When It’s Not About The Finish Line
I have run over a dozen half marathons in my life, and they have all been within the past 12 years- quite a feat, considering 16 years ago I was an anorexic who fought tooth and nail to waste away.
I was raised feeling that nothing is ever good enough and that success and sacrifice are mutually exclusive, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I sacrificed food and health (mental and physical) to obtain what most consider a standard of female success- and I didn’t stop there. I also picked up running to guarantee I was burning more calories than I was consuming, making all but sure that I gave it all.
Everything changed when I was in my mid-twenties and a group of doctors taught me how to eat and exercise mindfully. I was trying to hold a warrior 2 pose at a yoga class in upstate New York when the teacher said, listen to your body, and, for the first time, I did. I felt faint because I had sacrificed water breaks thinking I’d succeed further by powering through, and it had backfired. I was so depleted I sat down and had to forgive myself for not being able to achieve what I had set out to do. The next time I took the class, I was more prepared and did much better. I realized what my body was capable of achieving when treated kindly. As it turned out, I had a great deal of potential.
It frustrates me to admit, but that mentality is hard to hold on to. Success is measured by numbers- on clothes, on a scale, on a paycheck, or on a clock. That notion is so pervasive, that even as I recovered from my eating disorder and enjoyed the wonders of a healthy body, I still looked at numbers to prove my worth.
Two and a half years into recovery, and I was healthy enough to run half marathons all across the country. I pushed myself to beat my previous time- or at the very least match it, and I was quite successful. My race times should have made me proud, and yet, I keept true to the notion that nothing is ever good enough and that success and sacrifice go hand in hand, so I consistently made huge sacrifices on my way to the finish line.
For one, I made sure there was always a lot riding on my race. So many times I had heard the phrase you can’t, or you shouldn’t, so I was running to prove that I could and I would. That mentality, though empowering, also made running feel like a battle with the highest stakes. Running with the burden of an expectation, instead of the glory of the experience means moving through races as a victim.
Every race I ran started the same way. My heart raced before the crowd and I had even started to, and anxiety would build in my throat. I could recognize that this was part of the thrill of the race, but for me, it was also the pressure of how I would measure up. I was terrified to come up short of my own expectations.
As a recovering anorexic, I struggled to fuel my body for endurance. I was more familiar with the need to find strength amidst my depletion than I was with gathering power from a place of abundant nurturing. That made it unlikely to snack on a power bar or a energy gel mid race. As a matter of fact, on many races, I wouldn’t even stop for water. I’d dash by the volunteers handing it out and snatch it from their hands as I kept on moving, spilling half of it down my shirt while trying to get it in my mouth, worried that any second taken for self care was a second lost to my possible success.
Every race, I’d sprint ahead in a desperate hurry to- what? I never knew. I couldn’t say I was in a hurry to get it over with, because if I didn't enjoy running, then why do it? I wasn’t running to actually win because I was not an elite runner. The truth was, I was running amongst thousands of people of all ages, genders, and athletic abilities. So, who was I trying to beat? What was I always in such a hurry to do?
I finally realized that I was terrified of what might happen if I fell in love with the moment. I worried that by slowing down I would become complacent, mediocre- lazy even. If I took my time to enjoy my run, would I ever get anywhere? If life wasn’t a race, and I didn’t rate my performance, could I give myself the value I wanted and deserved?
Three years after my daughter was born, I stopped racing. I wanted to learn to enjoy the process of my undertakings- love the journey and set an example of living a life free of self-imposed pressure. I continued to run, but not against a clock. In doing so I discovered something new in running- a peacefulness that found its way to my heart through my breathing. I ran to connect with nature, to connect with my body, and to ground myself.
This past November, I pushed my way through crowds of people so I could get a clear view of the elite female athletes running the NYC Marathon. As they whizzed by me, the knot in my throat gave way to the quiver in my lip, and tears formed in my eyes. I find that nothing is more profoundly moving than movement.
As the race wound down and I made my way back home, stepping over the crumpled paper cups and dodging the sticky patches of spilled Gatorade that runners leave in their wake, I pulled out my phone and signed up for my first half marathon in 4 years. I wanted to remember what it was like to feel the rush of adrenaline at 5 am while waiting for the gun to go off. I wanted to feel free and strong running through car-less streets, pushing my limits. The question was, could I do it for the experience and love the process? Or would I end up measuring my value against the clock again?
When race day came, I was up before the sun. I pinned my bib to my t-shirt, laced up my shoes, and packed my first ever fanny pack with food for endurance, determined to succeed without sacrificing the things that truly matter. When the gun went off I felt that familiar panic to prove something, to run for my life and run for my worth. But I held back instead and took a breath to calm my heart. That race day I ran, driven by my passion for movement, my love of the music that kept my pace, and the realization that it’s not about the finish line, it’s about every step you take before it.
Knowing to toe the line between self-care and a healthy dose of a competitive spirit isn’t easy. I like pushing myself to new limits and surprising myself with just how much I am capable of doing. But I have to make sure to check in with myself often and ask myself have I given myself the opportunity to be in the now and love where I am? Because that is truly all that matters in the end.