I killed the hill(s): Part II

Just. Keep. Going. That was my mantra last Sunday, as hill after hill after big, f-ing hill rose up before me, waited around the corner for me, and lured me forward with the promise of flaming quads on the way up and screaming hamstrings on the way down. After enough of those hills, I knew what I was in for. I knew what was coming, and I knew I could do it. I just had to tell myself over and over again: Just. Keep. Going. Don't stop. Don't slow down. Don't get sidetracked or slowed into inertia or overwhelmed at the prospect of what's ahead. It's there, it's ahead of you, and you can do it. I repeated this over and over in my head and somehow made myself believe it. At long last, after 16 miles of hills, I reached the finish line. For the record, it was at the top of a hill.

It's a good thing I did that run last week, because this week I don't know if I could even drag my sorry ass out of bed, never mind up to New Hampshire and through the middle of nowhere. Since I started school six months ago, this has been the busiest and probably most stressful seven days. Books. Papers. Residency applications. A two-day-a-week internship that seems to think I should answer emails and get projects done the other five days a week, too. A meeting with my advisor to discuss a synthesis project. A meeting with a colleague to work out details for a fundraising event in two weeks. (Wait a sec, didn't I run kicking and screaming from fundraising? Yeah, I thought so.) The realization that I might finish classes in six months. A meeting with my spiritual director in which I discuss my free-fall of faith and wonder aloud and tearful whether I should or even want to remain Catholic. An alarm that jolted me awake at 5:30 a.m. every day and found me, book in hand, moments later. On several occasions during the week, I literally had to stop and force myself to take a deep breath to release the knot in my stomach. Breathe, I told myself. Breathe.

How many times have I told myself that during a race? Breathe. Breathe. No seriously, breathe. Keep going, keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep looking ahead and just keep going. This week felt like a race to me, minus the gummy bears and sports bra. Several times this week I actually broke into a jog to make sure I got wherever I was going on time. Several times this week I kinda wished I had a cheerleading crowd or a bunch of drunk college students by the side of the road, cheering and screaming things like, "Lookin' good!! Almost there!! You can do it!!" Because really, several times this week I wasn't so sure. I wasn't feelin' so good, probably wasn't lookin' so good, didn't feel like I was anywhere near 'there', and definitely wasn't convinced I could do it.

When I felt like I needed those cheerleaders and words of encouragement, somehow they appeared. A call from my friend to tell me she's pregnant. A call from my Dad to see how I'm doing. A dirty joke from one friend and a funny post card from another. A cute email, a good workout, a strong espressso, a fun song on the radio, a moment of silence in the chapel. These little moments joined together to be my cheerleaders, my Gatorade, and my gummy bears. They sustained me during the race, propelled me up the hills and guided me safely back down.

Each time I felt like I was on the verge of slowing down, giving up, throwing in the towel and calling it a day, I reminded myself: Just. Keep. Going. Keep reading that book, keep writing that paper, keep working on that application. Don't quit yet. Keep at it. Keep going. No one says I'm gonna win the race, and no one says that getting to the finish is gonna be pretty, easy, or necessarily fun, but I will get there.

Derry NH, 16 Miler - I killed the hill(s)

Up at 6:30. Coffee. Clothing. Check email. My door buzzes at 7:10; Sarah is early. Soon enough we're heading North in the warmth of my car, catching up on talk of work and school and life and everything else that can be shared between two people who have commiserated over chafing, cramps, and porta potties.

The drive to NH is easy; it's early enough on a Sunday morning and no one's really out. The sun is breaking through the clouds, giving the sky an almost mosaic look. Blue patches push their way through the morning sky, illuminating the snowy fields on either side of the road. We cruise up 93 and reach Derry around 8:30, park the car and head to the gym. It's crowded and busy, buzzing with energy and excitement. We pick up our race numbers and t-shirts (a hideous cayenne-pepper red, seriously?!) and find a spot on the floor in the crowded gym.

