I'm terrible at running. In high school I was always last on long runs. My companions at the back were the smokers. I wasn't overweight, I didn't have bad knees, no asthma and no medical problems. I just plain stunk.
In 2009 I got pudgy. I'm a skinny guy. I always have been and I knew if I got fat on me it would all go to my belly and I would have the pregnant-man-look. I started doing aerobics and lifting weights. I did this for a month before I learned that calories burned during aerobics was nothing compared to calories burned while running. Let's not waste time now, I thought. I got on the couch to 5k program, signed up for a 5k and started climbing that hill.
After my first 5k (I never stopped to walk once!) and then a 10k, I did something stupid. I wanted to push myself. Up the hill! The next step was the half-marathon. I was lucky, from 5k to 10k I had a friend who ran with me each race. We didn't always train together, but we always raced together, that is, until the half-marathon.
I ran four or five times a week for three months, but a month before the race I injured myself. I couldn't run for two weeks. That two weeks spread to three because I enjoyed the rest. Each inactive day took a mental toll on me, however. Worry set in.
It's strange. Some days I ran six miles and felt great. Other days I ran two miles and felt like I was about to die. 13.1 miles loomed as a daunting goal. My best run was eight miles. It would have to do. The last 5.1 would have to be done on adrenaline, or maybe a stretcher?
Race day came and I was in the back. This time my friend watched from the side; he never signed up. The race started after ten minutes of waiting and questioning my sanity. My wife and running friend cheered me on at the 5-mile mark and once again at the end. Three hours of running and walking brought me to the end. I did it!
You would think it was a disaster for both myself and my friend. After all, he only trained four or five days! After six miles I felt it bad in my legs. If I went on I might injure myself. Unceremoniously I unpinned my bib and walked to the side of the race. I was told to get a snack and drink from the organizers, but I felt too embarrassed for that. My friend and I chose a meeting place for after the race, so I headed there unsure if I would see him with or without a medal hanging around his neck.
I watched the runners at the end with all the joy and adrenaline I felt last year. After an hour I caught sight of my friend running towards the finish line. I heard the announcer say his name and saw the clock. He finished a full 20 minutes faster than I did! I felt two simultaneous emotions: I was proud of him for struggling to the end on so little training, but I was also pissed at him for beating my time on so little training!
The latter emotion quickly died since running is really a one-man-sport to me; me versus myself. Nonetheless, I had to ponder as his success was unfathomable to me! All men have gifts. Some men envy other men for theirs, but I say do what you love. Do it poorly and/or do it well. With practice you only ever achieve greater abilities. For me, the slowest kid who couldn't even run a mile, did, with years of training, run 13.1 miles one day. My friend replicating and exceeding my success with less effort does nothing to diminish my own achievement.
Leave a comment below!
What do you love and want to do? Does doing it poorly make you stop before you even begin? Does the seeming easy success of others discourage you? Should it?
By the way, here is my friend and I at our first race - a 5k in the winter.
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