a number of people applaud what I did on Sunday, which feels so strange. I don’t see how keeping on going despite how much I was hating it was all that big of a deal that someone should pat me on the back!
But, I guess if it were easy, everyone would do it and it wouldn’t mean that much at all.
I feel like I should apologize to that lady for in some way minimizing something that was such an accomplishment for her; when I was thinking to myself that it didn’t matter I was wrong.
I don’t like that I in a way felt this marathon was “no big deal.”
I guess we all have our paths and we all have rocks and surprise turns and unhappy detours along the way, and it definitely gets complicated when things like blood glucose levels or body weight or cholesterol levels feel like they aren’t on our side. We certainly don’t all make it to each finish line with a smile on our faces.
But that shouldn’t stop us from setting goals and working hard and always keeping some sort of finish line in view.
ESPECIALLY when we get a medal.
We each earn THIS one after 50 years with type one!
You call that pouting? Someone doesn’t remember an adventure we had, THAT was whining (both of us). This was hardly a sniffle, my dear.
I’ve been across the line a few times, and sometimes I’ve felt like, “Hey, don’t make a big deal out of it. I just went the prescribed distance.”
But it is something. It is a pretty big deal. I know that enough to always congratulate my friends when they do it, whether it’s their first or their fiftieth marathon.
By the way, congratulations on finishing another marathon! Way to go!
Great post, Amy. I still think you’re awesome for finishing, though. Rnning a marathon is an incredible feat!