I have been feeling apprehensive about this run since the minute I clicked 'register' on the website. It's the longest distance I've done in a while and I haven't been feeling particularly focused on training. Over the past few weeks my mind and my energy have been on a number of different things, running not being one of them. I've gotten in my normal workouts and a few good weekend runs, but have been almost lackadaisical about it. No training plan on the fridge, no countdown to race day, no protein shakes. Okay, I never really did the protein shakes to begin with, but I always meant to start! I hadn't even mentioned the run to anyone until yesterday at dinner when a few friends asked what I was doing for the rest of the weekend.

We have almost an hour and a half before the race starts and I know it's not in my best interest to get sidetracked by and sucked into the nervous energy around me. Though the room is full of loud chatter, laughter, and back-slapping guys who feel compelled to grunt, I do see a few wise folks chilling out in quiet corners, reading a magazine or book or just relaxing. I follow suit and sit comfortably with my ipod. Surrounded by hundreds of runners, I retreat to my quiet place, to my inner solitude. I remind myself to enjoy this day and this run, as so many people do not have the freedom, the resources, or the opportunity to get up and do the same. I remind myself to run my own race - it's not about the skinny chick in hot pink running tights next to me or the lanky guy in an Army shirt who passes me - they have their own race, and I have mine. I relax, I breathe and I pray.

After a short while it's time to go. I have somehow lost Sarah to the bathroom lines, so I head to the start, knowing we'll reunite at the finish. We gather at the start line and without so much as a megafone or whistle or horn, we begin. And we're off, just like that. The voices and sounds of the crowd buoy me along for the first half mile or so, then I put on my ipod and retreat to that inner place of prayer, affirmation, serenity, strength, and rockin' tunes. I keep the positive monologue going and remind myself to take it one mile at a time and to just. keep. going.

I pray, dedicating each mile to a person or a cause, remembering them, asking God's blessing on them, and, when I feel tired, just repeating the words or phrases in my head, reminding myself that whatever mile I'm running is for them. It gives me focus and perspective, and it makes my "job" of running a race seem a lot easier and more fun.

The hills are unlike anything I have seen before - constant, massive, and relentless. I wonder if my energy will run out, if my legs will be done before I am. I see people walking up one of the first hills and remind myself that walking is always an option. There is no shame in taking it a little easy on yourself when the road is tough. Metaphor for life? Perhaps.

There are mile markers every mile, a few water stops, a good cadre of volunteers, and that's it. I mean THAT'S IT. No timing clocks (woohoo!), no banners, and few people cheering. There was an older couple in lawn chairs, drinking coffee from a thermos and reading the Sunday paper and there were a few little kids throwing snowballs at us - I guess that could count as 'cheering'. In a weird way...

Miles 8 through 10, I don't even know what's happening to me. I keep going faster, passing people left and right. This never happens to me, and I'm sort of freaked out by it. Did someone spike my water? Did I OD on coffee this morning? I am actually picking up speed and enjoying it. I feel good. I pray that it will last.

The miles tick by, one by one. Every time I pass a mile marker I pop a few gummy bears, take a deep breath, and look around. Damn, New Hampshire is beautiful. Horse farms, rolling hills, winding roads. The fact that I cannot see what's around the corner (or, that I cannot see how big the hill is around the next corner) helps a lot. I just keep moving, moving, moving. I pass mile 13 and can't believe I've just run a half marathon. Just a few more miles. Keep praying, keep moving, keep breathing. Mile 14. Mile 15. I turn on my favorite song and let it propel me up and down the final hills. We are coming back the way we ran out, and the start/finish is just ahead. I can see the finish line timing clock and I feel really good. Sprint the final few hundred meters up the school driveway and I'm done. Just like that. Just like we started. It's over. Someone leans down and takes off my ankle timer. My hamstrings are screaming. But I feel good. It's done, and I did it.